Dhruv spun around instantly.
Nothing.
The bedroom stood silent except for rain striking the glass walls of his London penthouse.
His pulse hammered.
But the mirror—
the mirror still carried faint fog on its surface.
As if someone had breathed onto it seconds ago.
Three words slowly appeared across the mist.
**Don’t be afraid.**
Then vanished.
—
Delhi.
At that exact moment, Suhani woke with a sharp gasp.
Her palms burned.
Actual red marks spread across her skin like she had held something hot.
Images crashed through her mind—
London rain.
Black piano.
A childhood photograph.
A locked room.
And Dhruv sitting alone at age twelve, crying beside a hospital bed.
She opened her eyes immediately.
No.
This wasn’t normal sharing anymore.
She wasn’t seeing present moments.
She was entering memories.
—
The next day she called him.
“You saw me.”
His voice on the phone turned unusually quiet.
“…You left footprints.”
Silence.
Then—
“I didn’t mean to.”
“What does that mean?”
Another silence.
The kind carrying fear.
Finally Suhani whispered:
“Dhruv… I think I reached your subconscious.”
His breathing changed.
Because he already suspected something worse.
The previous night—
while half asleep—
he had heard her humming in his apartment.
Not imagination.
Actual humming.
The same melody she used before healing sessions.
And his coffee machine had turned on by itself.
Her favorite song played.
He didn’t even know her favorite song.
—
Weeks passed.
The bond strengthened.
It no longer needed rituals.
No calls.
No concentration.
Sometimes Dhruv would open wardrobe doors and find fabrics he never owned—
Indian cotton kurtas.
Her perfume.
Jasmine.
Sometimes Suhani would sit in Delhi traffic and suddenly hear London police sirens.
Feel cold wind.
Taste black coffee.
His experiences became hers.
Hers became his.
Their loneliness began dissolving.
Quietly.
Dangerously.
—
One winter night London temperature dropped below zero.
Dhruv returned home exhausted.
His company was collapsing.
A partner had betrayed him.
For the first time in years—
he broke.
Not dramatically.
No shouting.
No tears.
Just sat on kitchen floor staring at nothing.
Empty.
That kind of sadness.
Across continents—
Suhani dropped the book in her hands.
Her chest tightened painfully.
His pain.
She knew instantly.
Not details.
Just truth:
**He is alone.**
Before thinking—
she closed eyes.
Reached.
The way healers do.
The way souls do.
“Dhruv.”
Her whisper crossed something beyond distance.
—
London.
Dhruv looked up sharply.
The apartment lights flickered.
Warm air filled the freezing room.
Then—
soft footsteps.
Real.
Slow.
Approaching.
His body froze.
Near the kitchen doorway—
a blurry figure appeared.
Not fully human.
Not transparent either.
Like moonlight taking shape.
Long hair.
Loose kurta.
Bare feet.
Suhani.
His breath stopped.
“You…”
Her expression held the same calmness as healing sessions.
“You forgot to eat again.”
Even now.
Even like this.
He almost laughed from disbelief.
Instead his eyes filled unexpectedly.
The figure noticed.
Of course she noticed.
“Your heart is very loud today,” she murmured.
His voice cracked.
“Am I losing my mind?”
The apparition moved closer.
“No.”
“Then what is happening to us?”
For the first time—
she looked uncertain.
Almost sad.
“I think… parts of us recognise each other.”
His brows furrowed.
“From where?”
Her answer came quietly:
“Maybe from before.”
Before what?
Before London?
Before Delhi?
Before this life?
—
The lights burst off.
Darkness swallowed the apartment.
And suddenly—
both of them saw it.
Not separately.
Together.
A memory.
Not theirs.
Yet theirs.
Ancient stone walls.
Oil lamps.
A woman healing wounded people with herbs.
A man leaving for war.
His hand holding hers.
His promise:
**If not this lifetime… I will find you in another.**
Then blood.
Separation.
Waiting.
Years.
Centuries.
Loneliness.
The vision shattered violently.
—
Dhruv collapsed forward, breathing hard.
The figure of Suhani flickered.
Becoming unstable.
Her eyes widened in fear.
“Dhruv…”
“What?”
Something had changed.
The warmth disappeared.
Cold entered.
Not weather.
Presence.
Another presence.
Watching.
Old.
Patient.
Behind Dhruv.
Her face lost colour.
For the first time since meeting him—
Suhani sounded frightened.
“Don’t turn arou
nd.”
His body stiffened.
“…Why?”
Her voice shook.
“Because I think whatever connected us…”
The kitchen clock stopped.
1:11 a.m.
Every electronic screen turned black.
And on each screen appeared the same sentence:
**The bond was never meant to reopen.**
Then another line formed beneath it—
slowly.
Like someone typing from the other side.
**You have been found.**
