EXT. BACK VILLAGE ROAD – NIGHT
Rain runs down Laksh's face as he pushes through the mud and banyan roots. Trees whip his coat. Water slaps his boots. The storm has eased—but not his confusion.
He reaches a small concrete landing beside a weathered house. A wooden door stands half-ajar. Yellow lamplight spills onto the muddy ground.
He pauses, breath uneven.
Then pushes the door open.
---
INT. MODEST HOME – CONTINUOUS
The smell of agarbatti hits him instantly—soft jasmine smoke curling through the air like a memory he never had.
And then—
She turns.
A woman in a red saree.
Mangalsutra glinting. Sindoor trailing into her hairline. A bindi marking her forehead. And eyes—wide, still, and too knowing.
Laksh freezes.
His eyes drift down—reflex, instinct—catching the line of her waist, the soft curve where her saree tucks in. Just for a second.
His breath catches.
He takes a step back—crushing a twig beneath his boot.
LAKSH
(to himself, under breath)
"Was this body... married to her?"
The door creaks softly as he steps back into the rain.
Behind him, the woman murmurs—
WOMAN
(softly)
"Ji… aap aa gaye?"
But when she looks—he's gone.
---
EXT. UNDER THE BANYAN TREE – MOMENTS LATER
Laksh sits on the cement base under the tree, dripping.
He exhales. Pulls out a keychain. Rattles it softly—like it might answer.
Then pulls out a few damp coins.
He stares at them, muttering.
LAKSH
(quietly)
"New body. No memories. But a wife like that?"
He pockets the coins. Walks up to a nearby household. Knocks.
A woman opens the door, mid-cooking, eyes wary.
VILLAGE WOMAN
"Saheb? What you want?"
Laksh hands over the coins.
LAKSH
"Make food. I'll collect it in an hour."
---
EXT. RETURN TO THE BANYAN TREE – MINUTES LATER
He comes back to the tree—
And sees her again.
The woman in red.
Now barefoot, standing in the mud, her gaze locked onto him like a hunter watching prey.
She steps forward.
Grabs his wrist.
Her fingers are small. Soft. Warm.
WOMAN
(gently)
"What are you doing here, patidev?"
He stiffens.
But she's already tugging him.
Her arm wraps through his. Her body presses close.
And for a second—his palm lands across her side. Something warm. Round. Yielding.
He freezes.
Eyes wide.
LAKSH
(hushed, distracted)
"My... my money—"
But his voice trails off.
Because now there's breath on his neck. Bangles clinking faintly.
And the strange, jarring intimacy of a life that was never his...
...but a body that somehow remembers.
INT. BRITISH-ISSUED QUARTERS – NIGHT
Sati gently tugs him inside.
Rain still drips from his coat as he peels it off. The Victorian fabric slaps against the door as he hangs it. His hat follows.
She waits—smiling, calm. Her hands folded. Her red saree still damp at the hem.
Laksh removes his shirt, slowly. Then hesitates.
LAKSH
(muttering)
"I'd rather die than open my pants."
Sati arches an eyebrow.
She steps closer, fingers moving toward his waistband—practical, unbothered.
LAKSH
(more urgently)
"Can't you just... not have it?"
She chuckles—soft, amused.
SATI
"Patidev, you want to go to office tomorrow in a dhoti?"
LAKSH
"I'll wear the dirty pants."
Her fingers pause. Then withdraw.
SATI
(gently)
"Your choice. But if you don't change, you'll catch a cold."
He exhales, defeated.
LAKSH
"Isn't there... another room?"
SATI
(deadpan)
"No. The British gave only one. For you. And your loyal wife."
She gestures vaguely at the cramped space.
As she turns, her fingers brush against the silver clock chain in his pocket.
She pauses.
SATI
(curious)
"This wasn't here yesterday... who gave you this strange thing? A reward?"
Laksh looks at her. Then down at the stopwatch.
His face flickers.
A memory: a shattered windshield. A girl falling. Gold pens.
He smiles—cold, crooked.
LAKSH
"I borrowed it."
She doesn't press.
He unbuttons his trousers with a grimace, shivering slightly as the fabric peels away from his wet skin.
But when he glances up—her eyes aren't even on him.
She's already folding the pants, placing them neatly in a drawer.
She returns with a towel—holds it out, wordlessly.
Then walks to the kitchen corner, brushing her fingers across a clay matka.
