The Dream

CHAPTER 1 — THE DREAM

In the morning - 4:00 A.M.

The world outside was still wrapped in darkness when Divya's eyes opened — no alarm, no sound, just her body's quiet agreement with the hour. 4:00 A.M. Her favorite kind of silence.

She lay still for a moment, listening to nothing. The ceiling fan turning lazily above her. A dog barking somewhere down the street. The world, unbothered, asleep.

A smile tugged at her lips before she even sat up.

Yoga first — twenty minutes on the mat near her window, her breath syncing with the stretch and release of her muscles. Then a shower, fast and efficient, followed by a simple cotton suit in soft peach, her wet hair braided loosely down her back.

By the time she stepped into the temple room, the scent of sandalwood incense curled lazily through the air, mixing with the cool pre-dawn breeze from the open window.

She folded her hands.

Closed her eyes.

"Radha Rani... Krishna ... thank you for another day," she whispered.

For those few minutes, the world outside ceased to exist. There was no traffic, no noise, no ambition, no fear. Just her, the small brass idols, and a peace she had never once had to search for.

By the time the sun fully rose, the kitchen had transformed into a battlefield of contentment — pans clattering, spices hissing, the smell of parathas filling every corner of the house.

Divya hummed an old Bollywood tune under her breath as she plated everything with the care of someone setting a banquet. Parathas, stacked high. Poha, garnished with coriander and lemon. A tray of cut fruit arranged like flower petals. Sandwiches cut into neat triangles. Coffee, two sugars, just how her father liked it.

Her mother, Suman, walked in mid-yawn — and stopped dead in the doorway.

"Divya..." she said slowly, eyes scanning the table like it might be a trick of the light.

Divya glanced up, all innocence. "Hmm?"

"What is all this?" Suman gestured at the food threatening to spill off the edges of the table. "Did we invite the entire neighborhood for breakfast?"

Divya burst into laughter, nearly dropping the spatula. "Maa!"

"Then explain," Suman said, crossing her arms, fighting her own smile. "Why have you cooked enough to feed an army?"

A mischievous grin spread across Divya's face as she placed a dramatic hand over her heart. "Because today is special."

Suman raised an eyebrow. "And what exactly is special?"

"We're going out for dinner tonight," Divya announced, like she was revealing state secrets.

Silence.

Suman blinked. Once. Twice.

Divya continued, completely undeterred, voice swelling with pride. "So, I've decided none of us are eating lunch today."

"What?"

"Exactly!" She nodded enthusiastically, spatula waving like a conductor's baton. "I'm going to have a royal breakfast, skip lunch entirely, and save all the space in my stomach for dinner. It's strategy, Maa. Pure strategy."

Suman stared at her for a long moment. Then laughed — the kind of laugh that came from somewhere deep and fond. "You are impossible."

"I prefer the word 'intelligent,'" Divya said primly, plating the last paratha.

"Silly girl."

"Hungry silly girl," Divya corrected, grinning. "Now sit, sit — before Papa and Arjun comes and eats everything before we even get a plate."

Right on cue, footsteps thundered down the stairs. Her father, Advocate Rajesh Verma , walked in adjusting his glasses, already mid-sentence about some case from the week before. Her Elder brother Arjun trailed behind him, hair sticky , just arrived from gym , already reaching for a paratha before he'd even sat down.

"Oye! Wash your hands first," Suman scolded, swatting his hand away.

"Five more seconds and I'll starve, Maa," he protested, mouth already half full.

Rajesh chuckled, settling into his chair. "Let the boy eat, Suman. Growing body, growing appetite."

"Growing body my foot," Suman muttered, though she was smiling. "He's twenty-six , not five."

The table dissolved into easy chaos — her father cracking a terrible pun about a "case" of missing parathas, her brother retaliating with an exaggerated impression of him in court, Divya laughing so hard that coffee nearly came out of her nose, which only made everyone laugh harder.

It was ordinary.

Simple.

Perfect.

And she wouldn't have traded it for anything in the world.

By afternoon, the house had gone quiet, the kind of stillness that only settles in after a heavy meal and a hot day. The ceiling fan spun overhead at its usual lazy pace. Outside, the street had gone silent under the weight of the sun.

Divya yawned, eyes heavy, the breakfast finally catching up to her in full force.

"Just ten minutes," she mumbled to no one, pulling her blanket up despite the heat, eyes already fluttering shut.

Famous last words.

Sleep claimed her almost instantly — deep, heavy, the kind that pulls you somewhere you don't expect to go.

The shadows shifted.

Slowly. Painfully slowly.

A room took shape around her — unfamiliar, vast, lit by a single source she couldn't place. And in the center of it, a chair. A throne, almost. And in that chair, a man's face began to emerge from the dark like ink bleeding into water.

A sharp jawline.

Cold, unreadable eyes.

A presence so heavy it seemed to swallow the air in the room.

Divya's breath caught somewhere in her throat.

No.

It couldn't be him.

Not here. Not in her dream.

The figure leaned forward, slow and deliberate, and for the first time she saw him fully — and her blood ran cold. Her body went rigid before her mind even understood why.

"A... aap...?" The words barely escaped her, more breath than sound.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. Fast. Too fast. The walls of the dream seemed to press inward, the space shrinking around her until there was nowhere left to step back to.

Why was he here?

"No..."

"Anyone but him."

"Why is he in my dreams again?"

Rudra didn't speak. Didn't blink. He simply watched her — patient, still, terrifyingly calm — as if her arrival in this place wasn't a surprise at all. As if he had simply been waiting. As if he had always known she would come.

A chill crawled up her spine.

She took a step back. Then another.

But his gaze never left her — and somehow, that stillness terrified her more than if he had crossed the room and grabbed her by the wrist.

"A...aap..." she tried again, voice cracking.

And then —

Divya jolted upright, a scream dying somewhere in her throat before it could fully form. Her chest heaved. Sweat beaded along her hairline despite the fan still spinning overhead.

Her hands came together instinctively, trembling.

"Radha Krishna... Radha Krishna... Radha Krishna..." she whispered, over and over, like the words alone could scrub the image from behind her eyes.

But no matter how tightly she squeezed her eyes shut, she could still see him.

Sitting on that throne.

Waiting.

Watching.