Chapter 3 "The sky that burned my name"

Utsav

D-Don’t worry… I’ll save you. I promise. Just hang on, Princess!" I shouted, my voice cracking as flames roared around us. The fire was everywhere—devouring the wooden pillars, licking the stone walls, drowning everything in an orange inferno.

She stood a few feet away, her figure half-hidden by the smoke, eyes wide with terror—and yet, there was something else. A quiet hope. A fragile, unspoken trust that I would reach her.

I couldn’t see her face clearly, but still… she was the most beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes on. Like a memory I never knew I had. Familiar. Sacred. Fated.

I fought through the heat, trying to get closer, but then—

The fire turned on me.

Searing pain shot through my limbs. My skin felt like it was tearing open.

I was burning.

Burning alive.

Still, I kept crawling toward her.

"I will save you!" I screamed, one final desperate vow—

—and jolted upright in bed, my chest heaving.

Sweat drenched my forehead, my shirt clinging to my skin. My hands were trembling. My voice… hoarse, as if I’d actually been shouting.

That dream. That damn dream again.

I pressed my palms against my face, trying to calm my breath.

Why now?

Why only in India?

It wasn’t the first time I’d seen that dream—but this time, it felt deeper. More vivid. Like I was there. Like it wasn’t just a dream… but a memory.

“Oh God… why do I always see this dream in India?” I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper as I reached for the glass of water on the bedside table. My hand trembled slightly as I took a long sip, the coldness grounding me—if only for a moment.

“The last time I saw it… I was just a kid. Right before we left for the U.S. And now again?”

Why now? Why here?

Why this same dream?

It clung to me like smoke—thick, suffocating.

The images were already starting to fade, as dreams do… but the feeling—that raw panic, the helplessness—it stayed. The fire, her voice, her screams… the desperate look in her eyes as she reached for me.

Who is she?

Her face was always blurred, like a painting smudged by time. Yet her presence haunted me.

I didn’t know her… and somehow, I did.

That voice. That plea for help. That unspoken bond. It rattled something deep in my chest, something ancient and aching.

“It’s just a dream,” I told myself, shaking my head hard as if I could throw the images out of my mind.

The clock glowed in the darkness—5:00 AM.

My usual workout time.

Trying to anchor myself in routine, I stood up, walked to the washroom, and splashed cold water on my face. I changed into my exercise clothes, laced up my shoes, and headed down the quiet corridor to Aditya’s private gym in the mansion.

Maybe sweat could burn away the memory.

Or at least silence the ghosts.

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(Personal Gym)

As I stepped into the gym, I saw Aditya already pushing himself to the limit. Shirtless, his body glistened with sweat, every muscle defined and rippling under the harsh lights. His Scorpio tattoo sprawled across his chest, the ink dark and bold against his bronzed skin. Sweat beads dripped from his forehead, mixing with the dampness on his skin as he moved with determination, lifting the heavy dumbbells with ease—but there was something off. He was exhausted, clearly drained, but his focus was razor-sharp, more intense than usual.

I could see it in his eyes—something else was fueling him today. A restless energy, driven by anger or frustration. He wasn’t just working out; he was using the weights to channel whatever demons were lurking in his mind.

I raised an eyebrow, my gaze calculating as I watched him lift.

“Still thinking about those things?” I asked, my voice calm and composed, as though nothing had rattled me just moments ago. The dream, the fire, the haunting vision of a woman I couldn’t remember... none of it showed in my tone as I began my stretches, preparing for my own workout.

Aditya’s eyes flicked to mine for a moment, but he didn’t answer. His jaw tightened, his grip on the dumbbells momentarily faltering before he pushed them up again, each movement sharp, deliberate. I knew better than to press him for details. But I also knew that whatever was weighing on him was more than just the physical exhaustion—it was something deeper, something he didn’t speak of. And like me, he preferred to bury it under the weight of a workout.

"I can't forget that… Never!" Aditya’s voice broke the silence after a long moment. The frustration and rage were palpable beneath his calm, almost indifferent demeanor. He stopped his workout, wiped the sweat from his forehead with a towel, and reached for his water bottle, his movements sharp, as if every action carried the weight of unspoken thoughts.

I didn’t respond. Nor did I push him further. I knew better than to provoke a conversation about the demons that haunted him. Fighting inner demons was not something I indulged in, either. In my experience, everyone harbored their own personal darkness—secrets, regrets, traumas—that they buried beneath carefully constructed facades.

Every person in this world lived with something they kept hidden, something they couldn’t face. The mind—so intricately complex, so fragile—was a prison for our darkest thoughts. And the heart… well, the heart was nothing more than a pumping organ, an unfeeling muscle that I had dissected countless times in my medical career.

I often wondered if my heart was of stone, because I couldn’t feel.

I didn’t feel the weight of the past. I didn’t feel the echoes of the tragedy happened that night or the void it left behind.

I didn’t feel anything.

I drowned it all in the rhythm of my workout, each repetition a temporary escape a brief moment of numbness. The barbell in my hands became the only reality. The burn in my muscles replaced the one in my chest.

