Hit me

21 Agust

They say once every thirty years, there comes a night like no other.

If the full moon’s reflection touches your skin…

if the air grows strange…

if the rain unexpectedly falls…

and lightning strikes near you without harm

You are bound to someone.

Your soulmate.

“Sounds like a fantasy novel,” Ziyu muttered, flipping through a magazine without looking up.

Vishu, sprawled across the couch in Ziyu’s massive luxury room, spoke with the dramatic energy of someone narrating a movie trailer.

“I’m serious! My uncle swears it happened in his village. If the thunder touches you and you don’t die—boom—you’re connected forever!”

Ziyu sighed as if exhausted by the stupidity of mankind.

“This is all fake, Vishu. Don’t waste your time.”

He stood, brushing imaginary dust from his shirt. “Come on. We’re already late for lunch.”

Vishu narrowed his eyes.

“You’ll believe it soon.”

Ziyu opened the door, but it creaked again as if someone unseen pushed it from behind. He didn’t even look.

“Vishu, let’s go. I’m hungry.”

And they left the room—

the legend forgotten…

For now.

But five days later, on the night of 21 August, everything changed.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°`~~`°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Avnish liked calling himself a middle-class boy.

It made him feel grounded, ordinary.

Reality?

His life was much richer than he pretended.

After their parents’ death, he lived with his older sister, Diya—a woman powered entirely by work and money. No gods, no superstitions. Her heels clicked across airports in different countries while she earned a salary most people only dreamed of. She carried every burden but never let Avnish feel any of it.

Avnish’s world was simple:

movies, friends, and occasionally helping Diya when she was home.

They had just moved into a new apartment two months ago—big balcony, gorgeous city view, and a bedroom spacious enough for him to roll across like a child.

One quiet afternoon he stumbled across an online article titled:

“21 August: The Night of the Soulmate Lightning.”

It explained the same bizarre legend Vishu once told Ziyu—once in thirty years, if the moonlight touched your body and lightning struck without hurting you, the gods were marking you for your soulmate.

Avnish snorted aloud. “Hah… what nonsense.”

He scrolled down, but his finger stopped. What if?

The kind of what if that made his lips curl in a mischievous grin.

“You know what… I want to try this. Real or fake, let’s find out,” he muttered to himself.

At around 7 p.m., Avnish decided to watch the rare night sky with his best friend, Govind.

They dragged two chairs onto the balcony, sitting side-by-side with the telescope pointed at the fat, rising moon.

Govind’s stomach broke the silence with a loud, desperate growl.

“I’m hungry,” he complained, clutching his belly. “Let’s make something before we die here.”

Avnish groaned but followed him into the kitchen. They tossed random ingredients into a pan, talking and laughing, too distracted to notice the smoke building.

Five minutes later, Govind pulled the pan off the stove. Inside, the food was black—pure koyla.

They stared at it.

Govind sighed. “Now what?”

Avnish’s own stomach answered with an angry growl. “We… order something.”

But just as they reached for their phones, the apartment went completely dark. Not just their flat—the whole city. Streetlights, buildings, everything vanished into shadow as if someone had wiped the light from the world.

Avnish frowned, his pulse picking up. “This… is weird.”

Govind glanced at his phone. “No signal.”

Avnish checked his too—dead. No calls, no internet.

A strange heaviness filled the air.

The moon above seemed brighter now, and the night… quieter.

Too quiet.

Govind broke the silence. “Let’s just go to the convenience store. I’m starving.”

Avnish hesitated for a moment, feeling that odd pull in his chest—but finally nodded. “Fine. Let’s go.”

They grabbed their wallets, stepped out of the apartment, and into the strange, waiting darkness.

They left the apartment together, deciding not to take the bike. It’s just twenty minutes on foot, Avnish had said, though the night air already felt heavier than usual—dense, like it was holding something in.

By the time they stepped into the convenience store, the first raindrops tapped against the glass door. Then, as if the sky had been holding its breath, the heavens opened. The downpour came suddenly—thick, violent, and endless, battering the street with a sound that swallowed every other noise.

Govind stared outside. “Well… guess God was waiting for us to get here.”

Avnish forced a small smile, trying to sound casual. “Don’t be scared. The rain will stop once we’re done.”

But inside, his chest felt tight. His mind wasn’t on the aisles or the shelves—it was on the 21 August article he’d read earlier. The words about lightning and soulmates kept replaying in his head like an itch he couldn’t ignore. Once in thirty years… the moon… the thunder…

When he told Govind not to be scared, he was really talking to himself.

They paid for their food, only to find the rain heavier than before—fat drops splashing like bullets against the pavement. With no choice, they bought thick plastic bags to shield their groceries.

Then, as they pushed open the glass door to leave…

The rain stopped.

The silence that followed was unsettling. No drip from the roofs, no rumble in the sky. The wet street shimmered under the swollen moon, every puddle glowing white.

“This is our chance,” Govind said, eyes narrowing in a half-dare.

Avnish nodded. “Let’s run before it starts again.”

They dashed into the night, shoes splashing through puddles, their breath puffing white in the cool air. Halfway home—ten minutes from the apartment—Govind froze mid-step, his hand flying to his pocket.

“My phone… I left it on the counter when I paid!”

He turned, already stepping back toward the store. “You go first. I’ll get it. Don’t wait for me.”

Before Avnish could answer, Govind was gone, swallowed by the darkness between the streetlights.

Now alone, Avnish quickened his pace. The night pressed closer, each shadow stretching longer, the street quieter than it should have been.

