Chapter - 3

(Aryan’s POV)

The sun had just begun to rise over the Delhi skyline, casting a golden glow over the city. My alarm buzzed at exactly 5:00 AM. Like every morning, I shut it off and got out of bed without hitting snooze. Discipline. That’s something I’d built into my life early on.

I headed to the living room and rolled out my yoga mat. Stretching and working out had always helped me stay focused. With a few push-ups, planks, and then a long run on the treadmill, I cleared my head. But no matter how hard I tried, one thing always lingered—those strange dreams.

They started a few months ago. And recently, they had grown stronger…more real.

The last one shook me to the core.

A temple. Flames everywhere. Smoke rising. Screams echoing through the air. And a girl—no, a woman—lying motionless on the cold marble floor of a grand Shiv-Shakti temple. Her face was blurry, but her long hair was spread like a river of ink. My heart ached in the dream. I tried to reach her, running through the smoke, stumbling, calling her name—but I couldn’t hear myself. I could never reach her.

And then—darkness.

I ran faster on the treadmill, trying to outrun the feeling.

“Still fighting demons, Romeo?” came a familiar voice.

I turned and saw Reva, standing at the doorway of the kitchen in her oversized AIIMS hoodie, a bowl of cereal in her hand.

“Not demons. Dreams,” I replied, grabbing a towel.

“Sure, sure. Dreams with blurred faces and emotional trauma,” she teased, plopping onto the sofa. “You know, you could try therapy instead of cardio.”

“Thanks for the advice, Dr. Reva,” I said, walking over to the kitchen. “Aren’t you late for rounds?”

She looked at the clock and shouted, “Crap! Why didn’t you wake me up?”

I laughed as she ran off to change. That’s how our mornings usually went. A little chaos, a little laughter. Living with Reva was sometimes like having a pet tornado. But I loved her more than I admitted.

By 8:30, I was out the door and on my way to the office. My firm, Rajawat Design Studio, was still new. It wasn’t some huge success yet, but I was proud of every brick and every drawing on the wall. I’d built it with my own hands, not leaning on my family’s name.

My phone buzzed. It was a message from Mom.

Mom: Call when you’re free, beta. We’re heading back to Udaipur next week.

I smiled. I missed her voice. Missed Dad’s firm way of speaking. Missed Yuvraj bhaiya’s sarcastic jokes. Childhood memories always came rushing back at the oddest times.

As a kid, we’d spend every summer in Udaipur. Riding horses near the lake palace, eating spicy kachoris at roadside stalls. Once, Dad taught me how to climb a tree to pluck mangoes. I fell and broke my arm. But he laughed and said, “Real kings don’t cry.”

And every Diwali, we’d light hundreds of diyas around the old haveli. Reva, just a toddler, once tried to eat a diya thinking it was dessert. Yuvraj still teases her about it.

Those memories—they came like little flashes. Sweet, warm, painful in a soft way.

I reached the office, a modest two-storey building in South Delhi. The receptionist smiled as I walked in.

“Good morning, sir. Mr. Mehra is waiting for you.”

I nodded and walked into the meeting room.

Rakesh Mehra, one of our engineers, stood with blueprints in hand.

“Sir, about the Krishna Residency project—the structural team says the base can’t support the rooftop garden as we planned.”

“Hmm,” I frowned, scanning the design. “Use steel reinforcement for those pillars. Slightly increase the column width. And reduce the load on the far-left corner by adjusting the water feature. Got it?”

He nodded, impressed. “Got it, sir. You think fast.”

“I’ve dreamed of buildings since I was ten, Mehra. It’s kind of my thing,” I said, half-smiling.

But not all my dreams were about buildings anymore.

That afternoon, I sat alone in my cabin, staring at a sketch I’d drawn the night before. It was a temple—massive, ancient, carved with symbols I didn’t know I remembered. I’d drawn it from a dream. One I’d seen again and again.

In that dream, the temple was burning.

I saw her—Ambika.

Though I didn’t know her face, I knew her name.

I didn’t know how. I just…knew.

And me—I wasn’t Aryan in the dream. I was Agastya.

A warrior. An orphan. A man in love.

The dream changed that night. For the first time, it wasn’t fire.

It was a wedding.

