Mystery of Illusion and Myths

1. Journey

Whether it's day, or night, and whether I'm awake or asleep, he just won't leave me alone. It's exhausting, to constantly think about him. I dream of him when I sleep, and he's on my mind when I'm awake. I'd do almost anything right now to either get rid of these dreams or understand them. Every night, it's the same: the water, the flowers, the man, and especially his eyes. Those dark-as-night eyes were so intense that I could get lost in them and never be found again.

Sorry, I got sidetracked by those dreams again. Let me start over.

I'm Niyati, I don't know how it started, but people call me Sati, and I live in Canada with my mom. My dad left us when I was 10, and I haven't seen him since. I remember his face from fading memories and the pictures my mom keeps. Her name is Samita Dixit. She works hard to support us, and so do I. Mom misses India a lot and wants to go back, but we have no one there except some distant relatives.

I'm a carbon copy of my mom, with the same fair skin and long, dark hair. But my eyes are different. They're dark brown with a hint of gold, which amazes me because I've never met anyone with the same eye colour. When I'm angry, the gold overcomes the brown, and it's still a mystery to me how it works.

Since graduation, I've been working at a publishing company as an assistant editor. I love stories, and thanks to my job and my mom, I know a lot about India. I don't remember being there, but the arti and puja in my dreams make me feel like I know the place closely. I've been planning to visit India for a while, and now the day has finally come.

Tomorrow morning, we're leaving for India!

We're packed and ready to go. Mom has a house in Banaras, where some relatives live. She hasn't been in touch with them much, but she says they're good people and excited to have us.

My friend Riya is here for a sleepover to see me off. We've been friends forever; she lives right across the street. She knows all about my dreams and my fascination with India. Mom thinks those dreams are a mix of stories in my head and my love for nature. I adore everything about nature, especially water and the river in my dreams.

"Earth to Sati," Riya calls, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"You know I've been calling your name for minutes? You keep staring at that stupid plant," she says, rolling her eyes.

"Don't call my plants stupid," I scold her teasingly. She loves teasing me about my crazy love for nature.

"I was just thinking about my dream. I can't stop thinking about him, and I don't know who he is or how he looks. It's so frustrating and makes me anxious." I try to make her understand. "Ever since I decided to go, these dreams have been working overtime. Now I'm daydreaming. "Whenever I close my eyes, he's there, staring at me like he's waiting for me to do something, but I just don't know what."

"Ugh! I am going crazy." I grab my hair in my hands. "I wish, just once, I could see his face." I look up at Riya and see sympathy in her eyes.

"It's quite weird that you know more about India than I do, yet you've never been there. It's like you live there, not here," Riya says, smiling.

"Shut up. I think you're the one going crazy here," I laugh.

"Yeah, yeah, now I'm crazy. What about your dream guy? Who's dying to see his face?" she teases.

I look at the shirt in my hands to avoid her gaze because it's true. I do want to see him, and it feels like I know him, but I just can't remember.

"Sati, Riya," my mom calls from downstairs. "Come on, dinner's ready."

I glance at the clock on my bedside table as we get up from the floor, where we've been sitting for two hours. Time flies when I'm lost in my dreams or with Riya. She's like my sister, my best friend, and my partner-in-crime. It's going to be hard for me to leave her.

"Oh, come on! Once you land, you're not going to miss me. So don't make that sad face," she says, pushing me forward. She can always tell what I'm thinking. She jokes about it now, but we both know we'll miss each other so much.

"Girls, hurry up! Dinner is getting cold." Mom calls again, more urgently this time.

"Coming, woman! Have some patience," I mutter silently, and we both laugh. Mom and Riya love each other. Riya has spent so much time with me since school that our moms always have to ask where we're having dinner—here or at her place. Now that I'm leaving, she's been with me constantly and even took two days off work.

"You know, Sati actually killed herself because of a fight with her father over her husband. And we call you Sati, so... you're not going to do the same, are you?" she asks.

"Stupid, I cannot do that," I tell her seriously.

"Why not?" she asks, putting her chin on her hands.

"Well, first of all, I'm not going to commit suicide, and most importantly, I don't have a father to fight with, remember?" I say it slowly, like explaining something to a child.

"Oh, right. So I don't have to worry about you," she replies, genuinely satisfied with my answer.

We're at the airport in Banaras, collecting our luggage, and heading toward the exit. Mom walks in a daze as if she can't believe we're actually here in India—the place where she was born and spent her youth before moving to Canada with Dad.

But she's not the only one. I feel a strange pull, a feeling that I need to be somewhere specific. I scan the crowd for a familiar face but see no one, yet the feeling persists.

Outside, a guy about my age holds a card with Mom's name on it, looking around and tapping his foot impatiently.

"Mom, is someone supposed to be here to receive us?" I ask.

She looks at me and answers, "Yes. My cousin Manohar told me he would send someone."

"It looks like that "someone" is here," I tell her, nodding toward the guy with the name card. We reach him, and he stops tapping his foot, standing straight with a big smile on his face.

"Smita Aunty?" he asks.

He looks adorable when he smiles, well-built like he spends serious hours in the gym, but with a childlike happiness that seems genuine.

"Yes, and you are?" Mom inquires.

With the confirmation, he bent down to touch Mom's feet before replying, "Krish. Manohar is my papa. He sent me to fetch you guys, and you must be Niyati, right?" He's still smiling. I smile back and nod.

"Wow! You really look like your mom, except for the eyes," he points out.

"Hi. You can call me Sati, and yeah, everybody tells me that." I respond to his comment on my looks.

"Okay, come on. It's so hot out here; let's go before we become papad," he jokes, leading us to a nearby car.

"So, how was your flight?" Krish asks politely as we walk.

"Good, but a little tiring," Mom replies. "How is everyone at home?"

"Everyone's good, waiting for you," Krish answers. He drives, I'm in the passenger seat, and Mom is in the back. I look outside—everything feels so different, yet strangely familiar.

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Dear Lovely Readers🙋‍♀️,

This is me writing down the tale that has been swirling around in my thoughts for a long time for you to read and absorb.

After spending my entire life reading, this is the first time I'm ever writing a story, letting anyone else read it, and hoping they would all adore it.

I hope you enjoy the first chapter, which is here.

And if you do, please express your love for it. Vote for it, like it, and share it with your friends.

Thanks 😊