Lahat ng Kabanata ng - Familiar Stranger: Kabanata 1 - Kabanata 10

Samantha POV “The door creaked open. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to intrude,” Came a familiar voice. Deep, careful, and soft in the way it always had been when he spoke to me. Without even turning I can tell who this voice belonged to. Liam. My heart stilled. I turned, slowly. He stood just inside the threshold, one hand still on the door. “ Though I am not supposed to be here but I noticed you weren’t feeling well,” He said, unsure. “I thought I’d check on you.” I opened my mouth, but words failed me. His eyes searched mine. “ Did we meet before ? You just… seem familiar especially your eyes . I can’t seem to recall. He kept his index finger at the side of his forehead as if trying to recall our meeting. I lowered my gaze. “I’m fine. Just a little dizzy. As for your questions. No we have never met” I kept looking at the floor as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. He nodded, clearly not convinced. “If you need a minute, take it. Rose can wait.” With that he

Samantha POV As Liam left the room, I closed my eyes, but sleep was far away. His voice still echoed in my mind. He hadn’t changed a bit—still concerned about the well-being of others. Yet, I found myself getting riled up by his concern. The question here is who was he worried about? Was it Sanjana, with whom he used to sing, dance, and record her voice for his music album? Or was it Samantha, the journalist covering his event? I felt like a ghost, trapped between who I used to be and who I had been forced myself to become. My mind, uninvitedly pulled me back into the cold, sterile corridors of that London hospital. The place that gave me a new identity. The place where Sanjana died and Samatha was born. My lips trembled suppressing the sob that wanted to escape. Tears welled, unknowingly I clutched the bed rail so harshly that my knuckles started hurting but this ache was not as painful as the one in my heart . Flashback Begins The smell of antiseptic was everywhere—on my gown

Samantha Pov The quiet hum of machines had faded into the background, replaced by the muffled voices of nurses beyond the half-closed door. The sterile scent of antiseptic clung to me like a second skin. I need to freshen up. I hope Uncle Henry persuades the doctor to release me early. This place… it’s a reminder of the past. I need to get out of here. I must’ve dozed off after Tom left. He’s kind—gentle in a way that makes me feel safe. I think he sees me as more than just a colleague. Maybe he has feelings for me. Should I stop him before it goes too far? As I tried to sit up, a wave of sharp pain surged through my body. “Oh God, this pain is unreal,” I muttered. “They say I’m fine, but why does my body say otherwise?” My throat was parched. I reached for the glass of water on the bedside table when I heard voices—low, familiar. Through the thin wall and slight gap in the door, I heard them. Uncle Henry’s thick British accent. And then his voice. The one I could recognize ev

Henry POV Because of this meeting, I got late. Sam must be waiting for me. She would be furious—she never wanted to attend this conference in the first place. The heavy rain was making it all the more difficult to drive. The street shimmered with reflections of neon signs, broken by the steady splash of the wipers swiping back and forth. As I neared the hotel, a blur caught my eye through the windshield. I hit the brakes hard, the tires skidding for a fraction of a second before gripping again. She was lying on the slick pavement, her hair spread in a wet halo. Liam crouched beside her, his shoulders hunched against the rain. Rose was on the other side, patting Samantha’s cheek—quick, mechanical motions, as if she wanted the appearance of helping but not the effort. “Come on, wake up,” Rose murmured, her voice sugar-sweet and far too calm for the moment. My gut clenched. I was out of the car before the door even swung fully open, the cold rain soaking through my jacket in seconds

Sanjana pov “ You live them.” His words hung in the air, low and certain, as though they were meant only for me. My fingers tightened around the notepad I carried for my journalism assignments. “I sing because I have to,” I murmured, lowering my gaze. “It’s my passion… and it helps me earn a little extra for my uncle.” My voice trembled, but my chin stayed lifted. I was not ashamed of who I was. When I finally looked up, his head was tilted slightly, studying me with an intensity that felt both unsettling and magnetic. His friend—the one with the kind smile—quickly stepped in. “Don’t mind him. I’m Kabir,” he said warmly. Then, gesturing to the man beside him, he added, “And this is Liam.” “Liam?” I repeated, surprised at the foreign name. His features—a blend of sharpness and quiet distance—didn’t match the familiarity of Kashmir. “Liam Turner,” Kabir explained in his halting Hindi. “We’re tourists.” He extended his hand in greeting, but I folded my palms together