The room was dark, except for the white glow of a table lamp that cast a faint circle of light in one corner.

Vardhaman sat in the chair, head resting in his palm, elbow propped on the desk, turning pages with a languid flick of his fingers. His narrowed eyes stayed fixed on a diagram, fingers hovering at the edge of the paper before he slowly flipped it aside. A soft exhale escaped him, blending with the rustle of pages as he shifted in his seat and tilted his head back to glance at the white ceiling above.

Beside him, Rudraksh lay on the bed, a thick white blanket pulled up near his shoulders. His eyeballs flickered every few seconds behind his shut lids, his face contorted, lips pressed together as though he wanted to scream but his throat was restraining every sound. The lines across his forehead deepened, yet no movement came. His body was rigid with stiffness.

A cyclone of wind swirled across the dark, deserted land. Dried leaves and dust particles danced violently in circles, as if ready to swallow anything in their path. Trees creaked in the distance, their branches thrashing, fighting for their existence against the killer storm.

In the middle of it stood a child, barely four, clutching the edge of his Ben 10 jacket. His innocent face was twisted, lips parting wide as another fit of crying echoed through the chaos.

"Mom...! Mom, where are you!"

Tears streaked down his reddened face, cutting through the dust that had settled on his skin, tracing long, dry paths to his chin. His small body trembled - not just from the cold, but from something far more frightening: being alone in a storm that didn't care whether he was a child or an adult.

In the distance, the woman's steps halted mid-air. The grey sky deepened into a heavy shade of black, folding in on itself like a collapsing hole. Her glistening eyes fluttered shut as a sudden gust of wind swept across her face. She looked over her left shoulder, fingers brushing the border of her pallu, half her face disappearing behind its drape.

Tears slipped down her cheek, her eyebrows drawing together at the sight before her - the child had extended his hand, crying breathlessly, hiccuping, calling for her.

"M-mom... mom, don't go... mom..."

The woman's face contorted. She jerked her head away and walked forward in long strides, her hands fluttering by her sides with each step.

"MOM!" The child's shrill cry tore through the air. He lunged forward, tripping over a stone, and fell flat on his stomach, one hand still stretched out. "Mom! Mom!"

"Rudra."

A gentle voice snapped the child out of his agony. He lifted his head, eyes scanning the surroundings before they landed on a pair of black eyes looking at him with so much affection.

The cyclone had settled. Dried leaves and dust had turned into flower petals, and fireflies lit up the dark atmosphere. The burning, foul smell from before faded into a soft, soothing fragrance. From the nearby trees, birds began to chirp in a sweet, rhythmic melody. Everything felt magical, unreal, yet entirely present.

The woman scooped Rudraksh's tiny frame into her arms, cradling him close to her chest. She caressed his cheek, wiping his tears away with the side of her thumb.

"From now on, call me Maa. I'm your mother, beta. I'm your mother." She gently grazed the back of his head, guiding it to rest in the crook of her neck.

Rudraksh's lips quivered into a smile, his little arms wrapping softly around her neck. Her smile deepened. She twirled, clutching him tightly in her arms. Their heads tilted back, laughter spilling out, blending with the rhythm of the air around them in a lively chorus.

Little Rudraksh giggled through his babbling.
"Hehe-hehe-hehe...! Maa... it's fun!"

The woman's gaze darkened. Her smile dropped, lips pressing into a thin line, teeth clenching beneath. Without a word, she picked up speed, spinning faster, her arms outstretched, Rudraksh's tiny frame still held tightly.

Suddenly, the child was hurled into the air. His little body soared, weightless and helpless.

He screamed, "Maa! Maa, I'll get hurt! Maa!" Tears poured down his soft cheeks.

The woman's lips curled into a snarl.

"I'm not your mother!" she spat, her voice bitter, sharper than a knife's edge, slicing through the silver of hope in his delicate heart.

Rudraksh landed on his butt... on a deserted train track.

He wasn't a little kid anymore. Now he was ten years old, dressed in cropped olive-green joggers and a half-sleeved white T-shirt. His knees were scratched, blood oozing out slowly, methodically, while his palms pressed against the burning stones beneath him.

A shrill train horn pierced the air. His ears twitched, his eyes widened. He turned his head, looking over his shoulder. The train was approaching. Fast. The track trembled beneath him, vibrating with a deadly rhythm.

