My Soulmate – Chapter 1: The Man in My Dreams. He was never supposed to have a face. Now, I can’t forget it.

My Soulmate wasn’t supposed to have a face. But he has now.

My Soulmate

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Table of Contents

• My Soulmate, – Blurb: What happens when your dream love collides with reality?
• My Soulmate – Chapter 1: The Man in My Dreams. He was never supposed to have a face. Now, I can’t forget it.

My Soulmate Chapter 1: The Man of My Dreams

A deep rumble tore through the sky, shaking the earth beneath me. I flinched as another bolt of lightning slashed through the thick clouds, illuminating the night for a fleeting second before plunging it back into darkness. The sky churned—a furious, restless gray, the kind that made you believe something out there was raging, unsettled.

If this were a horror movie, this would be the part where everything falls apart—the ghost wins, the girl screams, and the credits roll. The storm had that kind of finality to it, a suffocating weight pressing against my chest.

I hugged myself, rubbing my arms, but warmth never came. It never did. The only comfort I had was me, and that had to be enough. Because people? They left. They always did.

Relationships were overrated. Temporary. Like the spaces people occupied before moving on. In the end, you were left with yourself.

Another boom split the sky, so loud it rattled in my chest. I pressed my hands over my ears as lightning slashed through the clouds, its blinding white veins cracking against the heavy gray. The sky had never looked so vicious, so full of rage.

What were the clouds so angry about? What had we done to deserve their wrath?

Humans used each other as punching bags. Maybe nature was no different. It had its own way of lashing out, of punishing us for sins we didn’t even know we’d committed. The irony of life.

I stretched out my hand, trying to catch the rain, but the drops hit too hard, slipping through my fingers before I could hold onto them. Typical. Some things just weren’t meant to stay.

I sank into my chair, curling my arms around my knees. The darkness outside was suffocating, thick as ink, stretching endlessly in every direction. There was nothing to see. No one to talk to. Just the long, dragging night.

Loneliness had a way of settling into my bones. But that was my life. My fate.

I should have been working. My next project waited, an empty canvas mocking me from across the room. But the storm inside me was worse than the one outside. How was I supposed to create something joyful when I felt like this?

A children’s book. Bright, happy colors. Red, orange, blue, pink. Yellow, too. But no black. No gray. Not even brown, except for tree trunks. The client wanted sunshine and laughter, but my world had never been painted in those shades.

I didn’t do happy. I survived. I existed. But happiness? That was a luxury I had long stopped believing in.

Life didn’t care if you were happy. You needed money. You needed to keep moving. That was it. Everything else was just noise.

I turned to the canvas again, and dread slithered through me. Yesterday had been a waste. Not a single stroke of color, not even a sketch. Just… nothing.

I shouldn’t have taken this project.

But my best friend insisted. Said it would be a “good change,” something to shake me out of my comfort zone. Usually, I illustrated ghosts—things lurking in the shadows, the stories no one wanted to admit they feared. This? A complete shift. A forced detour into a world I didn’t belong to.

And yet, I let her talk me into it.

Because when you have only one friend, you listen.

I used to have others. Once. But she was the only one who stayed. The only one who made sure I met her every week, no excuses. She picked the place, the time. I just showed up. That was our thing.

And maybe—just maybe—I was scared that if I ever said no, she’d disappear, too.

Nicky.

Just thinking about her made me smile. A firecracker with a razor-sharp edge, she was both chaos and clarity wrapped in one. Journalism was her perfect playground—digging into high-profile scandals, uncovering hidden truths, and tackling the kind of taboo topics that made others squirm. She thrived on it. It gave her a rush, a purpose.

Unlike me.

I stretched out my hand and grabbed the cup of coffee I had made an hour ago. The porcelain felt cold against my fingers, the warmth long gone. I took a sip anyway, welcoming the bitterness. Strong, exactly how I needed it. My hands trembled slightly, but I ignored it. They always did after a sleepless night.

My eyes flicked to the clock. 3 AM.

I sighed. Another night lost to wakefulness. I had given up around eleven after forcing myself to sketch something—anything—with bright colors. The result? A whole lot of nothing. A blank canvas, a silent reminder of my failure.

Still, hope lingered. Maybe after a few more miserable attempts, I’d get it right. Maybe after a few hours of sleep—if sleep ever came.

But the dream came first.

Too soon this time. Always the same, except the timing changed. It wasn’t just a dream; it was a world. A world that felt real. Tangible. Like I belonged there.

Except, I didn’t.

I wasn’t part of it—not fully. I was only a spectator, a ghost lingering at the edges. Watching. Waiting.

But tonight, something was different.

I saw a face.

That had never happened before. My dreams had always been a collection of blurred images—a mansion, a sturdy chair, a fireplace, a shadowed figure. But never a face. Never eyes that met mine.

Tonight, the dream sharpened, each detail crystal clear.

