"I'm going to rest for a while," Aarav said quietly, his voice heavy with fatigue.
"Alright," Kavya replied gently, giving him a supportive glance.
"If you feel up to it, you could come to my office with me," Raghu offered, hopeful.
"No," Kavya intervened firmly. "Let him rest. He needs to recover. His wounds haven't healed yet. Maybe after two or three days. You can take him later."
Aarav sat on the edge of the bed, the morning's noise fading into silence as the door shut behind him. The room was dimly lit, curtains pulled tight against the rising sun. He gazed at the ancient locket in his hand—a relic engraved with mysterious Sanskrit inscriptions, its surface aged and burnished from time. Only a few symbols made sense to him, fragments of forgotten knowledge echoing in his mind.
The locket felt heavier than before, as though it carried the weight of memory itself. Aarav slowly slipped it over his neck. For a moment, he sat motionless, eyes locked on the strange object, drawn to it with an unspoken gravity.
His eyes began to close, a sudden weariness washing over him, the type that sinks deeper than fatigue. It was a pull from something beyond consciousness.
Seconds ticked by.
Twenty-five.
Thirty.
Forty-five.
One minute fifteen.
One minute thirty-five.
One minute fifty-five.
And then—
Exactly two minutes after he closed his eyes, the ruby at the center of the locket blinked once. Then again. Then in a steady rhythm, as though syncing with an invisible heartbeat. The gem glowed a deep, ominous red.
The silver metal encasing the ruby began to rotate counter-clockwise, while the golden sun-patterned ring around it spun clockwise. The motion was smooth, deliberate, ancient.
The Sanskrit inscriptions shimmered, transforming from their weathered etching into vibrant green script, alive with meaning.
The locket began to hum.
A low vibration spread outward. The side table next to the bed began to tremble. The copper vessel atop it, filled with water, shimmered with ripples as the vibration intensified.
A whirring sound echoed—like fog sweeping through a vacuum.
Darkness swallowed everything.
Aarav could no longer feel the bed beneath him, nor the walls around. His body floated in a black void, weightless, without direction. Sound was the only thing anchoring him now: the steady echo of an unseen vehicle, distant yet constant.
He walked, though he didn't know how.
There was no ground beneath his feet, yet movement came naturally. His hands moved through the thick air, slicing it with a soft swoosh. The space was different here—no sense of time, no sense of distance, just endless dark.
He kept walking, compelled by a primal instinct. The silence was uncanny, heavy with dread.
Then—a flicker.
A glimmer of red light appeared in the distance.
Hope.
Aarav rushed toward it, his steps gaining speed. The closer he got, the more it morphed—from a dot to a shape, and then to a surface.
A wall.
But not a real wall.
It shimmered, translucent like glass, or a mirror not fully formed. As he approached, he saw images dancing on it, flickering like old film reels.
An ancient haveli.
A decrepit mansion, isolated and brooding beneath a stormy sky.
It was the same place he had seen before—where he had first emerged from the vortex of green clouds.
Inside the haveli, silence ruled. The doors groaned with memory, and the shadows clung to the walls like secrets.
Suddenly, from the top floor, came the sound of anklets. Delicate, rhythmic. The chime of ghungroos.
And tabla.
The beats were precise, haunting. They belonged to a dance—classical, rooted in tradition. Kathak, perhaps.
A voice followed.
"Kaun hai?"
It was a woman's voice. Deep. Hollow. Yet unmistakably alive. There was no fear in her tone, only curiosity, like someone searching for a long-forgotten guest.
Aarav remained silent.
Moments later, the voice returned, this time tinged with sarcasm.
"Kya tum yahan mera nritya dekhne aaye ho? Aapka swagat hai."
The ghungroos resumed, spinning the air into a surreal performance. Yet, the hall was empty. No dancers. No musicians. Just sound and shadows.
Aarav turned his gaze downward.
