The café door creaked open, and with it, a soft tinkling sound echoed — the dream catchers swayed lightly, casting moving shadows across the wooden frame. Rain kissed the cobbled pavement behind her, but the little Japanese rain doll near the door seemed to smile back, as if pushing the storm away.
Aagartha stood at the threshold, her breath caught somewhere between her chest and her throat. Everything about this place — the scent of fresh coffee, the warm wood, the way the wind wrapped around her — it all felt achingly familiar. Like she had walked through this exact doorway once before.
Inside, the barista looked up from behind the counter as the dream catchers jingled. Their eyes met. And for a moment — time paused.
"Welcome, ma'am," the barista said, her voice unusually calm, almost rehearsed.
Aagartha replied instinctively, "Hello."
A silence fell between them, heavy but not uncomfortable. Then, without breaking eye contact, the barista walked out from behind the counter.
"Please," she gestured gently, "Come with me. A seat has already been prepared for you in the garden area."
"Excuse me," Aagartha said, frowning slightly, "Do we know each other?"
The barista turned her head with a soft smile, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "Maybe... but very soon, we will. And yes, ma'am — I have a small request. Would you consider visiting our café every day, on your way home?"
Aagartha blinked, caught off guard by the odd familiarity of the moment. "I... I'll try," she murmured, before following her down the corridor.
As she passed the shelves lined with old books, her eyes flicked across the spines — many of them in languages she didn't recognize. The large glass windows filtered sunlight inside, but somehow, the garden remained partly hidden. Shadows of wisteria and creeping vines danced playfully, refusing to show the full picture.
As Aagartha walked deeper, flashes struck her mind.
Laughter. Echoes of music. Candle-lit birthdays. Familiar voices.
She paused, stunned. Why was she remembering things she never lived?
Behind her, the barista stood quietly, watching her. Then, almost like a whisper, she said:
"Welcome back, ma'am. We've waited for you... for so long."
And with that, she took out her phone and dialed. "Hello, sir? Madam is here."
On the other side of the line, a man responded with a subtle smile, "Finally... my sister came back."
The call ended.
---
At the corridor's end, Aagartha stepped into the garden — and gasped.
It was a scene pulled out of dreams.
A small lotus pond shimmered quietly. Wisteria vines hung like lilac curtains across stone arches. Roses bloomed in neat corners, their fragrance wrapping around the space like perfume.
And in the middle of it all, stood a single cherry blossom tree — dry, lifeless, yet clutching onto one last pink petal.
Aagartha's head throbbed instantly. Her knees buckled. She collapsed onto the grass, clutching her temples.
Visions swirled....
Feathers...
Laughter...
A voice whispering her name from across time.
She barely noticed the middle aged man with a patch of straight white hairs on his head a watch on the right hand - cost may be in lakhs with a great staight fit suit like he just rushed direct out of anInternational tycoon's business meeting toward her.
---
Atharva caught her just before she hit the stone bench. Gently, he helped her sit.
"Are you alright?" he asked, concern etched deep into his brows.
"I think... I'm fine now," she managed, catching her breath. "I just... something about this place... that tree…"
Atharva nodded slowly, his voice calm and distant. "My name is Atharva Mudgalkar. I'm the owner of this café. But... this dream wasn't mine."
He looked out toward the garden.
"It was my sister's. She loved flowers — lotus, cherry blossoms, wisteria, bougainvillea... she poured her soul into building this café. Every inch of it carries her essence."
Aagartha's voice trembled. "Where is she now? And that cherry blossom tree... why is it so dry?"
Atharva's eyes softened with grief. "I lost her... in a way too tragic to explain. That tree — it stopped blooming the day she left. But it's the only piece of her I still have. I won't let it go."
"I'm sorry," Aagartha whispered. "I didn't mean to reopen old wounds."
"No," Atharva replied gently, "On the contrary... I'm glad you came. Somehow, it feels like she's come back too."
Aagartha looked up at him — something shifted between them, unspoken.
The garden was silent. The wind picked up just enough to rustle the lone cherry blossom petal, still holding on.
And far above, the café's clock struck 3:33.
---
Aagartha sat quietly on the bench, her fingers wrapped loosely around the small brass key Mrs. Choudhary had left behind. It felt heavier now. Almost pulsing.
Atharva stood beside her, giving her space, but not leaving. Something about this moment demanded stillness.
She turned toward him, studying his face. There was warmth there, but something else too—grief. Deep, well-buried, but not forgotten.
"You said your sister loved cherry blossoms," Aagartha began slowly.
Atharva nodded. "She believed they carried memories. That even when the petals fell, the tree never forgot."
A gust of wind swept through the garden.
The single petal from the dry cherry blossom lifted...
...and landed silently in Aagartha's lap.
Neither of them moved.
Atharva smiled faintly. "Looks like it remembers you."
And Aagartha, for a fleeting second, didn't know if the tears in her eyes were hers—or someone else's memory lingering within her.
The café behind them hummed with soft jazz, the scent of roasted coffee beans drifting through the air.
But something had already changed.