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Third person's pov!

The Agnihotri mansion lay shrouded in midnight quiet, with only the soft rustle of curtains and the distant ticking of a clock breaking the silence.

Siddharth lay restless in his bed, his mind whirling with thoughts he couldn't untangle. Since he had heard that voice—clear, kind, and unquestionably familiar—it had stayed in his head. It gnawed at him, a weird sensation of nostalgia he couldn't quite identify. He kept thinking about it, over and over repeating that fleeting instant in his thoughts.

"Who was she?" With annoyed rubbing of his eyes, he murmured to himself. Something buried deep within him seemed to be waking, some vague memory just out of grasp. The sensation unsettled him, as though he were lacking a piece of something vital.

Sighing, he rolled onto his side, trying to shake off the feeling, but sleep wouldn't come. Instead, a heavy thirst crept up on him, so he reached for the water bottle on his nightstand, only to find it empty. With a groan, Siddharth sat up, pushing the blanket aside, and quietly padded out of his room towards the kitchen.

The hallway was dark, and his mind remained distant, his thoughts still drifting back to that voice. He moved mechanically, lost in his head. His foot missed the edge of a stair, and before he could react, he stumbled, losing his balance entirely.

He tried to grab the railing, but it slipped from his grasp as he tumbled down, hitting his forehead against the stairs before finally coming to a stop at the bottom, dazed and with a dull ache radiating from his arm.

He lay there catching his breath, a searing ache went through him; but, it was nothing compared to the unusual emptiness wriggling at his heart. What was going on with him?

In another part of Bangalore city, Shraddha sat bolt straight in bed at the same moment, her heart pounding.

"Sid!," She yelled, her voice piercing the serenity of the night.

Beside her, Dhruv startled awake with wide worried eyes.

"Shraddha?" What happened?" His hand went out to steady her right away.

Shraddha, breathless, gazed around the confused room.

"I...I don't know," she said, her voice shaking. "I simply sensed something, Dhruv. It was as though—" She stopped rubbing her temples, trying to understand the unusual pull in her chest, the hollow aching that had awakened her so abruptly. She couldn't explain it, but it was as if she'd heard something, felt something.

"Sid.. Something happened to Sid. He got hurt.." Shraddha mumbled still in daze, her heart beating at an unbelievable pace.

Hearing the painful cry, the Agnihotri household stirred in alarm. Doors swung open and Niranjan, Anjana, Abhay, and Vaiga hurried from their bedrooms, concern clearly on their features. At the foot of the steps, Siddharth was seated with a faint blood trail running down his forehead.

Anjana's hands shook as her face lost colour and she rushed to him.

"Oh, Siddhu," She sobbed, quickly approaching his side and her voice heavy with concern.

Abhay moved fast, crouching beside his younger brother to get him to his feet.

"Come on, let's get you to the couch," he said in a calm but firm voice. While Niranjan watched nervously, his eyes black with anxiety, Abhay led Siddharth over and made sure he didn't weigh on his hurt leg.

"Vaiga, the first aid box." Not looking away from Siddharth, Abhay demanded. Vaiga nodded, vanished down the hall, then came back moments later to give Abhay the gear.

Abhay lightly dabbed at the cut, closely examining it.

"Luckily, it's not too deep," he said, precisely bandaging the incision with antiseptic treatment. He gave Siddharth a pain reliever, which he happily swallowed quickly with a sip of water.

Perched on the couch next to Siddharth, Anjana stretched out with a gentle hand smoothing back his hair.

"You should have walked carefully Siddhu. What if you had seriously injured yourself?" She clutched onto his hand and gently chastised, her voice filled with concern.

Siddharth squeezed her hand and mustered a confident smile.

"Maa, I am good. I just slipped gently," he said in a soft voice, but he winced slightly as the medicines took time to start to work.

Shraddha, meanwhile, sat up in bed, her heart still racing with an unexplained sense of urgency as she said "Sid" over and over in short gasps. Her fingers tightened around the sheet, her face pallid, her eyes wide and restless. Alighted by her discomfort, Dhruv sat up next to her.

"Shraddha; what's wrong?" Trying to calm her, he asked with a worried tone. Her lips quivering, her eyes were far as she kept murmuring the word.

The repeated name set something in Dhruv frozen. His brows knitted in perplexity, a jolt of envy coursed across his chest.

"Sid?," He repeated, his voice faintly suspicious. "You always call him Siddhant ji, right?"

His words pierced through her dream and brought her focus on him. Her head still cloudy from the unusual sensation that had engulfed her, she stared at him, momentarily confused.

"What?" She asked, trying to put together her thoughts with uncertainty flashing in her eyes.

Dhruv's gaze hardened slightly, his expression unreadable.

"You were calling out 'Sid.' You always call Siddhant 'Siddhant ji'... I have never heard you call him Sid," he said quietly, his words carrying an edge.

Shraddha opened her mouth, but no words came. She couldn't explain it herself. It hadn't been intentional, and in her half-awake state, she didn't even realise she'd been calling out that name. Something deep within her had stirred, almost instinctively. She didn't understand it, but the thought of Sid—someone, somewhere—being hurt or needing her had jolted her awake, sending her heart pounding.

"It's not Siddhant ji. This Sid.. This Sid is someone else.." Shraddha managed to say.

"Who?" Dhruv asked curiously.

"I don't know.." Shraddha said softly, as she leaned against his chest.

"What do you mean? You were crying for him, Shraddha. You were worried he was hurt. How can you not know who that is?" Dhruv asked in confusion.

Shraddha told him all about the dreams she has had since her childhood. Dhruv listened patiently, wondering if these dreams had any connection to her roots. He had assumed that she was abandoned in an orphanage when she was a baby. He didn't probe much into it not wanting to make Shraddha feel again and again that she was an orphan.

"The only connection I have to my roots is this chain and pendant." Shraddha said, taking out the small box she had kept safely in the cupboard.

Dhruv checked the pendant. The name Shraddha was inscribed beautifully on the gold locket. It was a diamond studded golden pendant.

So, she was from a well off family. How did she reach the orphanage?

"How did you reach the orphanage? How old were you?" Dhruv asked, wrapping his arms around Shraddha.

"I was four, I think. I don't know much. The orphanage warden said she thinks I was a victim of a landslide in Mussoorie." Shraddha said softly.

Dhruv's heart raced. What if she has relatives in some corner of this world? Why didn't they find her? Or did they die in the landslide.

"He calls me Shrey.." Shraddha said softly.

"Who?"

"Sid. In my dreams, he calls me Shrey. I feel so close to him. As though he was a part of me. I don't know how to explain this. These strange feelings for someone who probably doesn't even exist." Shraddha said.

"It's okay, Shraddha. I may not understand the depth of your feelings. But you have me." Dhruv said.

"Thank you, Dhruv. Thank you for coming into my life. If I hadn't met you, I don't know how lonely I would have been all my life." Shraddha said.

"Not just you, Shraddha. I would have ended up living a lonely life if I hadn't met you." Dhruv said, dropping an affectionate kiss on top of her head.

As they settled on the bed, their minds raced with different thoughts. Dhruv was occupied wondering if Shraddha has living relatives somewhere? If yes, how would he find them?

Shraddha was still reeling from her dream where her beloved Sid got hurt. If he was someone real out there, she prayed that he wasn't hurt much.

Both Siddharth and Shraddha, separated by distance yet connected by an unseen thread, were left with an unshakable sense of loss, as if a piece of themselves was adrift, out of reach.

A/n

I have no idea if twins in real life feel this kind of telepathic connections. But I love reading such stuff and I love writing such stuff...

Please do vote and comment...

Love,

SF❤️