"He became my home, the home I never wanted to run from."-Jasmine Malhotra
"I was the sun, she was the moon. I melted beneath the mountains, so she could rise in the sky full of stars."-Siddharth Khurana
(dive into the fairytale of Jasmine and Sidd...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Wake up!"
I was drifting in the warmth of sleep, a cocoon of darkness wrapped around me, soft and still. Then, suddenly, a piercing ray of light cut through, stabbing at my closed eyelids. I winced, trying to turn away from it, but the light was relentless.
And then I heard it, faint at first, like a whisper caught in the wind, "wake up..."
The voice was distant, almost fading, but somehow insistent, pulling me back from the depths of my dream.
"Uthh bhi jaao!" ("Get up now!")
My heart quickened, the remnants of sleep slipping away.
Who is that? Where am I? The weight of the question hung in the air, and my body tensed with a different sense of urgency when I saw a strange entity.
But even as I forced my eyes open, the light remained blinding, and the voice ⎼whoever it belonged to⎼ was echoing in my ears, telling me to wake up again and again.
"Mr. Siddharth Khurana! Uthhoo!" ("Mr. Siddharth Khurana! Wake up!")
I finally pushed myself up from the bed, groggy and disoriented. My mind raced, trying to piece together what had just happened, but everything felt hazy, like fragments of a half-forgotten dream. I squinted against the blinding sunlight streaming in through the double-slider window, flooding the room with a harsh glare.
There was someone standing right in front of me. My breath hitched as I struggled to make out who it was, but the light was too intense, turning their figure into a silhouette. I blinked, rubbing my eyes, still unable to see their face clearly.
But one thing I was certain of— it was a girl. I could tell by the outline of her shadow, soft but unmistakable. She stood there like she was waiting for something. For me.
My pulse quickened. Who was she? And why was she here? The voice from earlier echoed in my mind again, chilling my spine. "Get up, mister." Was it her voice? Was she the one who had pulled me from sleep? I swallowed, my throat dry, unable to shake the strange sensation.
"Who are you?" I asked, my raspy voice rough, filled with anticipation.
She didn't move, didn't answer, just stood there with the sunlight draped around her like a veil, hiding her face. The way she lingered in the light made her almost unreal, like a phantom caught between reality and a dream.
My gaze wavered, unfocusing from her for just a moment, and that's when I saw it—bubbles. Dozens of them, floating lazily behind her, drifting just beyond the window. They caught the sunlight, shimmering with strange hues of blues and purples, each one swelling and shrinking as if they were alive.
I blinked, unsure if I was still dreaming. The bubbles floated aimlessly, almost too perfect, too ethereal for this world. Their soft, fragile surfaces reflected the light in ways that made them seem otherworldly, and for a second, I was transfixed by their silent dance.
