Midnight (Nivan's Dream)
The digital clock on the wall glowed a stark red: 12:00 AM. The hostel was submerged in a deep, almost sacred silence, broken only by the synchronized breathing of its sleeping inhabitants. The world outside their window was a canvas of inky black, punctuated by the distant, lonely hoot of an owl.
In this realm of shadows and subconscious, Nivan was trapped in a tempest. His body was still, but behind his closed eyelids, a storm raged. He was running through a fog-shrouded forest, the scent of damp earth and pine thick in the air. A figure, tall and imposing, stood ahead, its features blurred but its presence terrifyingly familiar. A name, a key to a locked-away memory, fought its way to the surface.
At midnight... Nivan (muttering in his dream, his voice a strained, desperate whisper): "We will meet again, Rudra... We will meet again..." The name hung in the silent room, a ghost from a forgotten past.
Ruhan, a light sleeper, had gotten up to drink water, his throat parched. The small night light cast long, dancing shadows across the room. As he passed Nivan's bed, the muttered words froze him in his tracks. The name wasn't just any name; it was a name that echoed in the deepest, most haunted chambers of his own mind. He leaned closer, his heart hammering against his ribs.
He shook Nivan's shoulder gently but firmly. Ruhan: "Nivan? What happened, Nivan? Whose name were you saying just now?"
Nivan (waking up suddenly, his eyes flying open, a little panicked): "What? I didn't say anyone's name." He sat up abruptly, the sheets tangling around his legs. A fine sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead, catching the dim light.
Ruhan's voice was low but insistent. "No, I heard it. You just said 'Rudra'."
The color drained from Nivan's face. "No... you must have misunderstood." He avoided Ruhan's searching gaze, focusing instead on a crack in the wall, his mind racing to build a wall of denial.
Ruhan knelt beside the bed, his expression earnest. "No, I haven't misunderstood, Nivan. I heard it clearly, you said 'Rudra'. Who is Rudra?"
Nivan (his voice tight, laced with a fear he couldn't conceal): "I don't know... I must have said it without thinking. It was just a dream, man. Let it go, just let it go." He ran a trembling hand through his disheveled hair.
Seeing his friend's genuine distress, Ruhan (calming down a bit) backed off, though the questions continued to scream in his head. "Okay... okay. Want some water? You look pale."
Nivan nodded, his shoulders slumping in relief. "Yes, my head feels heavy." Ruhan fetched a glass of water from the table. Nivan's hands shook slightly as he took it, the water sloshing precariously. He drank it in one long gulp, the cool liquid doing little to quell the heat of his anxiety. "Thanks, Ruhan," he mumbled, handing the empty glass back.
Ruhan managed a small, reassuring smile and nodded. "You sleep, I'm going to sleep too." He returned to his own bed, the springs creaking softly under his weight.
Nivan fell back onto his pillow, closing his eyes and feigning sleep, but his mind was a prison of echoing footsteps and a name he wished he could forget. Ruhan lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, its textured surface morphing into faces and shadows in the dark. Many questions were swirling in his mind, each more unsettling than the last. Rudra. Why does that name feel like a key? Why does it feel like it belongs to me? And why is it haunting Nivan's dreams the same way it haunts mine? Sleep was a distant shore he could no longer reach.
---
The Truth Begins to Surface
Hostel Rooftop (Next Morning)
The next morning dawned bright and clear, a stark contrast to the murky confusions of the night. Everyone had a hurried breakfast and got busy with their work, the mundane routine a comforting blanket over the previous night's strangeness. But Ruhan carried the weight of his sleepless night like a heavy cloak. Needing space to think, he found himself standing alone on the hostel rooftop, the morning sun warm on his skin. The city sprawled out before him, alive and noisy, but he felt detached from it all, lost in the labyrinth of his own thoughts.
Just then, the metallic door to the rooftop creaked open, and Neerav stepped out, his cheerful demeanor a jolt to the solemn atmosphere.
Neerav: "What's up, bro? You're standing here alone, looking like you've seen a ghost? Everything alright?"
Ruhan turned, his eyes shadowed with worry. "Bro, I need to tell you something. Listen to me, and please, don't judge me for how crazy this sounds."
Neerav's expression shifted to one of immediate concern. He clapped a hand on Ruhan's shoulder. "Of course, bro! Why wouldn't I? We're friends, aren't we? You can tell me anything."
Ruhan let out a frustrated sigh. "Oh, come on, man... Sorry. It's just... Listen... I see something different in Nivan. I can't explain it. When he's around, I feel this strange energy, this pull, like a forgotten melody. And when he's not, it feels like someone has gone far away, leaving a silence that's too loud."
Neerav's brow furrowed in confusion. "What are you saying, bro? That sounds... intense."
Ruhan leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "I mean, last night I heard him talking in his sleep. He was saying my name... but he didn't say 'Ruhan', he said 'Rudra'."
Neerav's eyes widened in disbelief. "What? Rudra? And that too from Nivan? You must have misheard, bro. Maybe he was mumbling."
Ruhan shook his head vehemently. "No, I heard it clearly. Twice. 'We will meet again, Rudra.' And when I asked him about it this morning, he avoided my gaze completely and started sweating, just like I panic when I wake up from my own dreams. It was the same look, Neerav. The exact same fear."
A dawning realization began to light up Neerav's face. "So you mean... your dreams are linked, right? This isn't just a coincidence anymore."
Ruhan's voice was a desperate whisper. "I don't know... and that's the most terrifying part. We need to find out. We have to."
Neerav, ever the man of action, straightened up. "Then I'll go ask Nivan right now. Let's get this sorted out."
Ruhan grabbed his arm, stopping him. "No! Don't! I tried asking him, but he shut down completely. He wouldn't tell me anything. I think maybe he, like me, is scared. He doesn't tell anyone about those mysterious dreams either. He's hiding it, just like I have been."
Neerav pondered this, his initial impulsiveness giving way to strategy. "Could be... but it could also be a massive coincidence, right? Two guys having weird dreams."
"Maybe," Ruhan conceded, "but I feel something strange when he's around. An intuition. A connection I can't ignore."
"Bro," Neerav said, a new idea sparking in his eyes, "then there's only one way to find out the truth without scaring him off. I've noticed Nivan sometimes leaves the hostel very early in the morning, before anyone else is awake. He's secretive about it. Maybe we can find out something from there."
Ruhan's interest was immediately piqued. "Really? Is that so? Where does he go?"
Neerav's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "I have an idea. You follow him without telling him, okay? See where he goes, what he does. It's the only way to get answers if he won't talk."
Ruhan nodded, a grim determination settling on his face. "Okay. I'll do it."
Just then, Neerav glanced over the rooftop's edge and his eyes widened. "Bro, he's leaving! He said he was leaving early today, and there he is! Hurry up, he'll get away!"
Ruhan's heart leapt into his throat. He looked down and saw Nivan, a backpack slung over his shoulder, walking briskly away from the hostel gates, his head down as if carrying the weight of the world. Without another word, Ruhan turned and ran, his footsteps echoing on the concrete stairs. He burst out of the hostel entrance, his eyes scanning the street. Spotting an idle rickshaw, he jumped in, his voice urgent.
"Uncle, see that boy in the blue shirt? Just follow him. Don't get too close."
The rickshaw driver nodded, kicking the vehicle to life. And so, the pursuit began, Ruhan's heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his chest, each turn taking him closer to a truth that was beginning to surface, whether he was ready for it or not.