Adya, still smiling, looked around, taking in the peaceful surroundings. "I love this place. We should come here every week," she said excitedly.
Ayan's expression softened, but there was a hint of something in his eyes—something she couldn't quite place. "We don't have much time," he said quietly.
Adya frowned, puzzled. "Why? Where do we have to go?"
Ayan studied her momentarily, then asked, "How did you get here? Where did these fruits come from?"
She opened her mouth to respond but hesitated. "We came from—" she paused, confusion settling as she tried to recall the details. "Why can't I remember?"
A beat of silence stretched between them, the once comforting garden suddenly feeling a little too still.
Ayan's voice softened as he looked into Adya's confused eyes. "We're inside your dream," he said, watching for her reaction. "For now, just understand that I'm not an ordinary journalist. I investigate by... going inside people's minds."