A temple lit with a hundred lamps. The scent of roses and jasmine in the air. A wedding.

I stood inside the Shiv Shakti Temple wearing warrior robes, my hands trembling with emotion. The girl beside me, dressed in red and gold, her face hidden behind a veil, was glowing. Priests chanted mantras. Our hands were tied together with a red thread.

Ambika.

I held her hand. We circled the sacred fire. I felt peace like never before.

Then…a whisper: In every lifetime…we find each other.

I woke up sweating. My heart pounding.

Ambika

The name echoed in my ears even though I didn’t remember saying it.

Who was she?

Why did I remember her?

And why did this temple feel so familiar?

After completing my work I went back to home.

That evening, I called Mom.

“Ma, you said you’re going back to Udaipur?”

“Yes, beta,” she replied warmly. “Your father wants to spend some time in the ancestral house. It’s been years.”

“Maybe I’ll visit too,” I said.

“You should. You always loved that place.”

We talked for a while—about Reva, about my office, about life. Her voice always calmed me.

Later, Reva and I sat on the balcony. She had coffee. I had green tea.

“You ever think about past lives?” I asked suddenly.

She looked at me like I’d grown two heads. “What is this, Netflix special hour?”

“I’m serious.”

She stared at the night sky. “Sometimes. There’s so much we don’t understand. Medicine teaches you that.”

“I think I was someone else once,” I said quietly. “A man named Agastya. I see things—temples, fire, a girl named Ambika. It’s like…I was in love with her.”

Reva didn’t laugh. Instead, she said, “You should write this down. Dreams are messages. Maybe you’re supposed to remember something.”

Maybe I was.

“Reva…” I started.

She looked up. “What?”

“I had that dream again.”

Her expression changed. Serious.

“The one with the temple?”

I nodded. “But it continued this time. I saw… a wedding. In the same temple. Fire, flowers, and I was the groom. And she was there. But her face… I still couldn’t see it.”

That night, I couldn’t sleep.

So I stepped onto the balcony. Delhi’s night sky was full of lights and noise. But my mind traveled back to Udaipur. My childhood.

Summer nights at our family haveli. Running barefoot through the gardens. My mother, Siya, calling us for dinner. My father, Virat Singh Rajawat, sipping chai while reading the newspaper. My elder brother Yuvraj being the responsible one. And me? Always dreaming. Always sketching.

We used to play hide and seek. Reva would always hide behind the same curtain, and we’d pretend not to find her.

I smiled at the memory.

Back then, life was simpler. The only dreams I had were of becoming someone my family could be proud of.

I missed them.

They were in Mumbai now, preparing to return to our hometown in Udaipur. I hadn’t visited in months.

My phone buzzed. Yuvraj Bhai.

“Bhai!” I picked up.

“Still alive or too busy being Delhi’s next star architect?”

I laughed. “Trying to keep up with your legacy, Mr. CEO.”

“Don’t. It’s boring. Do you know I sat in four back-to-back meetings today and none of them had snacks?”

I smirked. “Tragic. File a case.”

“Come visit. Mom’s already packing for Udaipur.”

“I will,” I said. “Soon.”

“You sound off. Everything okay?”

I paused. “Just… dreams. Weird ones.”

“Eat less cheese. And don’t fall in love in dreams—it’s a trap.”

I chuckled. “Too late.”

Yuvraj Bhai was always the elder brother who gave advice disguised as sarcasm. But I appreciated him more than I ever said out

At night, I opened my laptop and began writing. The memories—dreams—whatever they were, poured out.

Agastya. Warrior. Lost soul. Ambika. Princess. Light in the darkness.

And then…a face appeared in my mind.

Still blurry, but somehow…familiar.

She was real.

After writing down everything related to dream I went to bed but sleep didn’t come to me.

When I finally closed my eyes that night, the dream came again.

Temple bells echoed. Smoke danced in the air.

Ambika stood beside me, her hand in mine. The priest spoke sacred words. Flowers rained upon us.

And for one fleeting second, I saw her face.

Still blurred.

Still out of reach.

But this time... I saw her eyes.

And they looked right at me.

I woke up gasping.

Something had started.

Something I couldn’t ignore.

This wasn’t the end.

It was just the beginning.