Rudraksh scrambled to his feet, horror etched across his face, eyes blown wide. He ran, bare feet pounding the ground as fast as his legs could carry him. But the train surged forward, roaring like a beast on a mission, its metal body determined to crush the innocent soul sprinting for his life.

His face twisted, the train now inches from his back. And then, just as it seemed he would be swallowed whole, a firm hand yanked him off the track and onto the pavement.

A sixteen-year-old Antara, dressed in a red short kurti and leggings, clutched Rudraksh tightly to her chest. His ear rested against her pounding heart, her arms wrapped protectively around her little brother's trembling frame.

Behind them stood their parents - Anusuiya in a yellow saree and Aanand in a crisp white kurta.

Anusuiya was crying, lips quivering, her body shaking with every sob. Her hands reached out, fingers curling and uncurling, silently begging Rudraksh to come closer.

Rudraksh hesitated, but then slowly dragged his feet toward her and collapsed into his mother's arms.

Anusuiya held him close, cradling him with fierce tenderness, showering his face with trembling kisses.

"My child..." she whispered, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand, "I won't let anything happen to you, beta. I won't let you go anywhere. Never."

Aanand stood behind her, silent. His eyes were fixed on their son, his expression unreadable.

Rudraksh's tearful gaze shifted to his father... and horror washed through his black eyes.

From behind Aanand, that dark, swirling cyclone appeared once more, like a smiling demon. Its shadowy arms curved around Rudraksh, pulling him gently into its lap, before sweeping him away and hurling his body onto another stretch of deserted train track.

But it didn't hurt. Instead, it felt... soft.

Blue rose petals were scattered in thick layers beneath him, cushioning his fall. And beside him stood a boy his age - Karan.

Karan extended his hand and pulled Rudraksh into a warm, brotherly hug. Both boys grinned, then ran along the train tracks, their laughter echoing, grins stretched from ear to ear.

As they ran, their bodies shifted, transforming into teenagers. The blue petals slowly faded. In their place, red roses covered the tracks.

But scattered among them... were thorns.

Karan stopped at the edge of a vast blue sea, his fingers slowly loosening their grip on Rudraksh's wrist.

Rudraksh turned, confused, standing alone in the sea of red roses, uncertainty clouding his face.

His eyes widened. He was pulled into an embrace - a very soft, intimate hug. He felt his body shift again: no longer a teenager, but a young man in a black shirt and pants... held in the arms of the love of his life - Sanam, dressed in a deep red gown.

"I love you, Rudraksh. More than anything," Sanam whispered, holding his face in her palms. Closing her eyes, she slid one hand around his neck, pulling him closer. Her lips brushed softly against his trembling ones.

Rudraksh's eyes fluttered shut on their own. His arms slipped around her waist, deepening the kiss.

Then his eyebrows furrowed, and he pulled away. Blood streaked his lower lip - thick, dark, sticky.

Sanam was no longer smiling. She was laughing. Weirdly. Loudly. Like a wicked sorcerer.

"Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!"

Her head jerked back in maniacal delight, a finger pointing mockingly at him. "Fool! You thought I'd love you? Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Never!" Her eyes darkened, her voice turning venomous, teeth gritted. "Loser. Stupid. Coward."

Rudraksh froze. His body stiffened, breath catching in his chest.

The rose petals vanished. In their place, black vines sprouted - thick, slithering, armed with sword-sized thorns. They coiled around him like serpents, tightening, crushing his limbs one by one.

The train track beneath him split open in a perfect circle and swallowed him whole.

"Aaaaaa...!"

Rudraksh jolted upright with a strangled gasp, his chest heaving. The blanket slipped off his shoulders in a crumpled heap. Beads of sweat clung to his temples, and his hair, damp with moisture, stuck to his forehead. His eyes were wild, darting around the dimly lit room as if searching for an escape, like a caged animal cornered in its own mind.

His left wrist throbbed painfully inside the plaster cast, suspended in the white sling. The sudden jolt had tugged at it, sending a sharp sting spiraling up his arm. He winced, clutching the edge of the bed with his free hand, grounding himself against something real.

The pale white light of the desk lamp hummed in the silence, casting long, thin shadows across the walls.

Vardhaman had dozed off on the chair beside the desk, head tilted back slightly, mouth parted just enough to soften his snores.

Rudraksh swallowed hard, trying to push air down his raw, dry throat. His pulse didn't slow, it thundered in his ears like the train from his dream. He blinked, struggling to separate dream from reality. His lips parted as if to speak, but no sound came, only a faint tremble along his jawline.

