Part : 4
Tittle : If I tell you who I am, you will hate me for sure....
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19 November, 1966
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The rain lashed down relentlessly, plastering the man's dark hair to his forehead, obscuring his vision. His physical build spoke of strength, but his current posture was one of utter defeat, kneeling on the slick, unforgiving ground.
The left side of his face was a roadmap of old scars – cuts and stitches that spoke volumes of past battles, a testament to a life lived on the edge, a dedication that had left its permanent mark. His hands were bound tightly behind his back, the rough rope biting into his skin.
Despite the rain stinging his eyes, he lifted his gaze, a flicker of desperate hope in their sharp depths, towards the figure standing before him. The man held a gun, its cold, metallic gleam reflecting the harsh downpour. "Please," the kneeling man rasped, his voice hoarse, "just let me explain. Just once. You have to understand..."
But the man with the gun didn't waver. His face, shadowed by the brim of a dark hat, remained impassive. "I trusted you, Sam," he said, his voice low and heavy with disappointment. "I didn't expect you to betray me."
Sam shook his head slowly, a silent denial of the accusation. But the only response he received was a single, damning word, spat out with venomous finality: "Traitor."
There was no further discussion, no chance for explanation. The sound of the rain was suddenly punctuated by a sharp, deafening crack. A searing pain ripped through Sam's head, and then, everything dissolved into an absolute, unending darkness.
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19 February, 2025
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Sarah's eyes snapped open, her breath catching in her throat. "I'm not a traitor..." she mumbled, the words escaping her lips in a shaky whisper. "I'm not a... traitor..." The remnants of the vivid, violent scene clung to her like a chilling shadow.
Her mother's hand gently but firmly slapped her cheek. "Wake up, sleepyhead! What are you muttering about?"
Sarah blinked, disoriented. "Mumma...?"
"Up you get," her mother said, already tugging at the duvet. "Wash up and get ready."
"But it's Saturday, Mumma!" Sarah protested, her voice still thick with sleep.
"And what about your Hindi test?" her mother retorted, her playful tone belying her determination. She hauled Sarah out of bed, despite her half-hearted protests, and gently pushed her towards the bathroom. Sarah let out a dramatic fake sob, but her mother remained unmoved.
After a refreshing shower, though taken under duress, Sarah got ready and headed to college for her Hindi test. As soon as she finished the exam, her eyes scanned the familiar faces until she spotted Aman leaning against a pillar in the courtyard. She hurried towards him.
"Aman!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with urgency. "How did you know about Marcus and Luke? And their father? What did you mean when you said they died in a shootout?"
Aman turned, his usual easy smile playing on his lips, but there was a hint of something else in his eyes, a shadow of knowing. "Ah, so the information intrigued you?" he said, his tone light.
"Intrigued? Aman, you just casually dropped a bomb about people I've been seeing in my dreams! How do you know all that?" Sarah pressed, her frustration growing. "Were you... were you one of them?"
Aman's smile faded slightly, replaced by a more serious expression. He looked at her, a strange mix of apprehension and something akin to sadness in his gaze. "If I tell you who I am, Sarah," he said softly, "you would probably hate me."
Sarah stared at him, her mind racing. Hate him? What could Aman, her easygoing, friendly cousin, have possibly done in the past that would make her hate him? A cold knot of unease tightened in her stomach. The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place, but the picture they were forming was becoming increasingly disturbing.
Sarah looked at Aman, a warm smile gracing her lips. "Why would I hate you?" she asked, her tone genuinely curious. "You're a nice guy, Aman. You can't possibly have done anything that would make me hate you."
Aman didn't directly answer her question. Instead, he shifted the topic slightly. "Do you remember Sid?" he asked, his gaze softening. "He was... a good man. Kind to everyone. Maybe too kind for his own good in that world. Everyone liked him for it, but you know how it is... some of the others were jealous."
Just then, another familiar face appeared. Jay, a guy from their college, walked up, a friendly smile on his face as he gave Sarah a small wave. He always had a soft spot for her, appreciating her kind nature and the way she treated everyone with respect.
Aman and Jay exchanged a quick high-five. "Yo, Sid, sup?" Aman greeted him casually. Jay playfully swatted the back of Aman's head, mouthing a silent "shut up" with a grin. It clicked for Sarah. Jay's easygoing kindness, his quiet warmth – it mirrored the impression she had gotten of Sid in her fragmented visions. He was the man of sacrifices, the one described with pure love.
"Hey, the rank list is pasted on the notice board!" Raj's voice called out from across the courtyard. "Jay, let's go see!"
Aman turned to Raj. "We'll catch up later, Raj. Sarah and I were just talking." Jay nodded to Raj and followed him towards the bustling notice board.
Once Jay was out of earshot, Aman turned back to Sarah, his expression a little more serious. "Sarah, please don't say anything to Jay about any of this... about the past. I'll tell him when the time is right."
"You still haven't told me who you are," Sarah reminded him, her curiosity piqued even further.
Aman's mysterious smile returned, a knowing glint in his eyes. He leaned in slightly and whispered a single word, the name that had been echoing in her dreams and now connecting them all. "Marcus." Then, without another word, he turned and walked towards the crowded notice board, leaving Sarah standing there, her mind reeling from the weight of his revelation.