POV: Soudamini "Sia" Bose
The hostel room was warm, stuffy, and smelled like too many lives cramped into too little space. Sweat. Ink. Instant coffee. A failed medical student's aura.
Soudamini Bose, alias Sia, sat cross-legged on her bed with her pharmacology textbook open like a monster waiting to bite.
> "Ranitidine, Loratadine, Chlorpheniramine… sounds more like a Bengali wedding guest list," she muttered.
She had a habit of talking to herself. A leftover from childhood. Or maybe she just liked her own voice better than anyone else's.
Beside her lay her battered yellow notepad. The top page was half-filled with a rough pencil sketch. A white horse—again. Its eyes glowed red. A crown floated above its head.
She stared at it.
> "Seriously? Not this again…"
She'd been drawing the same horse for weeks now. Not consciously. Only during sleep. She would wake up and find it there—always slightly different, always terrifyingly familiar.
---
🌊 Flashback: Puri
She closed the book. Her thoughts were drifting again.
> "I was born in Puri,"she thought. "A town of gods, sea salt, and stubborn rituals."
She remembered the Rath Yatra — chariots creaking like ancient giants, wheels taller than houses, a sky roaring with chants.
She was six when her family moved to Bengal. The memory was a blur of motion — a speeding train, her mother's anxious eyes, and a drawing in her lap of a chariot on fire. She'd drawn it while asleep.
It scared her father so much he tore it up.
> "After that, we didn't talk about Puri. Ever."
> "They said I sleep-talked in Sanskrit. Once, I called myself Vijaya. My grandma started praying daily after that."
She never understood why.
---
🌸Her Chaotic Childhood
Sia chuckled softly to herself.
> "I was weird. I am weird."
> "Bit my math teacher in third grade. Fought off a tuition sir with a water bottle. Once locked myself in a bathroom because a crow sat on the window and stared too long."
But the weirdest part was how she remembered things she never lived. Ancient cities. Battlefields. Cries for a brother named Madhav. Hands smeared in blood and fire and guilt.
> "I used to cry at classical music. Not sad tears. Like… homecoming tears."
She rubbed her temple.
> "Sometimes, I think I'm crazy. Other times, I think everyone else is just pretending."
---
She turned to the window.
A cool breeze brushed her cheek. The tree outside rustled softly.
Then—caw. caw. caw.
A crow flew past. Three calls.
She shivered.
> "Not again…"
And far away—somewhere deep in memory or dream—she heard the sound of a bell that never rang.
She whispered, almost instinctively:
> "Kichhu aschhe… (Something's coming…)"
---
🔀 Scene Shift: College Library
The college library was dim, old, and smelled like chalk dust and panic.
Aarav lounged on a wooden chair, balancing a cardiology book on his stomach. Neel was reading in silence, as usual. Parth sat beside them, flipping through pages he wasn't really seeing.
> "Look at us," Aarav declared. "Three idiots pretending like we aren't the only ones,who saw those mythical creatures with anger issues several times."
Parth smirked. "Are you still scared because of Ashwatthama's little visit?"
> "He looked into my soul," Aarav said dramatically. "My soul, Parth. I'm never sleeping again without garlic and a protective mantra."
Neel didn't even look up. "Garlic doesn't work on mythological constructs."
> "It does in my mental health," Aarav replied.
Parth leaned back, looking at the two of them — not just his friends now.
His youngest brother and his most loyal ally from the Kauravas' side.
He didn't say a word. He just smiled.
Aarav raised a brow. "Why are you smiling like a serial killer?"
> "Post-trauma?" Neel guessed.
Parth shook his head, still smiling.
> If only you knew…
---
They went back to reading. For a few minutes, everything felt… normal.
Too normal.
Then, suddenly—Aarav stopped flipping pages.
He sat up straight, staring into the distance, lips slightly parted.
"Bro?" Neel nudged him.
Aarav didn't blink. His voice came out in a whisper, strange and otherworldly:
> "Asatyasya pathe andhakaaram… satyasya vishphuranam agni."
The lights above them flickered.
Neel lowered his book. "You just said something in Sanskrit again..."
Aarav blinked. His fingers trembled.
> "What… did I just say?"
Parth's voice dropped. "It means—'Darkness walks the path of falsehood. Truth… burns like fire.'"
The room went still.
Outside, a crow cried once again.
And the bell that never rang — was heard.
---