The bus groaned like an old wounded animal as it bounced over potholes, dragging a cloud of dust behind it. Anisha held the metal bar tightly, trying not to fall into the stranger next to her—or spill the cup of chai she'd bought from a sleepy roadside vendor minutes before boarding.
Of course, the chai betrayed her.
A golden splash ran down her kurti.
"Perfect," she muttered. "Just perfect."
Her hair—loose, stubborn, and full of its own attitude—kept whipping across her face as if mocking her.
If she had known what waited for her in Bhubaneswar, she would've stayed home, stayed in her lane…
stayed in her old, safe, predictable life.
But fate didn't care for her plans.
She stepped off the bus and stood before the towering glass office building—tall, reflective, and faintly menacing in the morning light. The panels gleamed like silent, silver judges, evaluating her from head to toe.
"This is it," she whispered to herself. "Act normal. Act like you belong."
The elevator doors opened with an elegant ding. Anisha clutched her bag strap as if it could shield her from the universe's chaos. She wasn't just here to chase a dream job—she was here for her mother, drowning in bills; her cousins, who counted on her; and for the hollow space her father's absence had carved into her childhood.
She wanted a life bigger than her small town.
She wanted freedom.
She wanted… more.
The reception area was cold, sleek, and polished—too perfect, too silent. A giant wall painting showcased the city skyline, and somehow, even that seemed to disapprove of her chai-stained existence.
She lifted her hand to adjust her kurti.
"Anisha?"
She froze.
That voice.
Deep. Smooth. Controlled.
And terrifyingly familiar.
A sound she had heard for years…
But only in her dreams.
She turned slowly.
And the world fell completely silent.
He was standing there—tall, refined, dressed in a black suit that carved his silhouette with impossible perfection. His eyes were a shade she couldn't name—cold, sharp, ancient somehow… and yet they softened the moment they rested on her.
Her breath caught.
He was real.
The man who had haunted her nights…
who lived in shadows of her childhood memories…
who appeared at the darkest, strangest edges of her imagination—
stood right in front of her.
Her heartbeat stuttered violently.
"I've been expecting you," he said.
Expecting her?
"I—I, um… yes. Thank you," she managed, her voice embarrassingly fragile.
His gaze traveled over her—slow, assessing, as if he were mapping her soul rather than her face.
"You traveled far," he murmured.
"Yes. From Varanpur. The bus was… um… eventful. Dust. Chai. Chaos."
Why am I talking??
Something shifted in his eyes—recognition? amusement? something deeper?
"You've grown."
She blinked.
Her stomach flipped.
Her mind screamed: How do you know that? Who are you really?
He gestured toward a corridor. "Come."
She followed him into a conference room—polished wooden table, cool air conditioning, silent walls. But the real tension came from him.
He sat across from her, hands clasped, posture perfectly still—as though any movement could break the room's fragile calm.
"Why this job, Anisha?" he asked.
Her mind raced.
Professional answer. Honest answer. Safe answer.
But something inside her whispered:
Tell him the truth.
"To support my family," she said quietly.
"To build a life on my own terms. To… escape what has been holding me back."
His eyes sharpened.
"Escape?" he echoed.
"Yes." Her voice trembled. "I want to be free."
He leaned back, watching her. Studying her. Reading her in ways that made her skin warm and her heart panic.
"You look familiar," he said suddenly.
His tone was soft… but there was something darker, deeper underneath.
Something dangerous.
Her throat tightened.
She could lie.
But something inside her refused.
"Yes," she whispered.
"In… dreams."
He went still.
So still, she worried he'd stopped breathing.
"In dreams," he repeated, voice low and unreadable. "That… is unexpected."
Her cheeks burned. "I mean—maybe they're memories? Sometimes dreams feel too real, you know?"
He didn't speak.
Didn't blink.
Just watched her with an intensity that pinned her in place.
"You're clumsy," he said finally, breaking the tension with a faint tilt of his lips.
Her jaw dropped.
"Excuse me?"
"You spilled chai on your kurti," he said calmly. "And yet you're sitting here, determined as ever. Brave. Disheveled. And… strangely captivating."
Strangely captivating.
The words sank into her like a warm breath against her neck.
She swallowed hard. "I wasn't prepared. The bus was—"
"Chaotic," he finished for her.
His eyes softened, almost regretfully.
"You always attract chaos."
Her chest tightened.
Always?
Before she could ask, his gaze drifted—inward, haunted—like he was remembering something she wasn't allowed to see.
"Anisha," he said quietly.
"I've waited a long time to meet you."
Her breath hitched.
"Waited… why?"
His expression darkened—beautifully, mysteriously, dangerously.
"Because some people do not belong only to dreams," he said.
"Some connections survive… even when memories do not."
Her blood ran cold and warm at the same time.
A strange dizziness wrapped around her.
"Who are you?" she whispered.
Before he could answer—
The door burst open.
A secretary walked in with documents. Anisha jolted, nearly knocking her bag over. The spell snapped.
Reality rushed back in with fluorescent lights and paper stacks.
She signed forms with trembling fingers, trying desperately to steady her breath.
But her mind kept returning to him—his voice, his eyes, the impossible deja vu that wrapped around her like fate itself.
When she stood to leave, he spoke again—too softly for anyone else to hear.
"Anisha," he murmured, "your dreams were not lies. And neither was I."
Her pulse tripped wildly.
As she stepped out of the room, she realized something terrifying:
Nothing in her life would ever be normal again.
Because the man from her dreams—
the one she feared, loved, imagined, and tried desperately to forget—
was alive. Real. And watching her.
And he seemed to know her…
better than she knew herself.
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