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(Dining Hall)

So, bhai, tell me—are you excited for my marriage?" Aditya asked, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of the morning. The sound of his cutlery clinking against the fine china echoed through the grand dining hall. The table was a masterpiece in itself: a long, polished mahogany surface gleaming under the soft glow of the chandelier. Expensive plates were set before us, each paired with gleaming silver cutlery that reflected the morning light. The chairs around the table, high-backed and upholstered in rich velvet, gave the room an air of old-world luxury.

I wiped my mouth with a napkin, coolly sipping from the glass of fresh juice before answering. "You have the audacity to ask me that, Aadi. I must say."

I couldn’t suppress the smirk that tugged at my lips.

He laughed, the sound rich and carefree, but there was a playful glint in his eyes. "I know, I know, bhai. I understand what you’re saying. No one in our family knew Aditya Mehrotra was getting married. Dad’s busy with business in the U.S., and Uncle and the family have their own things to deal with. And you… well, you showed up with some excuse about checking on an Indian case—a heart patient."

His mocking tone made me smirk again. He wasn’t entirely wrong, but he wasn’t entirely right either. Yes, I had come to India under the pretense of a medical case. But the truth was, I wasn’t here just for Aditya’s wedding. Not really. People, after all, had deep, dark secrets that they buried beneath their facades.

"Well, I had to come attend your 'nonexistent' wedding, since the family seems to have no clue about it. I can’t watch my cousin throw himself into the fire of his own destruction," I said, my voice dripping with cynicism. A dark amusement flashed in my eyes.

A small smirk played on my face as I leaned back in my chair, the words hanging in the air. To me, marriage was just that—destruction. A packaged disaster, like an incurable disease, creeping into your life without warning, and staying with you until the end. Like Aids—a lifelong companion that you never asked for, but you couldn't escape.

Yeah, you’re right. Here we go again—Mr. Cold Utsav Mehrotra and his endless speeches," Aditya said with a playful roll of his eyes, shaking his head in mock disbelief.

"We’ll see when you fall in love one day. Just like I fell for Aditi. My shy, innocent, cute yet sassy fiancée." He said it with a smug grin, as if he’d won some kind of victory.

I scoffed, the disdain clear in my voice. "I’m not interested in talking about that." I cut him off mid-sentence, my words sharp, making it clear that the topic was closed.

I stood up from the table, my movements deliberate and controlled. I didn’t need to stay here any longer. As I turned, I saw a group of his carefree, spoiled-brat friends sauntering through the door.The mahogany door, accented with delicate trails of gold leaf, opened with a creak far too dramatic for the idiots it revealed. Their entrance was accompanied by the faint glimmer of gold dust that seemed to stick to their shiny clothes, like they were wrapped in the glitter of their own empty lives.

They were fools. Happy at the thought of someone else’s destruction, reveling in the chaos of a wedding they had no stake in. A bunch of aimless idiots, wasting away their lives on drinking, dancing to the cringiest of songs, and doing nothing of value.

I could already feel the irritation rising within me, knowing I’d have to endure their presence through this entire wedding.

I masked my disgust with my usual stoic expression—one that had been perfected over the years—before turning on my heel and heading toward my room. I couldn't stand the thought of staying in the same room as those idiots any longer.

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(Utsav's Room)

(Balcony)

Standing at the balcony of my private room, I stared into the dusky Indian sky—the same sky that had once stolen everything from me. My life. My innocence. My childhood.

The boy I once was—the four-year-old who looked at the world with wide eyes and dreams too big for his small frame—was long gone. In his place stood someone who no longer craved to live… only to exist. Not for joy, not for love, but for something else. Something unfinished. Something that binds me to this breathing shell like invisible chains.

I do not get to die. Not yet.

My hands gripped the cold iron railing, knuckles turning white. I was calm, outwardly so, but within me raged a fire that refused to die out—a fire that night had sparked and time failed to extinguish. The memory of it... even after all these years... never left me. It didn’t come as flashes or nightmares anymore. It lived in me. Quietly. Constantly.

Every day, I fought a silent war against myself. A war where the enemy wore my own face.

Death. It’s the only truth none of us can escape. It’s the one ending that doesn’t care for wealth, power, love, or legacy. It comes like a shadow—soft, quiet, and certain. And yet, we live as though we have forever. We waste time, curse it, chase it. But the truth is, time owes nothing to anyone.

It doesn’t wait. It doesn’t warn.

It carves you, shapes you, breaks you—and if you’re not careful, it devours you. But not me.

I have a purpose. A reason. A task etched into the blood of my existence. And until it is fulfilled, death cannot touch me.

Time may try. It may bend me. Scar me. Turn me into something unrecognizable. But it will not destroy me.

Not entirely.

Not yet.

Because the sky that once took everything from me… still owes me something in return.

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Do let me know ur opinions about utsav's character and his psychology about life and death. I know his character is strong and perhaps some may consider it negative perspective towards life but again its just a fiction so take it like that, Be open minded and don't imagine the whole scenerio from starting of some chapters..There is much more is waiting to be revealed!

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