From the top floor, he descended through layers of time. The third floor buzzed with subtle movement—people, faint and flickering, like half-remembered dreams. Whispers, footsteps, hurried lives. These echoes were everywhere, on every floor.
Except the top.
It remained untouched by the living.
But the performance continued.
Then he noticed the staircase leading higher. Two paths diverged at the landing. The first was open, unguarded, the kind anyone could use.
The second—was not.
It was sealed with a gate made of thick wood and iron, bolted shut. Around the latch, sacred threads of red and white cloth were tightly bound. A heavy lock dangled from it, ancient and untouched by time.
Inscribed above the latch were Sanskrit markings.
They glowed faintly in a blue hue.
Below them, a single sequence:
1340s
Aarav whispered, "This lock... it's over five centuries old."
As he stepped closer, the gate rattled.
A sudden force. Like something behind it had slammed forward.
The gate shook, then fell still.
He narrowed his eyes, trying to peer through the gaps in the wood.
A flicker of lightning—not natural, but made of energy. Blue and yellow arcs crackled across the seams of the gate.
Something ancient was trapped inside.
Something that waited.
Behind him, the voice returned again, now closer, more deliberate.
"You wear the locket, don't you?"
He spun around. No one.
The voice chuckled softly. "That locket isn't just a key, Aarav. It's a promise."
His name. The way she spoke it, like someone who had known it forever. He swallowed.
"What are you?"
Silence.
Then the tabla resumed.
But the rhythm had changed.
It wasn't a dance anymore.
It was a warning.
Aarav stepped backward, only to find the mirror-wall now solid. He was trapped. The fog began to swirl around him again, thicker, faster.
The locket on his neck burned warm.
Then cold.
Then—
Darkness.
He gasped awake.
Back in his room.
The copper vessel on the side table still rippled. The Sanskrit on the locket still faintly glowed.
But the vibrations had stopped.
The mystery, however, had only just begun.
Aarav jolted awake, his heart racing. The remnants of a dream clung to him like morning mist—elusive and unsettling. He couldn't discern whether it was a mere figment of his imagination or a glimpse into a reality beyond comprehension. The vividness of the experience left him questioning the boundaries between dreams and reality.
He reached for the copper jug on his bedside table, pouring water into a glass with trembling hands. The cool liquid offered little solace as he sipped, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. The silence of the room was interrupted by muffled voices emanating from outside his door.
"And who might you be?" a woman's voice inquired, tinged with curiosity.
Aarav recognized the voice instantly—it was Kavya Singh, his host for the past few days.
"Namaste, Aunty ji," a younger, unfamiliar voice responded.
"Namaste, dear. May I know your name?" Kavya's tone remained polite yet cautious.
"I'm Iravati Joshi," the girl replied.
"Ah, are you the daughter of Ashwin Joshi, the postmaster?" Kavya's voice softened with recognition.
"Yes, Aunty ji. I'm here to meet someone."
"And who might that be?"
"Someone staying at your house."
A pause ensued, the air thick with anticipation.
"I don't recall any distant relatives staying here," Kavya responded, her voice laced with confusion.
"But he told us he was staying with his distant relatives," Iravati insisted.
Realization dawned on Kavya. "Oh! You're here to see Aarav."
"Yes."
"But why did he say he was your distant relative?" Iravati's voice held a mix of suspicion and curiosity.
Kavya chuckled nervously. "Oh, dear. He's been here only a couple of days. Perhaps he was just trying to find a place to stay."
"He's in his room," Kavya added, pointing towards the door.
Iravati removed her sandals and proceeded towards Aarav's room, casting a lingering glance back at Kavya, her eyes filled with questions.
Once alone, Kavya wiped the sweat from her brow. "That was close. If she had found out that Aarav isn't related to us, there would have been endless questions. The authorities might have even gotten involved." She sighed, the weight of secrets pressing down on her, before retreating to the kitchen.
Aarav heard the soft knock on his door, barely audible, like a butterfly brushing against a window.
