The sky was bathed in the soft pink of early dawn. Raghav stood barefoot in the middle of a golden rice field, the breeze rustling gently through the stalks. He laughed—freely, without fear—as water splashed around his ankles. Someone was with him. A woman.
She twirled playfully, her silver anklets chiming as she ran between the rows of crop. Her laughter echoed through the air, sweet and familiar. Her long black hair flew behind her like a silk banner, and her eyes sparkled with mischief.
Raghav smiled, enchanted.
She stopped before him, panting, her cheeks flushed from running. They stood close—too close—and something stirred in Raghav’s chest. An old, buried warmth. He looked into her eyes, his heart thudding not from fear, but from… love.
He reached for her hand. “I wanted to tell you something,” he murmured.
Her lips parted slightly. “What?”
He opened his mouth to speak.
But before he could utter a word, the field darkened.
The sky twisted into a shade of deep crimson. The crops shriveled and died around them, wilting into ash. A cold wind howled through the silence.
He looked back at her—and she was no longer the woman he knew.
Her eyes had gone hollow. Her face pale, twisted. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. Her voice was a whisper carried by the wind.
“Raghav...” Tanvi screamed
He gasped—and woke up with a start.
The room was quiet, save for the sound of his own ragged breathing. He sat upright, sweat trickling down his temple. The echo of her voice still clung to his ears, refusing to fade.
Who was she?
Why did her sorrow feel so real?
He couldn’t shake the image of her eyes—the heartbreak, the rage, the unspoken love.
Still shaken, he rose from the bed and stepped into the hallway. A faint light flickered at the far end, near the small prayer room.
As he moved closer, he saw someone kneeling before the deities, whispering fervent prayers.
It was Sunanda—his mother.
She held a small copper plate, filled with marigold petals and rice grains. Her fingers trembled as she offered a diya to the idols.
Raghav stayed hidden in the shadows, not wanting to disturb her. But something tugged at him—an emotion he couldn't quite place. Guilt? Fear?
He listened quietly.
“Please, God,” Sunanda whispered, “protect my son. He doesn’t know what curse hangs over the family… what fate he’s tied to. Let him not suffer what others did. I pray for him to be safe. I beg you…”
Raghav's chest tightened. He stepped forward.
“Aai?”
She gasped and quickly wiped her tears. “Raghav? You’re awake?”
He nodded. “I… couldn’t sleep.”
Sunanda hesitated, then rose. “Come. Sit.”
They sat in the hallway, the cold floor grounding them in the quiet moment.
“You were praying,” he said gently.
She smiled faintly. “Just… asking God for strength.”
But Raghav could see it in her eyes. She was hiding something. Just like Kaka. Just like everyone else.
Before he could press further, a door creaked behind them.
"It's better to sleep Raghav" she sighed
Tanvi woke up with a sharp gasp, her heart racing as if it would burst out of her chest. The room was wrapped in early dawn silence, and beside her Raghav slept peacefully, unaware of the fear gripping her. She sat up slowly, pressing her palm against her chest. “It was just a dream,” she whispered to herself, yet her eyes drifted unwillingly toward the window.