That was when the rain returned—harder, colder, each drop biting at his skin. He hugged the plastic-covered groceries to his chest, ducking his head and running. His heartbeat was louder than the rain.

A sudden burst of moonlight broke through the clouds, spilling over him like liquid silver. It felt warm, almost alive.

And then—

CRACK!

The thunder split the sky open, a jagged line of light ripping through the dark. It didn’t strike the ground—it touched him. The electricity danced over his skin in a thin, glowing thread, and from him, it leapt forward… connecting to someone else.

Through the shimmering wire of light, Avnish saw the figure up ahead. Not their face—only their back. Their shoulders were drawn tight, their head slightly lowered, like they were bracing themselves against the same storm.

For one impossible heartbeat, they were connected. His pulse stumbled, because he could feel it—their fear, their breath quickening, their body trembling as if the storm was inside them too.

The warmth in his chest wasn’t his own.

And then—darkness.

The light was gone, leaving only the rain, the empty street, and Avnish standing there, gasping for air.

Somewhere, in the distance, the storm moved on.

But the pounding in his chest refused to fade.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°`~~`°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Two hours earlier…

Ziyu’s day had been planned for weeks.

21 August wasn’t special to him in the way newspapers or online stories claimed—it was just the perfect excuse to gather his gang and stir chaos in the city.

He was the leader. Not because he fought the most or shouted the loudest, but because he had that rare mix of money, charm, and control that made people follow without question. If Ziyu wanted someone’s life miserable, it happened. If he wanted a street cleared for a game, it happened.

But beneath that cocky smirk, there were invisible lines he never crossed—especially when it came to Vishu, his best friend.

Vishu was nothing like him. Bookish, soft-spoken, endlessly chasing some strange piece of research like it was treasure. Not rich, not flashy—but steady. Ziyu helped him anyway, quietly, behind the scenes, never letting anyone (especially Vishu’s parents) know. Pity was weakness, and Ziyu hated weakness.

At 6:00 PM, Ziyu dialed him.

“Come to my place. We’re playing football near the park. Whole gang’s coming,” he said, leaning against his balcony railing, the gold chain on his neck catching the last orange rays of sunset.

“Can’t,” Vishu replied, muffled as if buried under books. “I have to study.”

“Forget studying for one night,” Ziyu pressed, sharpening his tone just enough to sound like an order. “It’s not like your exams are tomorrow.”

“No,” Vishu said firmly. “And you shouldn’t be outside either. You know what today is.”

Ziyu frowned. “Don’t start that crap. That 21 August lightning story is just—”

“—Not crap,” Vishu cut in. “You don’t have to believe it, but just… don’t risk it.”

Ziyu rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath. “You sound like an old man.”

By 6:30, the gang’s bikes roared up the street—three engines like impatient wolves. Ziyu grabbed his jacket, left his phone charging on the table, and headed out.

They played football for barely thirty minutes before the streetlights blinked out one by one, until the city was swallowed in black.

“Looks like the whole grid’s dead,” one of the boys muttered.

Ziyu’s smirk returned. “Perfect. Let’s make the night interesting.”

But the air had changed. The heat vanished, replaced by a damp chill. Somewhere in the distance, thunder grumbled low and long.

The first raindrop hit Ziyu’s cheek.

Within seconds, the sky cracked open and rain poured like a waterfall, drenching them in moments.

“Let’s head to the shop near 5th street!” someone shouted over the downpour.

They sprinted, laughter and curses mixing with the slap of water underfoot. The convenience store glowed like a beacon in the dark, its glass door fogged by the warmth inside.

Ziyu was the first to arrive. Rain plastered his hair to his head and soaked his jacket, making him more irritated by the second. His gang fanned out between the aisles, joking and nudging each other.

But Ziyu stayed near the entrance, glancing outside, restless.

The storm hadn’t let up. Moonlight broke through the clouds just enough to silver the wet streets, casting long, eerie reflections. He didn’t notice it yet, but somewhere across the city, another boy ran through the same rain—unseen, unknown, inexplicably linked to him.

Ziyu’s phone buzzed. He cursed under his breath and called his friend.

“Come pick me up. Your house is near the store.”

Before Vishu could answer, the signal died. Two minutes crawled by, each longer than the last. Irritation surged. He decided he would walk to Vishu’s house.

Turning back to his gang, he barked, “Go ahead, buy whatever you want. I’m leaving first.”

As he stepped onto the slick pavement, a car sped past, splashing mud across his jacket and pants. He cursed loudly, wiping at the muck with his hands. Every misstep tonight seemed designed to annoy him, and he muttered about it under his breath.

Then, the moonlight glinted off the wet streets—and he froze. A thread of lightning, faint but sharp, arced from his body like it was alive. It stretched across the storm-tossed street, connecting him to someone he could not yet see.

“This is definitely a horrible day,” he muttered. The hair on his arms rose. He felt it first—the eyes, the attention, the awareness of someone watching him.

Before he could react, Vishu appeared, grinning from his bike. “Here, take this,” he said, holding out a handkerchief, calm and teasing despite the rain.

“Don’t laugh,” Ziyu snapped, brushing off his jacket. “Let’s go home. I’m soaked.”

Behind him, just beyond the streetlight’s reach, a figure lingered. Silent. Patient. Trying desperately to catch a glimpse of Ziyu’s face. The rain poured, the distance was long, but the watcher remained, tethered to him by something only the storm understood—a pulsing thread that might tie them together again, sooner than either of them expected.

And just like that, Ziyu climbed onto Vishu’s bike. The moment of connection shattered—but in the shadows, the unseen observer waited.

A thread that would return again.