Instinctively, he tried lifting his casted arm to wipe the sweat off his face, but the movement made him grunt in pain.

"Ah..."

"V-Vardhaman..." he croaked, barely audible. His voice sounded foreign to his own ears, raw and childlike, like it belonged to the four-year-old from his nightmare.

Vardhaman stirred. "Hmm?"

His eyes fluttered open, blinking against the light. When he saw Rudraksh upright, shaking, pale as death, he jolted to his feet, nearly tripping over the carpet's edge.

"Bhaiya...?! Hey-hey, bhaiya, you're -"

He cut himself off, crouching beside the bed, panic rising on his face.

"You're shaking," he said more softly, fumbling to place a hand on his brother's hunched back.

Rudraksh didn't respond. He pressed his good hand to his forehead, exhaling shakily, as if holding himself together through sheer will. No tears came, but the strain in his jaw, the twitch in his brows, and the occasional tremble in his lower lip made everything painfully clear.

"Was it a nightmare?" Vardhaman asked quietly.

Rudraksh's voice cracked. "I-" He stopped, jaw clenching. "I hate sleeping."

Vardhaman nodded slowly. He wasn't good at this - grief, trauma, the kind of pain that didn't bleed on the outside. But seeing his Rudraksh bhaiya like this - not angry, not yelling, just... broken - it shook him from the inside. It felt like being dropped into a strange room full of unfamiliar furniture and being asked to rearrange it in the dark.

"Water?" he offered, awkward but sincere.

Rudraksh gave a small nod, his gaze still fixed on some invisible point across the wall.

Vardhaman poured water from the copper jug on the desk, then handed the glass to him, careful not to brush against the cast.

Rudraksh took it with his good hand, fingers still trembling. He drank it all in one go.

The silence stretched afterward, filled only by their heavy breathing.

"I keep falling, Maan. Every damn night."
Rudraksh let out a sharp exhale, his fist curling into the mattress.

Vardhaman looked at him with a pinched expression. He wanted to say something... anything to stop this pain. But all he managed was:

"...It's not your fault, bhaiya."

Rudraksh breathed out a dry sound - half-laugh, half-sigh. "Isn't it?"

Vardhaman shook his head firmly. "No. Not at all."

Rudraksh turned slightly toward him, his half-lidded eyes dull and distant. "You're a med student," he said softly. "Fix this."

Vardhaman blinked. "What?"

"My head," Rudraksh whispered, tapping his temple with a knuckle. "Fix this mess. Chop it off. Replace it. Rewire it. Burn it down."

"...You're not a robot, bhaiya."

"Then why do I feel like one?" His voice cracked.
"Broken code, faulty system. Doesn't eat, doesn't sleep, doesn't feel anything right... except anger."

Vardhaman couldn't hold back anymore. His eyes glistened at the corners. He reached out, his hand landing gently on Rudraksh's shoulder.

"You don't have to be fixed, bhaiya. You just... have to be open to the help they're trying to offer. That's all."

Rudraksh's gaze fluttered, but no tears fell. Quietly, he let himself lean back against the headboard, eyes drifting toward the ceiling, staring lifelessly.

Vardhaman didn't say anything more. He simply sat beside the bed, one hand still resting lightly on Rudraksh's shoulder, the other clenched into a silent fist on his knee - unsure what to do with it, but steady in his resolve:

I will never leave your side, bhaiya. Never.

🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁

Kanishk tilted his head to the side, his eyes following the man standing before him, dressed in a black Nehru jacket and a pair of grey jeans. Beside him stood a teenage boy, his wheatish, oval face painted with a furious expression.

"Nakul bhaiya, this boy was annoying didi!" the boy snapped, pointing a straight finger at Kanishk.

Kanishk's brows shot up. He leaned back slightly, palms lifted near his shoulders. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Calm down, little typhoon. I wasn't annoying your sisters, alright? I was just trying to make her laugh. That's all. Nothing personal."

"Why?" Nakul's voice cut through, sharp and dry. "Who are you?"

Kanishk blinked. For a moment, he looked taken aback, then his expression shifted, a slow smirk spreading across his face. He rose from the chair leisurely, hands smoothing the nonexistent creases on his kurta sleeves. His narrowed eyes scanned Nakul's face, as if searching for the last piece of a complex puzzle.

