That night, Garud could not sleep.
The village was quiet again, but it felt wrong—too quiet. The kind of silence that presses against the ears.
He lay on the floor of his small home, staring at the ceiling as the image of the storm replayed in his mind.
The lightning.
The gate.
Those eyes.
He clenched his fists.
It wasn't real.
It couldn't be.
Yet his heart refused to calm.
The Weight Inside
Every time he closed his eyes, the same sensation returned.
A pressure in his chest.
Not pain.
Not warmth.
Weight.
As if something invisible was resting inside him, watching.
Garud sat up suddenly, breath sharp.
"बस सपना था…"
"It was just a dream…"
But his voice lacked conviction.
His Mother's Gaze
The next morning, Garud's mother watched him closely as she handed him food.
"तू ठीक तो है न?" she asked softly.
"You haven't spoken since yesterday."
Garud forced a smile.
"हाँ, माँ। बस थक गया हूँ।"
She wasn't convinced.
Mothers never are.
Karan's Words
Later that day, Karan found him sitting alone under a tree near the fields.
"कल तू अलग था," Karan said.
"You looked like someone who had seen death."
Garud laughed weakly.
"तू ज़्यादा सोच रहा है।"
Karan studied him for a moment.
"गरुड़… जब तू बेहोश था—"
Garud's breath caught.
"—तू किसी का नाम ले रहा था।"
Silence.
"किसका?" Garud asked.
Karan hesitated.
"…शिव।"
Garud's blood ran cold.
The Rudraksha Again
That night, Garud removed the Panch-Mukhi Rudraksha from beneath his pillow.
He stared at it in the dim lamp light.
Ordinary.
Silent.
If you're real… do something.
Nothing happened.
He exhaled in frustration and closed his eyes.
The Dream That Wasn't a Dream
He was standing in darkness.
Not the divine realm.
Not the village.
Just endless black.
A whisper reached his ears—not a voice, but a feeling.
You have not awakened yet.
Garud woke up drenched in sweat.
His heart thundered.
Beside him, the Rudraksha was warm.