The dream started quietly.
Shant was walking down a familiar street. The flower shop. The fortune teller's stall.
And she was beside him.
Aradhya.
They were holding flowers. Yellow marigolds and white roses, wrapped in brown paper.
She smiled at him, and his chest ached.
"Let's go in," she said, nodding toward the fortune teller's stall.
Shant hesitated. "You really believe in this stuff?"
She laughed softly. "I believe in trying everything once."
They walked toward the stall.
The air smelled of incense. Candles flickered in glass jars, casting shadows that danced across the cloth walls.
The fortune teller sat cross-legged behind her array of cards and stones, draped in her red shawl. Her dark eyes looked up as they approached.
And then she smiled.
A slow, knowing smile that made Shant's skin prickle.
"Welcome back," she said, her voice low and amused. "The boy who got his fortune read before."
Shant froze.
Aradhya glanced at him, confused. "You've been here before?"
Shant shook his head slowly. "I... I don't think so."
But even as he said it, doubt crept in. Had he? In another dream? In another life?
The fortune teller gestured for them to sit.
They did.
She reached for their hands, taking Aradhya's left and Shant's right, pressing their palms together between hers. Her skin was cool, her grip firm.
She studied their joined hands for a long moment, tracing the lines with one finger.
Then she looked up, her expression unreadable.
"Hmm," she said softly. "Fate's contradictions, together."
Aradhya frowned. "What does that mean?"
The fortune teller didn't answer immediately. She closed her eyes, her fingers still tracing the lines of their palms.
When she opened her eyes again, they were darker. Deeper.
"You have walked this path before," she said quietly. "And you will walk it again. The wheel turns, and you turn with it."
She paused, her gaze shifting between them.
"One of you will leave. One of you will stay. The question is: who will choose, and who will be chosen for?"
Silence.
Aradhya pulled her hand back slightly, but the fortune teller held firm.
"I don't understand," Aradhya said quietly.
The fortune teller smiled, sad and knowing.
"You will," she said. "When the wheel turns again."
She released their hands.
They left the stall in silence.
The street was busy now. Vendors calling out, rickshaws honking, the noise of the city swelling around them.
But Shant barely heard it.
One of you will leave. One of you will stay.
Aradhya was quiet beside him, still holding the flowers.
"That was strange," she said finally.
"Yeah."
"Do you believe it?"
Shant looked at her. "Do you?"
She hesitated, then shook her head. "I don't know. I don't want to believe that things are already decided. That one of us is going to leave and there's nothing we can do about it."
"Maybe it's not decided," Shant said. "Maybe the question is the answer. Who chooses."
Aradhya looked at him, her eyes searching his face. "Would you choose to stay? If it came to that?"
And Shant, in the dream, didn't know how to answer.
They walked in silence for a moment.
Then Aradhya stopped, looking down at the flowers in her arms.
"You know why I picked both?" she asked.
Shant shook his head.
She ran her fingers over the petals, her expression softening.
"My grandmother used to say: Life is about holding contradictions. Joy and sorrow. Beginning and ending. You can't have one without the other."
She looked up at him.
"Yellow means friendship. Joy. The easy parts. White means new beginnings. Hope. The uncertain parts."
She held the flowers out between them, the colors bright against the gray of the street.
"We need both. Because love isn't just one thing. It's not just happiness or just hope. It's everything at once. Even when it's too much to hold."
Shant stared at her. "And if we can't hold it?"
Aradhya smiled, sad and beautiful.
"Then we let it go," she said softly. "And we start again."
The dream shifted.
Suddenly they were somewhere else.
Sunder Nursery.
The bench under the sprawling tree. Flowers blooming all around. The air warm and still.
They were sitting together, side by side, the flowers resting between them.
Aradhya rested her head on his shoulder.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then she whispered, "Promise me something."
"What?"
"If we ever have to choose..." Her voice was quiet, almost fragile. "Promise you'll choose yourself first. Don't lose who you are trying to hold onto me."
Shant's throat tightened.
"I don't know how to do that," he said.
"You will," she whispered. "When the time comes."
And then she was fading.
Her weight on his shoulder grew lighter. The warmth of her presence slipping away.
Shant reached for her, but his hand closed on air.
The bench. The tree. The flowers.
All of it dissolving.
He was alone.
Shant woke up slowly.
Not gasping. Not crying. Just... opening his eyes.
The dream lingered. Her voice. The flowers. The fortune teller's words.
"Welcome back, the boy who got his fortune read before."
How did she know?
He sat up, his chest tight.
The dream felt different. Not like a memory. Not like a vision. Like something in between.
He touched his face and realized his cheeks were wet.
Quiet tears. He hadn't even known he was crying.
Because that dream wasn't devastating. It was beautiful.
And somehow that made it worse.
Shant reached for his phone. 7:23 AM. August 31st.
He sat at his desk and opened his diary.
His hand hovered over the page for a moment.
Then he started writing.
August 31st.
The fortune teller recognized me. In the dream. But I only visited her in real life yesterday. Which means either the present affects the past, or time is circular and she's seen me before in other loops, or the dreams aren't just memories. They're alive.
He paused, then kept writing.
Things I know:
The dreams are real. Sunder Nursery exists. The flower shop exists. The fortune teller exists. Aradhya is real. I found her profile. I saw her in person. The pattern is repeating. She chose flowers, she looked at the fortune teller, just like the dream. The fortune teller recognized me across time. The present is connected to the dreams. One of us will leave. The question is who will choose.
He stared at the words.
Then he wrote:
What if I've been asking the wrong question?
I've been asking: Can I change the past?
But maybe the question is: Do I want to?
If I change it, if I avoid her, if I never approach her, do I save us from the breakup? Or do I just create a different kind of loss?
