Whispers of the Past
484 Words
Aarav had always believed that love, once found, made everything feel effortless. But with Maya, it felt like something more—something deeper, something inexplicable.
Days after their confession, their bond grew stronger. Late-night conversations turned into early-morning walks, coffee dates into hours spent lost in books, and every touch, every look, carried an unspoken promise. Yet, there was something else too. Something neither of them had the words for.
It started with the dreams.
Maya would wake up breathless, her heart pounding, the remnants of a vision fading like mist. A vast field under a twilight sky, a banyan tree standing tall in the distance, and a presence beside her—someone she could never quite see, but always feel.
It wasn’t just a dream. It felt like a memory.
One evening, Aarav and Maya visited an art gallery, walking hand in hand through rows of paintings. The soft hum of conversations surrounded them, but Maya felt distant, as if something was pulling her attention elsewhere.
Then she saw it.
A painting of a banyan tree, its sprawling branches stretching across the canvas, bathed in the golden light of dusk. Beneath it stood two shadowed figures, their faces blurred by time.
Maya froze.
Her fingers tightened around Aarav’s. “This feels… familiar,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
Aarav glanced at her, then at the painting. “It’s just a tree, Maya.”
“No,” she whispered, stepping closer. “It’s more than that.”
Something inside her stirred, a strange déjà vu rushing through her veins. She had stood beneath that tree before. She had been there.
Aarav watched her, concern flickering in his eyes. “Maya?”
She exhaled, shaking her head. “I’ve been having these dreams,” she admitted. “About a place like this. About… someone.”
His brows furrowed. “What kind of dreams?”
She hesitated. “Like memories. But they’re not mine.”
Aarav chuckled softly, trying to ease the tension. “So, what? You think we were lovers in a past life?”
Maya looked at him then, really looked at him, and for the first time, she wondered—what if they were?
The thought was absurd. Unrealistic. Yet, standing there, staring at that painting, she couldn’t shake the feeling that they had done this before—that their love wasn’t just beginning, but continuing.
She reached for Aarav’s hand. “What if this isn’t the first time we’ve met?”
Aarav stared at her, the playful smirk he had worn fading into something more serious. He had never believed in fate, in past lives or reincarnation. But looking at Maya now, he wasn’t so sure.
The world suddenly felt much bigger. Their love, much older.
And in the quiet of that gallery, beneath the whispers of painted stories, something unseen stirred—watching, waiting for them to remember.
- Writer
