Raghavendra X Saraiyaa
He is the , the God of Shadow, rules the underworld with ruthless power. Feared by many and loved by none, his heart is as cold as the darkness he commands. But when Sarai Mehra, a woman as pure as the light he's forsaken, ent...
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The night bleeds into my thoughts again, clawing at my sanity. I sit at the edge of my bed, arms wrapped tightly around myself, trying to anchor the pieces of me that feel as if they're unraveling. It's always like this-darkness presses against my skull, memories flickering in and out, a ghostly wisp of things I cannot grasp. My heart aches with the weight of a loss I don't understand. I miss someone, but I don't know who.
I know he was real-his presence lingers in the empty spaces between my thoughts, haunting me in every quiet moment. I taste his absence in the silence, feel it in the empty bed next to me, and smell it in the faded cologne that's embedded in my pillow, though I can't recall ever having bought it. But no matter how hard I try, his face stays blurred in the back of my mind, a shadow with no name.
Amnesia. That's what the doctors told me. A fragmenting of memory caused by trauma. The words sounded cold, clinical, as if they could explain why I wake up screaming in the middle of the night, clawing at my chest as if to tear out the invisible ache inside me. They can't tell me why my heart recognizes someone my mind refuses to remember.
Psychosis, they added later. Hallucinations. They think I'm making it all up, that this man I dream of is a figment of my broken mind-a way for me to cope with the void inside me. I almost believed them once. But not anymore. Because I feel him everywhere, even now.
The lights in my apartment flicker, a shuddering pulse that mirrors the erratic beat of my heart. I glance over my shoulder, expecting to see him standing in the corner like he always is in my dreams-watching, waiting, a silent figure cloaked in darkness. But the room is empty. It always is.
And yet... I can feel him.
The air shifts, thick and suffocating, wrapping around me like an embrace. I shiver, not from cold, but from the strange sensation of being touched by something-or someone-I can't see. My fingers brush against my own skin, as if to confirm that I am still here, still whole. I curl my hand into a fist, nails digging into my palm to remind myself I am awake.
But am I?
Sometimes, the lines blur. Dreams and reality melt together, leaving me stranded in a liminal space where nothing makes sense. I see him in those dreams, always just out of reach. He whispers things to me-things I can't remember when I wake, though his voice stays with me, a deep, haunting lullaby that curls around my mind.
"Come back to me," he says. Over and over, like a prayer. Or a curse.
I wake with tears on my face every time, clutching the sheets as if they could anchor me to something solid. But they never do. Everything feels slippery, as if I'm standing on the edge of an abyss, teetering, waiting for the ground beneath me to give way.
I don't know who he is, but I know I love him.
It's irrational. Illogical. But the heart doesn't care about logic. It just... hurts. The doctors tell me the pain will fade with time. I laugh at them. They don't understand-this kind of ache doesn't fade. It festers, digging deeper until it consumes everything.
