Chapter 7: The Mark of Destiny
The morning sun streamed through the hostel windows, painting golden patterns on the floor where the boys were getting ready. There was a fresh energy in the air, the kind that follows a good night's rest—but not everyone had been blessed with one.
Ruhan noticed immediately. "Anvesh, what's wrong? You look a little upset."
Anvesh ran a hand through his already messy hair. "Nothing, man, just like that."
Neerav, tying his shoelaces, glanced up with concern. "Come on, tell us, are you missing home?"
"No," Anvesh sighed, the weight of sleeplessness evident in the shadows under his eyes. "I just didn't sleep well last night."
Nivan, who had been unusually quiet until now, offered softly, "Hey bro, it's a new environment, new bed. Maybe that's why."
The words were meant to comfort Anvesh, but they echoed hollowly in Nivan's own mind. He knew all too well about sleepless nights haunted by things far more disturbing than unfamiliar beds.
College and Parting Ways
The walk to college was filled with their usual banter, but Nivan participated only half-heartedly. After they submitted their assignments in the crowded hallway, he turned to the group.
"Listen guys, I have to step out for some work. I'll come straight to the hostel after finishing."
Ruhan's protective instincts immediately kicked in. "What happened, Nivan? Any problem?"
"No," Nivan said, perhaps too quickly. "Just some personal work."
Neerav clapped him on the shoulder. "Okay, dude, we're off. Don't get lost."
As his friends disappeared into the flow of students, Nivan felt a strange loneliness descend upon him. He caught a rickshaw and gave an address he never thought he'd need to visit.
The Psychiatrist's Office
Dr. Bhargav's office was calm and quiet, a stark contrast to the chaotic energy of college. The psychiatrist himself was a man in his fifties with gentle eyes that seemed to see more than they revealed.
"Sir," Nivan began, his voice unsteady, "I don't know how to explain what to tell you. I think I'm going a little crazy."
Dr. Bhargav gestured to the comfortable chair opposite him. "You tell me, I'll understand everything."
And so Nivan did. He spoke of the recurring dream—the flames, the peepal tree, the boy named Rudra screaming for Pratham, the chains, the suicide. He described the intensity of the emotions that felt more like memories than dreams. Then, with increasing unease, he recounted the incident with Atharv—the invisible force that had thrown the bully backward, the power that had surged through him unbidden.
Dr. Bhargav listened without interruption, his expression growing more thoughtful with each revelation.
"Look, Nivan," he said finally, "all this is connected to your subconscious mind. Often, some memories, experiences from past lives, or incomplete memories affect our conscious mind. Your case seems similar."
Nivan's hands tightened on the armrests. "But Doctor, I don't know anything like that. Past lives? That sounds..."
"Far-fetched? Perhaps." Dr. Bhargav leaned forward. "But Nivan, there's only one way to know about the dream for certain."
"What way, Doctor?"
"Hypnosis."
Nivan felt a chill. "Hypnosis?"
"Yes, Nivan. We will have to hypnotize you. Only then can we find out what is hidden behind the dream. Many times, our subconscious mind itself tells us the truth, which the conscious mind cannot understand."
The word hung between them, heavy with implication. After a long moment, Nivan nodded slowly. "Okay, Doctor, I'll come tomorrow morning."
"Very well, Nivan."
The Message and The Mark
Nivan returned to his hostel room feeling drained. The emptiness of the room amplified the echo of Dr. Bhargav's words in his mind. "Hypnosis… subconscious mind… memories of past lives…"
He sank onto the sofa, the weight of it all pressing down on him. For a while, he just sat there, lost in the maze of his own thoughts. Then, taking a deep breath, he deliberately shifted his focus to his friends—to Ruhan's protective presence, to Neerav's cheerful banter, to the normalcy they represented. The thought comforted him enough that he moved to his bed and gradually surrendered to exhaustion.
As Nivan drifted into a troubled sleep, the silence of his room was broken by the soft chime of his phone. The screen lit up, casting a faint glow on his face.
It was a message from Dr. Bhargav.
Dr. Bhargav: "Nivan, one more thing. Before we proceed tomorrow, I must ask: have you ever noticed any strange marks or symbols on your body, especially ones you can't explain? Sometimes, the subconscious manifests physically. Check your back."
Nivan's eyes fluttered open, the doctor's words pulling him from the edge of sleep. A cold dread trickled down his spine. He slowly sat up, his fingers hesitantly moving to the hem of his shirt.
With trembling hands, he pulled the shirt over his head and turned his back to the mirror on the wall.
What he saw made his blood run cold.
There, etched across his shoulder blades like a brand, was a symbol he had never seen before—and yet felt hauntingly familiar. It resembled an intricate, stylized flame intertwined with what looked like broken chains. The mark wasn't red or angry like a fresh wound; it was silvery-white, as if it had been there for a lifetime, waiting to be noticed.
In that moment, staring at the physical proof of his nightmares, Nivan understood one terrifying truth:
This was far more than a dream. This was a memory. And it was just beginning to awaken.
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