One lazy Sunday afternoon, Ishani found herself alone in Virat's apartment for the first time in weeks. He'd stepped out briefly for "something important," leaving his phone on the coffee table with a casual "Ruko jaana, abhi aata hoon." She hadn't meant to snoop—curiosity just got the better of her. Bored, she picked it up, unlocked it with the passcode he'd shared (a small gesture of trust that made her heart flutter), and started scrolling aimlessly through his gallery. Photos of sunsets at Marine Drive, candid shots of her laughing during their drives, food they'd shared—nothing out of the ordinary.

Then she stumbled on an old, grainy image buried in a folder labeled "Old Memories."