"Aah... Nakul," he drawled, stepping forward. He wagged a finger near Nakul's face. "Bro, you welcome your guests like this... with a mafia attitude?" He clicked his tongue. "I'm the groom's younger brother, man. Kanishk. How can you forget that?" His eyebrows shot up. "Is this how in-laws are treating guests these days?"

Nakul's unblinking eyes remained fixed on him. The mention of "groom's brother" made his jaw clench just a fraction.

"Oh," he said, voice clipped. "The groom's brother." There was a beat of silence before the faintest, most plastic smile stretched across Nakul's lips. "That explains the overconfidence."

Kanishk chuckled, not entirely sure whether it was a joke or a jab. "Aha, you're funny."

"I wasn't trying to be," Nakul replied, his tone unpleasant. He turned to the younger boy beside him. "You go, Purav."

Purav opened his mouth to protest but closed it at Nakul's warning glance and stormed off.

Once the boy was gone, Nakul put an arm around Kanishk's shoulder. "Listen, Kanishk, is it? You don't know them."

Kanishk raised an eyebrow. "Whom?"

"My sisters."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. They don't laugh at strangers trying too hard. And you were flirting... cracking bad jokes in front of them - one who could barely keep her eyes open, and the other, who might act tough, but she's still eighteen."

Kanishk's lips twitched. "Sadly."

Nakul gave him a tight-lipped smile. "Good. That means you'll remember it." He walked past Kanishk, pausing briefly to look over his shoulder. "We're here for a wedding. Let's keep it simple."

Kanishk gave a slow nod, but his smirk returned the moment Nakul turned away. "You're fun, bro. Looking forward to more of this."

Nakul kept walking, muttering "bastard" under his breath.

🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁

The air outside the court complex buzzed with layered chaos. The sun reflected faintly off the windows of parked government vehicles. Lawyers in black coats rushed past each other, shouting into phones. Rickshaw bells clanged nearby. A TV reporter's mic bobbed in the crowd, searching for someone important. Hawkers shouted over one another near the gate.

The wind carried the sharp bite of winter, making people tug their shawls tighter or shove their hands into coat pockets. It was just another morning of arguments and anticipation.

Among them stood Siddharth under the shed of a Banyan tree, white shirt neatly tucked into black pants, his black court coat folded over his forearm. A few loose sheets fluttered in his hand as he scanned an affidavit, his brows knit in quiet focus.

He was surrounded by the grief-worn family of a young murder victim - the boy's father, mother, and elder sister, all visibly tense. The mother's saree pallu fluttered against the breeze as she wiped her eyes with its corner.

Flipping through the affidavit, Siddharth spoke with calm authority, "Don't worry. We've added the statement under Section 164. That's a sealed testimony. Even if he tries to influence the witness later, it won't hold." He chose each phrase carefully, grounding their shaken hope in facts and process.

The victim's father's hoarse voice trembled. "But... the Inspector said they might tamper with evidence. His people-"

Siddharth interrupted gently, placing a hand on the older man's shoulder. "And that's why I filed an early application under 439(2) this morning. We're asking the court to not just deny bail but tighten custody. He's not walking out this time. Not easily. Trust me."

The mother nodded, silently crying. The sister clenched the edge of her dupatta between her fingers.

A sudden noise rippled through the commotion. The crowd parted like waves.

Through the court gate came four policemen, escorting a man in handcuffs - thick‑bearded, mustached, eyes burning beneath furrowed brows. He walked as if he owned the place. Some clerks stepped aside instinctively, murmuring his name under their breath.

"Rafiq Ansari! The accused of raping a minor, and then murdering her! The son of a member from UP upper house is here everyone!" the media girl shouted over her mic. "And for your kind information, the politician himself was sentenced on charges of multiple murders! And now, we have his son here!"

All the cameras shifted toward the arrogant, unsocial man wrapped in power and authority.

As soon as he spotted Siddharth, he jerked against the constables' grip and lunged forward.

Before the constables could stop him, Rafiq grabbed Siddharth by the collar, yanking him until their faces were just inches apart.

Gasps filled the air. Some lawyers stepped back. A clerk dropped his files.

"You think this is over?" Rafiq growled, his voice thick. "I'm going for now, Solanki. But you better start counting back your bloody days." He leaned in, his breath hot and sour. "The day I'm out, your soul will leave this universe," he hissed. "And I'll be out soon. Very soon. Too soon. You have no idea of my power... my reach."

Without breaking eye contact, Siddharth calmly pried Rafiq's fingers off his collar, one by one. His eyes shifted to the lead constable, and he gave a subtle nod.