She said: "Promise you'll choose yourself first."
But what if choosing myself means choosing her?
What if the only way to break the pattern is to walk into it, not away from it?
He closed the diary.
Decision made.
By the time Shant got to campus, it was midmorning.
He didn't go to class.
He went straight to the Botany Department.
The building was old, ivy creeping up the brick walls, glass windows reflecting the morning sun. Students milled around outside, chatting, laughing, living their normal lives.
Shant walked inside.
The hallway smelled like soil and greenery. Posters on the walls advertising plant exhibitions and research symposiums.
He found the departmental office.
A woman sat behind the desk, typing on a computer.
"Excuse me," Shant said.
She looked up. "Yes?"
"I'm looking for a student. Aradhya Mourya. Is she enrolled here?"
The woman's expression shifted slightly. Professional. Guarded. "Are you a student?"
"Yes. Final year. Psychology."
"And why are you looking for her?"
Shant hesitated. "I... we have mutual friends. I was hoping to get in touch."
The woman studied him for a moment, then turned to her computer. She typed something, scrolled.
"Aradhya Mourya. Incoming freshman. Botany major. Orientation is next week."
"Is she on campus today?"
"I can't give out that information. Privacy policy."
Dead end.
Shant thanked her and left.
He tried the greenhouse next.
It was a large glass structure at the edge of campus, warm and humid inside. Rows of plants in various stages of growth. Students bent over seedlings, taking notes. A professor lecturing near the back.
Shant walked through slowly, scanning faces.
Not her. Not her. Not her.
He checked the library. The study areas. The reading rooms. The quiet corners where students hunched over textbooks and laptops.
Nothing.
By early afternoon, Shant was exhausted.
He sat on a bench outside the main building, staring at nothing.
He'd been so sure. So determined.
But she wasn't here.
And he didn't know where else to look.
"You look like you're searching for something."
Shant looked up.
Rishi was standing there, backpack slung over one shoulder, eyebrow raised.
"Someone," Shant said quietly.
Rishi sat down beside him. "The girl."
Shant nodded.
"You know her name?"
Shant hesitated. "Aradhya."
Rishi blinked. "Aradhya Mourya? Botany student?"
Shant's heart stopped. "You know her?"
"Not personally. But my girlfriend does. Ananya met her at orientation last week. She mentioned her. Said she's starting next week."
Shant stared at him. "Can you... can you introduce me?"
Rishi studied him for a long moment.
"Why do I feel like there's a lot you're not telling me?"
"There is," Shant said. "But I can't explain it yet."
Rishi sighed. "Fine. I'll ask Ananya if she can set something up. But Shant... whatever this is, be careful. You're already in deep. Don't drown in it."
"I won't," Shant said.
But he wasn't sure if that was true.
The rest of the day was agony.
Shant went to one class, but he didn't hear a word the professor said. His mind was elsewhere. His phone was on his desk, screen up, waiting.
At 4:47 PM, Rishi texted.
Ananya says Aradhya's coming to campus tomorrow for some paperwork. Botany Dept. Around 2 PM. I'll introduce you. Try not to be weird.
Shant read the message ten times.
Tomorrow.
2 PM.
He was going to meet her tomorrow.
That evening, Shant went home.
The apartment was quiet when he walked in. His mother was in the kitchen, moving slowly, mechanically. Washing dishes that were already clean.
His father wasn't home.
Shant set his bag down and walked into the kitchen.
"Ma," he said quietly.
She looked up, and he saw it immediately. Her eyes were red. She'd been crying.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
She forced a smile. "I'm fine, beta."
"You don't have to pretend with me."
Her smile faltered. She set down the dish she was holding and leaned against the counter, her shoulders sagging.
"I don't know how to leave," she said quietly. "I don't know how to stay. I feel stuck, Shant. Like I'm watching my life from outside and I can't do anything to change it."
Shant's chest tightened.
Because that was exactly how he felt.
"What if you could change it?" he asked. "What would you do?"
She looked at him sadly. "I don't know. That's the problem."
Shant thought about the fortune teller's words.
One of you will leave. One of you will stay. Who will choose, and who will be chosen for?
Maybe his mother was the one who would leave.
Maybe he was.
Maybe Aradhya was.
Or maybe the question was: who would have the courage to choose?
Shant went to his room.
He opened his diary.
Wrote one line:
Tomorrow, I meet her. For the first time. Or maybe the hundredth time. I don't know anymore. But I know this: I'm not running. Not this time.
He closed the diary.
Lay in bed.
Stared at the ceiling.
And then, unexpectedly, he didn't dream.
For the first time in weeks, his sleep was blank. Empty. Silent.
Like the universe was holding its breath.
Waiting.
Morning of September 1st.
Shant woke up to sunlight streaming through his window.
He checked his phone.
Rishi's text from last night was still there. 2 PM. Botany Dept.
He stared at it.
Six hours.
He got up. Showered. Tried to eat breakfast but couldn't.
His mother asked if he was okay. He said yes.
His hands were shaking.
At 1:45 PM, he was standing outside the Botany Department.
Students walking past. The sun bright overhead. The world moving like nothing was about to change.
But for Shant, everything was about to change.
He checked his phone. 1:52 PM.
His heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat.
At 1:58 PM, he saw them.
Rishi walking toward him, and beside him, a girl with short hair and a bright smile. Ananya.
And beside her, long dark hair catching the sunlight, brown eyes scanning the building,
Aradhya.
Shant's breath caught.
She was real. She was here. She was walking toward him.
Rishi waved. "Shant! Over here!"
Aradhya looked up.
Their eyes met.
And for a second, just a second, something flickered across her face.
Recognition? Confusion? Curiosity?
Shant didn't know.
But he knew this:
The wheel was turning.
And he was choosing to step forward