"Yes?" he called out, his voice still a bit raspy from the dream—or whatever that strange moment had been.
The door creaked open slightly, and a familiar face peeked in.
"Iravati?" Aarav blinked, surprised. "Y-you're here?"
"Wow, you remember me!" she teased, stepping in fully, her eyes scanning the small room with an amused smile. "I thought you'd pretend to forget like last time when you didn't recognize me at the temple."
Aarav laughed, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. "That wasn't my fault! I had just woken up that day too. You keep showing up when my brain's still booting."
"Nice excuse. I'll allow it," she grinned, settling on the edge of the wooden chair beside his bed. "But you do look half-dead right now. Bad dream?"
"You have no idea," Aarav muttered, leaning back. "It was... strange. Real, but not. It felt like something was whispering secrets I wasn't supposed to know."
"Ooooh, spooky." Iravati shivered theatrically. "Should I call a priest or a ghostbuster?"
He chuckled. "Maybe both. Throw in a psychiatrist too, just in case."
"I'll bring a tantrik, a cup of chai, and some samosas. We'll host a group healing session."
Aarav smiled for the first time that morning. "I forgot how dramatic you are."
"Honestly, what's with boys and their tragic hero faces?" Iravati teased, crossing her arms.
Aarav smirked, ready with his comeback. "Excuse me, I was busy being a hero yesterday too. I rescued a baby goat that wandered off from the group. A little girl was crying her eyes out."
"How noble," Iravati said with an exaggerated clap. Then she narrowed her eyes playfully. "Or was it just your excuse to sneak closer to the group of village girls?"
Aarav blinked. "Wha—what? No! I helped the girl because the goat was—"
"Relax, I'm kidding!" she said, bursting into laughter. "Though… it *does* match your profile, Mr. 'I woke up just in time to ruin someone's bath.'"
Aarav froze. "...What bath?"
Iravati raised a brow, crossing her legs and leaning forward with mock authority. "So you don't remember climbing onto the rooftop to chase that mischievous goat—only to crash through the old bathroom roof sheets?"
Aarav's eyes widened as fragments of memory flickered in. The terrified bleat of the goat. The slippery roof tiles. A scream. A splash. Then—
"No…" he whispered, face turning crimson.
"Oh yes!" Iravati said, barely able to contain her grin. "You fell right through the roof and landed in the bathing area."
"I—I didn't see anything!" Aarav waved his hands defensively. "It all happened so fast! My eyes were shut!"
"Oh please," Iravati scoffed. "You looked like a deer caught in headlights. Or like you'd been reborn into a shampoo ad."
"I swear I wasn't trying to peek!" he groaned, burying his face in his hands.
"Mm-hmm," she said, pretending to take notes on her palm. "Accused: Aarav. Crime: Breaking and bathing. Sentence: Eternal teasing."
"You're evil," he muttered from behind his hands.
"I'm justice," she declared dramatically. "Delivering embarrassment to perverts since childhood."
"I'm not a pervert!" he groaned.
"But your memory says otherwise," she winked.
He shook his head, but even he couldn't help laughing now. "Okay, okay, it was an accident. But seriously, can we not turn that into a village legend?"
"Oh, it's already a legend. I might've told two people. Or three. Okay, maybe five."
"Iravati!"
"I'm joking!" she said through a laugh. "Relax. I didn't tell anyone. But watching you squirm? Worth every second."
"You enjoy my suffering too much."
"It's part of my personality."
They both laughed again, the air lighter, like childhood memories carried on the wind.
After a moment of silence, Iravati looked at him, a bit more softly this time. "Honestly, Aarav… it's nice to see you like this again. Laughing. Being you."
He met her eyes, the blush from earlier still faintly lingering, but now replaced by a sincere warmth. "Yeah. It's nice to feel like me again."
And for a moment, everything felt right — like the world outside the room could wait, because inside it, two hearts were healing with laughter and shared memories.