Saga Of The Timeless (A Mahabharata Story)

53. Torn by Truths

The silence between us grew denser, wrapping around me like a shroud, suffocating and cold. My heart hammered in my chest, each beat reverberating in my ears. The masked figure stood before me, his presence commanding, oppressive, and yet—strangely familiar, like a ghost from a dream I couldn't quite place. I kept my gaze down, refusing to look at him directly. The weight of unspoken words hung in the air, almost tangible.

"You look dreadful," he said, his voice cutting through the thick silence, sharp as a knife. It wasn't an observation; it was a judgment. "And you've lost a lot of weight. And not to forget still stubborn."

His words sent a ripple of anger through me, but I clenched my fists, forcing myself to stay still. I refused to show him any sign of weakness, even though his voice—it gnawed at the back of my mind. A strange sense of familiarity tugged at me, but it was elusive, like a memory at the edge of my consciousness that wouldn't quite come into focus.

"I've seen you before," I said, barely louder than a whisper, my voice strained but steady. "In fact, many times."

The memories that had long been locked away began to stir, fractured pieces of the past surfacing in jagged fragments. My heart raced as I struggled to make sense of it.

"You were the one who took me to the hospital... when they raped me." My voice faltered as the words spilled out, each syllable laced with bitterness and pain. "I couldn't remember your face clearly, but I knew someone was there. Was it you?"

I looked up, my breath quickening as flashes of those haunting memories returned—blurry faces, shadowy figures, distant gazes.

"And you were there at my grandfather's funeral, weren't you?" I pressed, my voice growing louder, more insistent. "Standing in the distance, observing, like some silent phantom."

I felt the tension in the room tighten, constricting around me. The figure said nothing, but his presence felt charged, his silence more unnerving than any words he could have spoken.

"And Aryan's funeral," I continued, my voice breaking as I fought back tears. "You were there too. And when I tried to—" My voice cracked. "When I tried to kill myself... you were there, watching. Just standing there as the train rushed toward me."

His head tilted slightly, as if considering my words. The eerie calm in his posture only fueled my frustration, my anger.

"Was it all a dream?" I whispered, the question burning in my throat. "Are you even real... or something my mind has conjured up to torment me?"

He chuckled softly, the sound muffled behind the mask, sending a chill down my spine. "Oh, I'm very real," he said, his voice low and mocking. "How could you not recognize me? After all... we're the same blood."

I froze. His words hit me like a blow to the chest. Blood? My stomach lurched as confusion and disbelief swirled inside me, crashing against the walls of my mind. Blood? Related?

"What?" I stammered, barely able to form the word. My voice trembled, every part of me shaken.

"You don't look so different from our mother," he continued casually, as if we were discussing something trivial. "The same eyes. The same stubbornness."

I felt the ground beneath me shift. The room spun as a wave of nausea hit me. I couldn't process it—none of it made sense.

"If this is some twisted, fucked-up joke, I don't care," I spat, my voice rising, shaky but defiant. "I've had enough of this confusing shit. Every time something happens in my life—someone new shows up, some new disaster strikes, and it's always this... this cryptic nonsense!"

My voice broke, and I could feel the anger swelling inside me, hot and fierce. I wanted to scream, to cry, to break something—anything.

He just stood there, watching me, his gaze steady and unblinking. It only made me angrier.