It was late.
The streets outside Aarohi's home buzzed with the last of the weekend rush. But something tugged at her to walk alone that evening — to clear her mind, to shake off the voice she had heard at the café.
She didn't tell Naina. Didn't tell Aaru. She just slipped her phone in her pocket, grabbed her dupatta, and walked out into the soft orange glow of the streetlights.
The lanes were quieter near the railway footbridge — where billboards hung half-torn and the metro lights blinked above a still world.
That's where she saw him.
A man. Late twenties, maybe. Standing beneath the bridge.
Alone.
Except — he wasn't.
Aarohi paused. There was something off. His body was tense. His arms flailed. His voice — though she couldn't hear it — sounded desperate. As if arguing with someone.
But no one else stood there.
He shouted at the air. Turned suddenly. Backpedaled like someone had lunged at him.
She took a step forward. "Hello?"
The man froze.
And then — he vanished.
No puff of smoke. No dramatic swirl.
Just… gone.
Like a light switched off.
Aarohi's breath caught.
She rushed forward. Her sandals scraped against broken cement. The space beneath the bridge was quiet, still, unnaturally cold.
And at the center — lying on the ground — was a lightstick.
Not just any.
A SOLARIS fanlight.
The same version she owned. Limited edition. Silver-trimmed.
She bent down, slowly, heart racing. She reached for it.
The moment her fingers brushed the plastic —
The world cracked.
A blinding pulse of white.
A high-pitched ringing.
And then — darkness.
When Aarohi opened her eyes, she wasn't under the bridge.
She wasn't in Mumbai at all.
She was standing inside a massive, glassy dome.
The air shimmered around her like heat waves. Floating lights danced overhead — soft orbs of violet and gold. Music echoed faintly in the distance, as if being played in another layer of time.
It was a concert hall.
But not like any she had seen.
No seats. No exits. No stage.
Just space.
Endless. Eternal.
And ahead of her — hovering above a translucent path — was the same lightstick. Floating. Glowing faintly.
She stepped forward.
Her body didn't feel heavy. Or real. It was like walking inside a dream. Or a memory.
"Aarohi…"
The voice echoed.
Not the whisper.
A different one.
Softer. Familiar.
She turned.
Nobody.
She walked deeper into the dome, following the sound.
As she neared the center, the walls of the space began to shimmer, showing… images. Moving scenes, like memories being projected:
— A girl buying her first K-pop album, wide-eyed.
— A teenager writing diary entries filled with lyrics.
— A girl falling asleep with music in her ears, tears on her pillow.
All her.
All versions of her.
Then — the voice again.
"You called out… in music. And something heard."
She turned again.
This time, she saw it.
Not a person. Not a shadow.
A shape — cloaked in starlight, faceless, but not frightening.
A presence.
"Where… am I?" she asked.
The figure didn't move. But the voice came again.
"Between. The space where pure intention lingers. The fanlight dimension. The heart of every honest wish."
Her fingers tightened around the lightstick.
"You were pulled here because you felt it. Him. The darkness. Asura."
Her eyes widened.
"Why me?"
"Because love untainted is rare. And your heart… has never asked to possess. Only to protect."
The dome shook. A crack formed above.
A voice — darker, crueler — hissed through the breach.
"She is mine now. She listens. She doubts. She breaks."
Asura.
The presence beside her whispered again:
"You must choose. To flee. Or to stand."
Aarohi stared at the lightstick.
Then clutched it to her chest.
"I won't run."
The dome pulsed with light.
And the vision shattered.
Aarohi collapsed on the sidewalk beneath the bridge.
She gasped, heart racing, clutching the lightstick in her hands.
The air was heavy again.
But she was no longer afraid.
Something had changed.
In her.
And far away, Asura growled.
Because now — she had seen his path.
And refused it.