Familiar Stranger

Samantha Pov

The hall glittered with fairy lights, champagne flutes clinked, and soft music echoed through the laughter of the elite. Samantha adjusted her press badge, letting the camera hang heavily around her neck—a perfect mask for the storm brewing inside her.

She had covered dozens of high-society events before, but never one that threatened to break her piece by piece.

“Come on, Sanjana. You can do this. You’ve handled so many assignments,” I whispered under my breath. “You’re not Sanjana. You’re Samantha. Leave the past in the past. It’s buried in the snow-peaked mountains of Kashmir.” I was so engrossed that I didn't realise when I reached inside.

My colleague nudged me. “There he is. The groom-to-be. Handsome, isn’t he?” I followed her gaze. There he stood.

Liam. My Liam.

My heartbeat staggered.

He was surrounded by glittering guests and flutes of sparkling wine, but all I could see was the man who once played the guitar beneath the almond tree, singing with me, as petals floated down around us like confetti. It was music that had brought us together, and now it mocked me through the violins playing in the background.

He still looked the same , dark tousled hair that I traced with my fingers. The same tilted smile that once accelerated my heartbeat . Maturity suits him well .

He stood tall in a tailored navy suit, talking to guests with that effortless charm that used to make my knees go weak. But the arm he had around his fiancée’s waist wasn’t meant for someone else. It had once been mine.1

I lifted the camera slowly. The lens offered the distance I needed, a fragile barrier between my heart and the truth. My hands trembled as I zoomed in. I clicked the shutter too forcefully.

The sound made him glance my way.

He looked directly at me—and smiled politely. A tight, impersonal smile. The kind you give to strangers.

Of course he didn’t recognise me. Not with this face—a stranger’s face, reshaped by surgeons after the accident had stolen everything.

“You, okay?” someone asked.

Yeah,” I lied. “Just light-headed.”, I blinked. Tom, my colleague, handed me a glass of water. “Here. You look pale. Take this , it will help .” Tom spoke while he handed a glass of water

I needed to focus. Do my job. Pretend I wasn’t standing there watching the man I loved celebrate a future that didn’t include me. Pretend I wasn’t alive when the world believed I had died. Pretend this wasn’t killing me.

“Samantha, where are you lost?” Another voice snapped me back.

“The bride-to-be, Miss Rose Carter, wants an exclusive shoot with her fiancé, Mr. Liam Turner. It’s your assignment. They’re waiting for you in the back garden.” I nodded, unable to trust my voice.

Why does this always happen to me? Why is destiny always against me? First, I lost him in the accident. Then I lost my face, my identity. And now I’m going to watch him do all the things with someone else that I once dreamed of.

“Hey, Miss Photographer, where do you think you’re going? You have to take our pictures. These days, people are so unprofessional,” Rose snapped as I approached.

I froze, her voice sharp as glass. As I stepped forward, I felt more than heard a shift beside me.

“Rose,” Liam said, his voice firmer than I expected. “That was uncalled for.”

“What?” she turned, confused.

“She’s doing her job. There’s no reason to speak to her like that.”

“I just—”

“Apologise,” He said quietly but clearly.

“ Sorry. Long day.” She gave a tight-lipped smile .

I nodded. I didn’t have the strength to respond.

I guided them through the poses. Rose laughed a little too loudly; Liam smiled dutifully. But all I could see were shadows of the man I once loved. The one who’d promised me forever beneath a starlit sky in Kashmir. The one who never came looking for me after the fateful accident.

Then came the final blow. “I want a picture of us kissing,” Rose said, pulling Liam close. “It has to be dramatic.”

I barely managed to steady the camera as their lips met. My chest felt like it would crack open.

Even if I told him who I was—would it matter? Would he believe me? Would he even care?

“I—excuse me,” I mumbled, pretending to need the restroom, and fled.

I locked myself inside and leaned over the sink, gripping the counter. My reflection stared back. The face here is refined, repaired, but not mine, with only the eyes that are familiar. The pain behind them more so.

Tears welled up like a broken dam. What are you doing, Sanjana? Crying over a man who never searched for you? Who left you behind when you needed him most? My inner voice was screaming now. He left scars—not just on your face, but on your soul.

Still, my heart ached for him.

The memories flooded in—sirens, blood, the cold metal of the hospital table. The moment I realised my old life was gone. The moment I knew I’d become a ghost, even for the man who had once held my world together.

I wiped my face and reapplied my makeup with trembling hands. I had to be strong. I had to finish the job.

As I capped the lipstick and straightened up, the door creaked open.

“Are you okay?” came a voice that was quite familiar.