Dreams were strange things.

Some disappeared moments after waking.

Some remained for hours.

Some haunted people quietly for years.

And then—

there were dreams that felt less like imagination—

and more like memory.

Krishni mathur had started fearing sleep.

Not because of nightmares.

Not because darkness frightened her.

Because every night—

something impossible waited for her there.

A flute.

A river.

Temple bells.

Eyes she had never seen—

yet somehow recognized.

And now—

the dreams were changing.

Growing.

Becoming clearer.

As though something hidden—

was slowly waking.

"You look terrible."

I looked up from my notebook.

"Good morning to you too, Ridhi."

"No seriously."

"Thank you."

"You have dark circles."

"I love supportive friendships."

"You look like you fought ghosts."

I froze.

Very slightly.

Very carefully.

Unfortunately—

Ridhi noticed everything.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"Lie."

"Nothing happened."

"You only become extra annoying when something happened."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

I looked back toward my notebook.

Blank page.

Blank brain.

Wonderful.

The dream.

Again.

Every night.

Getting clearer.

Longer.

More real.

I hadn't told Maa.

Hadn't told Ridhi.

Hadn't told anyone.

Because how exactly was I supposed to explain—

"Hello yes I keep seeing ancient rivers and hearing mysterious flute music in my dreams."

Normal.

Completely normal.

"Krishni."

"Hm."

"You're disappearing again."

"I'm here."

"No."

"I'm literally sitting beside you."

"Mentally."

"Oh."

"Talk."

"Nothing happened."

"Fine."

She crossed her arms dramatically.

"I'll find out eventually."

Threat.

Absolute threat.

The theatre hall felt colder today.

Or maybe—

I felt colder.

Professor Arvind entered.

"Today's rehearsal extends till evening."

Collective suffering immediately filled the room.

"Sir mercy."

"No."

"Sir humanity."

"No."

"Sir compassion—"

"No."

Wonderful.

Perfect.

My life was beautiful.

The practice slowly began.

Lines.

Movements.

Emotions.

Corrections.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Hours passed.

My concentration broke constantly.

Mistakes.

Forgotten cues.

Missed instructions.

Wrong timing.

Not like me.

Not normal.

"Krishni."

Professor Arvind stood beside me.

"You okay?"

"Yes sir."

"No."

"I'm fine."

"You've missed timing three times."

"I'm sorry."

"Problem?"

"No."

Silence.

Then quietly—

"You're carrying something."

My fingers slowly tightened.

"No sir."

"You don't have to tell me."

Silence.

"But don't let it drown you."

Something painfully familiar settled inside my chest.

Because drowning quietly—

had become a habit.

Evening arrived slowly.

The theatre building had almost emptied.

Only a few students remained.

Campus lights flickered softly alive.

I sat alone backstage.

Dark curtains.

Scattered props.

Silence.

The stage always felt different when empty.

Honest.

Vulnerable.

Almost sacred.

People thought actors loved attention.

Not always.

Sometimes—

we loved silence more.

My hand slowly touched the lotus mark resting against my palm.

Warm.

Again.

Always warm.

Why?

Why always warm?

The question sat heavily inside my chest.

Childhood memories slowly surfaced.

Age eight.

"Maa why do I have these?"

Age eleven.

"Maa are they normal?"

Age fifteen.

"Maa tell me properly."

Same answer.

Always.

"Some answers come when time chooses."

I hated that answer.

I hated mysteries.

I hated not knowing.

The wind moved softly.

The empty stage lights flickered.

And then—

the flute.

My body froze instantly.

No.

No.

Not here.

The sound echoed softly.

Gentle.

Melodic.

Beautiful.

Impossible.

I slowly stood.

Heart racing.

The empty hallway stretched ahead.

Silent.

Dark.

The melody floated softly somewhere deeper inside the theatre building.

No one should have been here.

No one.

My footsteps moved slowly.

Carefully.

The sound became clearer.

Closer.

My breathing slowly quickened.

Turn left.

Empty corridor.

Turn right—

Nothing.

Silence.

Gone.

Completely gone.

My chest tightened.

No.

I heard it.

I definitely—

heard it.

"Krishni?"

I nearly screamed.

Professor Arvind looked mildly alarmed.

"You okay?"

"Yes."

"You look terrified."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"No."

"Go home."

"Sir—"

"Go."

"Sir rehearsal—"

"Tomorrow."

"I—"

"Go."

Wonderful.

Humiliating.

Perfect.

That night—

sleep felt heavier.

Like something waited.

Patiently.

Silently.

I closed my eyes.

Darkness settled.

And then—

the dream began.

Moonlight.

Silver and soft.

River water moved quietly beneath night skies.

Temple bells echoed somewhere far away.

Flowers floated gently through flowing currents.

Wind carried sandalwood fragrance.

The flute.

Closer.

Closer than ever before.

My feet moved slowly.

Stone pathways stretched endlessly.

Golden lamps flickered softly.

Ancient.

Beautiful.

Familiar.

Too familiar.

My heartbeat thundered.

No.

No—

This place—

Why did it feel like home?

My footsteps slowed.

Someone stood near the river.

Dark blue fabric moved gently beneath moonlight.

Peacock feather.

Golden ornaments.

My breath caught painfully.

Closer.

I needed to go closer.

My feet moved again.

Heart racing violently.

The figure slowly turned.

This time—

clearer.

Lotus eyes.

Gentle smile.

Ancient warmth.

Impossible peace.

And suddenly—

his voice.

Soft.

Warm.

Timeless.

"You came."

My breathing stopped.

No.

No—

Who—

Who are—

Tears suddenly burned unexpectedly inside my eyes.

Why—

Why did hearing that voice—

hurt?

Not pain.

Something else.

Longing.

An impossible longing.

As though—

something forgotten—

had waited lifetimes.

The figure slowly stepped forward.

Moonlight touched dark curls.

The peacock feather moved softly.

My heart pounded harder.

Faster.

Faster—

And suddenly—

a sharp sound shattered everything.

Darkness.

Silence.

Nothing.

I woke instantly.

4:12 AM.

Breathing uneven.

Hands shaking.

Tears resting silently against my cheeks.

No.

No no no—

My fingers tightened against bedsheets.

The dream.

The voice.

"You came."

Why—

Why did it feel—

real?

The room felt strangely quiet.

Too quiet.

Then—

softly—

the temple bells outside rang.

Morning had arrived.

And resting against my palm—

the lotus mark glowed faintly warm beneath dawn light.

For the first time—

fear quietly entered her heart.

Because dreams becoming clearer—

felt dangerous.

And somewhere—

far beyond time—

destiny waited patiently.

Watching.

My outfit.

Thank u

Stay tuned

Gaura 🧿