They pulled Rafiq back, but he thrashed violently, shouting over his shoulder as he was dragged away.

"THIS ISN'T OVER, SOLANKI! I'LL BE OUT BEFORE HOLI! THIS HOLI IT WILL BE YOUR BLOOD INSTEAD OF COLORS! WATCH!"

The constables pushed Rafiq into a white police jeep. The rear door slammed shut with a loud metallic thud. Some reporters nearby scribbled notes. One camera light blinked on.

Siddharth turned back to the victim's family, dusted his collar, and said, as if nothing had happened, "Sorry about that. Where were we?"

The sister gave a shaky smile. The father nodded, respect glowing through his worry.

The victim's mother spoke quietly, "You're not scared of him, are you, beta?"

Siddharth gave a faint smile, tucking the affidavit into his folder. "I don't argue with fear. I argue with facts."

🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁

On the dusty field of a government school, a decorated car stood elegantly. The sweet fragrance of rose and lily garlands tried to suppress the pungent smell of petrol wafting through the chaotic surroundings. A red sticker on the windshield reflected three bold words written in gold:

Jheel weds Sagar.

Beside the vehicle was a sea of relatives - women sobbing into their sarees, men standing with tight lips, trying hard not to reveal the welling emotions in their hearts. Meanwhile, children ran around carelessly, chasing one another with fists full of Dairy Milk and KitKat in their tiny hands.

Jheel's lips parted as she hugged her mother. "M-Mummy! I-I don't want to go..." she choked out, each word breaking between hiccups.

Beside her stood Sagar, wearing a blue tailored three-piece suit, unsure whether to intervene or stay back.

Stepping closer, he wrapped his arms gently around his newly-wedded wife from the side. "I'm here," he whispered, just loud enough for Jheel to hear. "Don't worry, we'll go home together. I'll take care of you."

Jheel kept crying, holding her mother close like a toddler. Her chooda jingled frantically as she tightened her grip. "Mummy...!"

Her mother caressed Jheel's back, her voice breaking between sobs. "Beta, this is how the world works. One day, every girl has to leave her maternal home and go to her in-laws' house. From now on, that is your home, and the people there are your family."

She wiped her daughter's tears gently and continued, "First your husband, then anyone else. Your husband's happiness is your happiness; your husband's sorrow is your sorrow. Never take any step that will make your maternal home bow its head in shame. We love you, beta. We will always love you." She scooped her face in her palms, planting a soft kiss on her forehead.

Jheel's father came forward before his son-in-law, his voice trembling. "We are handing over a piece of our heart to you. Please be careful with her. She is very delicate." He bowed, hands joined together.

Sagar's hands instinctively rose, fingers wrapping around his father's-in-law joined hands. "Please don't do this. Your daughter is my wife now. I will try my best to bring all the happiness of this world into her life."

In the quiet distance stood Ira and Panchhi, their faces somber, eyes glistening. Both sisters wore fresh, matching light-blue kurtis. A handkerchief dangled loosely from Ira's fist, its edge slightly crumpled. She occasionally wiped her nose on the soft fabric, silently observing the farewell scene.

"You'll miss your sister so much, won't you?"

"Huh?" Ira turned to her side, the handkerchief now hiding the tip of her nose, veiling half her expression.

Kanishk stood beside them - spine hunched slightly, hands folded behind his back, a wide grin pasted across his face. "You can come with me. We'll all live happily ever after." Straightening up, he pinched the skin near his throat. "I swear."

"Shut up," Ira muttered, walking off without sparing him another glance.

Kanishk's head snapped to the side, his grin faltering. His eyes widened as he tried to compose himself.

Panchhi's fingers had already curled tightly around the collar of his brown jacket. Her face was close, lips twisted into a quiet snarl. "If anything happens to our sister there-" her voice was low, sharp, "-I'll make sure the wild dogs have a joyous party with human meat that very evening."

She yanked his collar once, hard enough to make him stumble slightly, then pushed him back into place and stormed off after Ira.

Kanishk stood frozen, eyes blinking in slow motion, lips parted. "What was that...?"

A/N: So, everyone. I said, I won't be releasing any part for two months. But, if I stopped writing as a whole, this story will take forever to complete. My procrastination power is very strong. Thus, not regularly, but occasionally, I'll be releasing parts. Hope so. 🤞

Anyways, guys, how's it?

1. Did you enjoy the dream sequence, Rudraksh's nightmare?