Her eyes finally flicked up to meet his. "It's not just dreams, Shivam. They hurt. Every time. Like someone carving inside my skull with a blunt knife. I wake up gasping, drenched. Sometimes with nosebleeds." She swallowed hard. "I thought it was just stress, but stress doesn't make you draw the same crystals over and over again without realizing it."
For a moment, Shivam didn't know what to say. He felt the weight of her words settle inside him, heavy, pressing against memories he had tried to keep buried. He remembered the first time he'd seen Noctirum shards near up close during their raids in Samaypur mine, how their light felt like it could peel his skin from the inside out.
He remembered the ringing pain in his chest when that blade had pierced him. And now here she was, describing echoes of it like she'd been standing next to him back then.
He clenched his fists under the table, grounding himself before his voice came out. "Bhumika… why haven't you told anyone before this?"
Her laugh was bitter, sharp. "Because it sounds insane. 'Hey, I dream of glowing rocks and faceless friends and wake up like I've been electrocuted.' That's not exactly something you drop into casual conversation."
"I don't think you're insane," Shivam said firmly, his voice cutting through the low buzz of the café.
Her eyes flicked back to him, wide for a second, searching his face.
"You shouldn't have to carry that alone," he added, softer now.
The tightness in her shoulders eased just a fraction. She looked down again, tracing circles on the edge of her notebook. "Why do I feel like you're taking this way too seriously?"
"Because it is serious," he said quietly.
Bhumika studied him, really studied him, like she was trying to pull answers from his expression. But he didn't give her the whole truth, not yet. He couldn't. Not until he knew why she was seeing fragments of a world she shouldn't know at all.
For the first time that night, though, he felt a shift. Not just her cracking open, but him letting himself care, letting the protective instinct root itself deeper.
And it terrified him almost as much as her words had. For a while, neither of them spoke. Bhumika sat with her fingers curled tight around her cup, staring into the swirl of cooling coffee. Shivam leaned forward, elbows on his knees, watching her, not pressing, just waiting.
When she finally exhaled, her voice was quieter. "Sometimes… I'm scared to fall asleep. Because it feels less like dreaming and more like remembering something that never happened."
Shivam's throat tightened. The words were too close to his own buried truths. He shifted, deciding, finally to give her something back.
"Bhumika," he began carefully, "if I told you I've seen things too… not dreams, but real places, real fights… would you,"
He stopped.
Because she had doubled over, one hand flying to her temple. Her notebook slipped to the floor. The breath punched out of her in a sharp gasp, and Shivam was out of his chair instantly.
"Bhumika!" He crouched beside her, steadying her shoulder. Her eyes were wide open, but unfocused, staring straight through him.
Her lips parted. A whisper clawed its way out: "Shivam…"
Then her whole body shuddered. Her voice was strained, broken. "Blade… blue light," She gasped again, clutching her head harder. "It stabbed you,"
Shivam froze, blood running cold.
"What did you just say?" His voice was tight, urgent, but she wasn't really hearing him.
Her breaths came ragged now, her eyes darting as though watching something no one else could see. "A machine… humming… voices calling you something…" Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes. "…Subject… seventeen."
Then, as suddenly as it began, she slumped back in her chair, chest heaving like she'd run a mile. The café noise returned in a rush, clinking spoons, laughter from another table, the hiss of milk frothing.
Shivam held her steady, scanning her face, his own heartbeat rattling in his chest. "Bhumika… hey, look at me. You're okay. You're okay."
Slowly, her eyes focused, finding his. Fear lingered there, raw and unguarded. "I… I don't know what's happening to me," she whispered.
Shivam didn't answer immediately. Because in his gut, he did know. They stayed in the café longer than either of them realized.
By the time Shivam coaxed Bhumika to her feet, most of the tables were empty, and the staff had begun stacking chairs along the wall. The late-night buzz of Delhi seeped back in the moment they stepped outside, traffic snarls, scooter horns, the scent of roasted peanuts drifting from a street cart.
Bhumika held her books tightly against her chest, almost like a shield. Her face was pale, lips pressed thin, but her stride tried to convince the world nothing was wrong. Shivam didn't buy it. He walked beside her in silence, scanning her every few steps, ready to catch her if she faltered again.
"You don't need to walk me back," she said suddenly, her voice flat, like she was trying to wrestle back her composure.
"I do," Shivam replied without hesitation. "Not after… whatever just happened in there."
Her eyes flicked toward him but didn't linger. "It was just… a migraine. I get them sometimes."
He shook his head. "Migraines don't make you describe things you've never seen. Things you shouldn't know."
Her pace slowed, her grip on the books tightening. "Then what do you think it is?" she asked softly. "Am I going crazy?"
Shivam stopped walking. For a moment he wanted to tell her everything, about Noctirum, about the other world, about battles no one here would believe. But the words stuck in his throat. Not because he doubted her… but because he feared what it would mean if she really was seeing fragments of his past.
Instead, he said carefully, "No. You're not crazy. But you're not safe either."
The words made her look at him, really look, her expression searching. There was something vulnerable in her gaze, something almost like relief, as if part of her had been waiting for someone to finally say it out loud.
They resumed walking. The streets thinned as they cut through quieter lanes toward her hostel. Dogs prowled near shuttered shops; the glow of the metro sign pulsed faintly in the distance.
"You said it hurts," Shivam prompted gently.
Bhumika nodded, swallowing hard. "Like… like someone's carving a picture inside my head. Not just once. Over and over. And the worst part?" She paused, her voice trembling. "When I wake up… I already know what I'm going to see. The crystals, the machines, sometimes faces of people I know. It's like my dreams are on a loop I can't turn off."
Shivam listened, jaw tight. Every word was another nail hammered into his unease. He wanted to protect her, to shield her from what he knew was circling closer, but how do you protect someone already caught in the middle?
They reached the corner near her hostel gate. The security guard barely glanced up from his stool, radio crackling beside him. Bhumika stopped, turning to face Shivam. The streetlamp above cast her features in a faint amber glow, her exhaustion etched deep but her eyes stubbornly clear.
"Shivam," she said, voice low but steady, "whatever's happening to me… it's not random. I can feel it. It's pulling me toward something."
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. A dozen half-truths crowded his tongue, none of them enough.
Instead, he forced a small smile. "Get some rest tonight. We'll figure this out."
She nodded, though the doubt in her eyes lingered. With one last glance, she slipped through Hostel gate, leaving Shivam under the hum of the streetlamp.
For a long time, he didn't move. His fists were clenched in his pockets, his mind replaying her words, the pain, the visions, the way she had whispered about a blade he'd felt once in another world.
He stared into the night, the city's noise fading to a dull hum around him.
If Bhumika was seeing those things…, Was she just another victim caught in SynerTech's shadow? Or was there a deeper connection, one that tied her fate to his in ways neither of them yet understood?