The banyan had whispered truths, but it wasn't finished.
Nandipur woke to a sky smeared with the ash of clouds, heavy and trembling with a tension that made birds restless and dogs howl before dawn. The air, thick and electric, hung with a promise—or a threat.
The four strangers who had stood beneath the banyan now found themselves drawn together, not by choice, but by necessity.
---
🔹 **Avni** paced near the town square, clutching a bundle of old papers she'd found in her grandmother's attic. Among them were sketches of the banyan and letters written in Bengali, warning of storms not of nature but of fate. Her writing had returned to her fingertips like a fever, but the words came with urgency. _"There's something wrong,"_ she murmured aloud.
🔹 **Rohan**, skeptical as always, had traced government records online and uncovered an old project: "Project Ātmadrśṭā"—The Seer Within. A failed experiment involving electromagnetic frequencies emitted by ancient trees. His father's name was on the last page, crossed out in red. He cycled through town with panic disguised as curiosity. _"The banyan's not just old—it's watching us,"_ he said to Avni, breathless.
🔹 **Tara** had been painting furiously. Her latest mural—unplanned—showed the banyan twisted into a whirlpool, with faces caught in its branches. She hadn't even remembered starting it. She'd stopped sleeping, yet felt more awake than ever. Her mother tried grounding her. Tara whispered, _"The tree's dreaming again… and it's pulling us into it."_
🔹 **Dev** heard none of this. He knew. That evening, as lightning teased the horizon, he stepped into the local temple and placed a single item at the altar: the broken photograph of the boy. He bowed deeply, then vanished into the banyan's shadow.
---
⛈️ **The Storm Arrives**
Night fell violently. Winds roared like ancient drums. Nandipur's lights flickered and died, plunging the town into monochrome dread. Rain lashed sideways, but the banyan stood untouched—swaying, but never bending.
The four strangers arrived separately but somehow together, drawn to the tree's base. A ring of fireflies circled them. Time stilled again.
The banyan pulsed. The ground cracked. And then—it spoke.
But not in sound.
Each of them fell backward into memory, vision, and something else. A shared dreamscape. Not metaphorical. Real.
They stood inside a version of Nandipur not bound by time. The banyan towered like a deity. Around it, hundreds of people from across eras sat in circles—praying, crying, shouting, begging. Ghosts? Or echoes?
Dev turned to the others and said, _"This is the truth Rohan's father found. The banyan is a gate. Not to the afterlife. But to unfinished stories."_
Avni saw her grandmother, writing one final page. Tara saw her future self painting not murals, but maps that revealed hidden things. Rohan saw a version of his father, smiling.
Then—chaos.
The storm breached the dream. Branches whipped like blades. Cries rang out. And one figure rose from the center: the boy from Dev's memory.
"Do you choose to remember?" he asked them.
Together, they did.
---
Suddenly, they were back beneath the banyan.
The storm had ended.
No rain. No wind.
Only silence.
But inside each of them, something had shifted. They had crossed a threshold. Not all reckoning is loud.
---