The rain had started at 3:17 a.m.
Not outside.
Inside her room.
Suhani sat cross-legged on the floor of her tiny apartment in Delhi, candles flickering around her. Her palms hovered over an old silver bowl filled with water. She wasn’t a therapist. Not exactly. She wasn’t a priest either.
People called her an energy reader.
People came to her when nightmares became unbearable… when grief sat on their chest… when doctors said stress and the soul said something else.
Tonight’s client lived 6,700 kilometers away.
Dhruv Khanna.
A wealthy tech investor in London who hadn’t slept peacefully in two years.
His assistant had booked the session. “He suffers from strange dreams,” she had written. “He wakes up hearing a woman cry.”
Suhani closed her eyes and began the healing ritual through video call.
“Keep your camera on,” she whispered.
On the screen, Dhruv leaned back in his London penthouse, amused.
“You really think energy travels continents?”
“Energy doesn’t need visas.”
His lips twitched.
Then she started.
Soft Sanskrit chants. Slow breathing. Fingers moving above the bowl.
The air changed.
Dhruv stopped smiling.
For one terrifying second—
he saw her room.
Not through the camera.
Around him.
He could smell sandalwood.
Hear ceiling fan noise.
See a blue dupatta thrown on a chair.
His heartbeat increased.
The vision disappeared.
“Did you feel something?” Suhani asked.
“No.”
He lied.
—
After the session ended, strange things began.
The next morning Suhani rushed while watering plants before work. Half the water spilled across the floor.
“Damn,” she muttered.
Her phone rang.
Unknown international number.
London.
She answered while searching for a cloth.
Dhruv’s deep voice came.
“You dropped water.”
Silence.
Suhani froze.
“…What?”
“You dropped water near the balcony.”
Her stomach tightened.
“How do you know that?”
Another pause.
Then casually—
“Because I’m looking at it.”
Cold spread through her spine.
“What nonsense—”
Before she finished—
the puddle behind her started moving.
Not evaporating.
Moving.
Like invisible hands dragging a cloth across tiles.
The floor became dry.
Completely dry.
Her breath stopped.
The call disconnected.
—
Days passed.
The connection grew.
Dhruv could see fragments of her life without trying.
If she forgot milk on the stove—
he smelled burning.
If she cried at night—
he woke with wet cheeks.
If she lost earrings—
they appeared on the table beside him in London before vanishing again.
The universe had stitched their realities together during healing.
Neither understood why.
Neither wanted to admit they waited for it.
—
One evening Suhani returned exhausted after helping a grieving client.
She collapsed on bed without eating.
In London, Dhruv sat in an important board meeting.
Suddenly—
his chest hurt.
Not physically.
Loneliness.
Crushing loneliness.
Not his.
Hers.
He stood mid-meeting.
Ignored shocked investors.
Walked out.
Called her.
No answer.
Again.
Again.
Finally—
“She’s asleep,” he whispered to himself, somehow knowing.
His eyes drifted to his kitchen.
Without understanding why—
he made ginger tea.
Toast.
Cut fruit.
Placed everything on counter.
The room flickered.
The plate vanished.
—
Delhi.
Suhani woke hours later.
Her bedside table held warm tea.
Fresh toast.
Fruit.
Steam still rising.
Her hands trembled.
No one had keys.
No one had entered.
Beside the cup was a folded note in unfamiliar handwriting:
**Eat before healing others.
You keep saving people and forgetting yourself.
— London**
Tears filled her eyes.
Not from fear.
From something far more dangerous.
Being seen.
Completely.
By someone thousands of miles away.
—
Months later they would discover the truth:
The ritual had not opened a healing channel.
It had opened an unfinished bond.
A connection older than this life.
And the more they ignored it—
the stronger reality bent around them.
Objects moved.
Dreams merged.
Distances disappeared.
Until one day—
Dhruv woke in London…
and found muddy footprints near his bed.
Small footprints.
Barefoot.
Leading toward the mirror.
Where, for one second—
he saw Suhani standing behind him.
Smiling.
Not on a screen.
Not in a vision.
Real.
And whispering:
“Your turn. I can enter your world now.”