---
INT. SAME – MOMENTS LATER
Steam rises from a pital plate.
Sati places bhat and sabzi gently, almost ritually. Her movements are unhurried. Practiced. The sound of metal against clay. The scent of cumin and coriander and ghee.
She adds a spoonful of achaar from a small brass jar, then sets the plate on the bench.
She turns to the bed—straightens the sheet. Folds a second towel. Prepares his pillow.
She eats only after he does.
And as they sit—facing opposite walls, not speaking—Laksh glances sideways.
For a moment—
He sees her again.
The girl from the car.
The one in the storm.
The one with the wide eyes and horror frozen in the glass.
But it's not her.
It's Sati, biting into roti.
Hair still wet.
A smudge of sindoor on her temple.
Unaware of the ghost she resembles.
---
Laksh lowers his gaze. Finishes eating.
His fingers brush the edge of the stopwatch.
But he doesn't press it.
Not tonight.
INT. BRITISH-ISSUED QUARTERS – LATER THAT NIGHT
The meal is nearly finished. The room smells of rain and roasted jeera.
Sati shifts.
She swallows hard. Reaches for the matka, pours water without meeting his eyes.
Across the room, Laksh doesn't stir. Doesn't react.
But the chain of his stopwatch sways faintly—like it heard everything.
The rain has faded into a soft tapping outside. Inside, the last dish clinks onto the metal tray.
Sati gathers the used plates, ready to wash them.
She pauses—
As Laksh quietly steps forward, picks up his own plate, and walks toward the wash basin.
Sati blinks.
She clenches her fists.
the plate in a small drawer.
His fingers brush the silver stopwatch beside it. A glint.
He exhales. Quietly murmurs, passing her:
LAKSH
"I think I could sleep on the ground tonight."
Sati opens her mouth before she can stop herself.
SATI
"Patidev… what happened?"
Laksh turns slightly, his voice low—too low to carry weight, but soft enough to feel sincere.
LAKSH
"Nothing. Just… so you can stretch like a queen. Take the whole bed."
She blinks. Her thoughts snap, collide.
SATI (V.O
Queen? He thinks this cot is a throne?
Although… maybe I could stretch, just once.
She folds her arms, frowns.
SATI
"What if I sleep on the floor and you take the bed?"
Another flicker inside her.
Laksh sighs. Runs a hand through damp hair.
LAKSH
"Fine. We both sleep. Separate.
You get the bed.
If you feel royal... go ahead."
He moves to grab his blanket.
Outside—
A flash of lightning forks across the sky.
Cut to:
---
EXT. MOUNTAINSIDE – NIGHT (INTERCUT)
Somewhere beyond the hills, far past the village and river…
The buried gold—the crates, stolen and smuggled—
Are now being hauled into a cave carved deep into the rock.
Men with torches grunt, sweat glistening on their backs as they drag the last crates inside.
The earth swallows the wealth.
And the storm returns to silence.
The room is dark. Rain patters steadily outside.
Sati lies on the cot, turned away—but her hand rests lightly across Laksh's chest.
He's still, eyes closed, but his brow creases.
> Why does it feel like I'm being violated?
> But I can't protest. She's... this body's wife. If I resist, they'll say I'm mad.
He doesn't move. Just breathes.
But her hand begins to slide. Slowly. Softly. Her fingers trace the outline of his ribs like she's dreaming—or pretending to.
> She's not asleep. I knew it.
Then her leg shifts.
A bare foot brushes his thigh. Her knee tucks lightly against his side.
> What kind of sanskari wife is this?
He swallows.
And then—
KNOCK KNOCK.
A sudden knock at the door breaks the silence.
Her hand vanishes from his chest.
Laksh keeps his eyes shut, muttering under his breath:
LAKSH
"Knew it. Pretending to sleep..."
Sati quickly pulls herself up, adjusting her saree in the dim light. She covers her head with the pallu, checks her reflection in a metal plate, then opens the creaky door.
A woman stands outside, holding a banana leaf parcel dripping with rainwater.
WOMAN
(whispers)
"Behan… the saheb gave money. He ordered food."
Sati's eye twitches. Her hand tightens slightly.
She takes the parcel without a word.
The woman lingers, as if waiting for a smile, a thank-you—or an invitation inside.
None comes.
Sati quietly closes the door.
She turns, muttering:
SATI
(under her breath)
"Accha hua chali gayi.
Badi aayi... mere pati ke liye khana banane."