He was no longer just a silhouette. He had piercing gray eyes, not dull like a storm but alive, gleaming with something unreadable. His nose was strong, his lips full—lips that stretched into a perfect, model-like smile. A sharp jawline framed his face, accentuating a beauty that was almost too precise. Too perfect.

His hair was long, falling over his eyes every now and then. He had to push it back, his fingers sweeping through the strands with practiced ease. And those hands… large, masculine, with long fingers and neatly trimmed nails.

Being a painter had its perks. I could memorize details, capture them like brushstrokes on canvas. And right now, I was memorizing him. Every little thing.

The lightest gray eyes that could bring comfort in the darkest of times.
The way his lips curled ever so slightly when he read.

The way his fingers gripped the pages of the document in his hand.

Something stirred inside me, something unfamiliar.

Desire? No. That wasn’t for me. I didn’t do attraction. It wasn’t in my nature, wasn’t in my wiring. And yet, my stomach clenched when he moved, his gait effortlessly confident, almost predatory. Heat pooled low in my belly, and before I could stop myself, I pressed my thighs together, hoping to silence whatever this was.

It didn’t work.

Swallowing, I wiped my sweaty palms against my skirt. My skin tingled, my body hyper-aware, as if I had been jolted awake in a way that had nothing to do with sleep. My fingers ghosted over my chest, feeling the quick rise and fall of my breath.

I had never reacted like this before. Not to a real man. Not to anyone.

And yet, here I was. Watching him. Wanting to reach out, even though I knew I couldn’t.

He sat near the fireplace, one leg crossed over the other, a document in hand. He read with an intensity that fascinated me, his focus absolute. Every now and then, he lifted his mug and took a sip.

Coffee.

I shouldn’t have known. I couldn’t see the liquid inside. But I knew. My gut whispered the answer before my mind could question it.

So, I made a cup for myself.

Maybe it was foolish. Maybe it was insane.

But it felt good to have company.

Even if he wasn’t really here. Even if I was only slipping further into his world.

His rabbit hole.

The dream had always been my safe space. A quiet solace in the middle of my otherwise empty existence. Seeing the same dream for years, you get used to it. It becomes part of you, like muscle memory, like the familiar scent of home.

And he… he was family.

Not in the traditional sense, but in the way his presence filled the empty corners of my heart. Even without a face, without a name, he belonged to me. Or maybe, I belonged to him.

But tonight, the dream changed.

Tonight, the mystery was solved.

Every night before this, the dream played out in the same comforting rhythm. I stood by the door, anticipation buzzing in my chest. He came home—silent, assured, like he always did—and pressed a lingering kiss to my forehead before capturing my lips in his.

Soft one night.
Demanding the next.

I liked both.

His feather-light kisses teased, igniting a slow burn inside me. His punishing ones stole my breath, making me feel alive in a way reality never did. I moaned into his mouth, smiling like a fool, melting under his touch.

And yet, his face remained a blur. Always.

I had never smiled this much in my real life. But in my dream, I beamed like the happiest woman alive. He would let out a deep sigh, pull me toward the fireplace, and hold my hand like he never wanted to let go.

And I let him.

Because nothing else mattered. Nothing was real but him.

His fingers would lace with mine, his touch a quiet promise. I never saw his eyes, but I felt their intensity, the way they burned into me with something between love and possession.

My dream never let me see more.

But I didn’t need to. His presence was enough.

Some nights, he pulled me onto his lap in that sturdy chair, his warmth cocooning me. Other nights, we sat on the floor, his back against my chest as I wrapped my arms around him, resting my cheek against his shoulder.

The fire crackled and hissed in front of us, its warmth sinking into my skin, wrapping around us like a secret.

I had never seen a real fireplace before. Bonfires, maybe. But this? This was something else. Something intimate. Something ours.

And then, like always, I woke up too soon.

Sometimes, I’d be in his arms as he carried me toward the bedroom, and just as we crossed the threshold—gone. My eyes would snap open, leaving me stranded in reality.

Other times, we’d be sipping tea, his gaze soft with unspoken words, and right before I could take that final sip—gone.

It was always tea. Always the same routine.

Until tonight.

Tonight, he was drinking coffee.

And tonight… he had a face.

That’s why my stomach twisted with unease. That’s why my skin prickled, my fingers gripped my cup a little too tightly.

Because he wasn’t a shadow anymore. He wasn’t just mine anymore.

He was someone.

A real man, with a real life that existed beyond the confines of my dreams. And suddenly, the comfort I once felt was tainted with something sharp and unfamiliar.

Fear.

Because if he was real, if he existed out there in the world…

Then maybe I wasn’t the only one dreaming of him.

People didn’t seek out my company. I wasn’t the type you wished to be around. I was a loner—always had been, always would be.

Only he wanted me.

Or so I had let myself believe.

But now that I had seen his face, reality hit like a slap to the cheek, sharp and stinging.

This man—this impossibly beautiful, breathtaking man—would never want me. Not in this lifetime, at least.

A lump formed in my throat as questions swirled, demanding answers I didn’t have.

Who was he?

Why did he come to me, night after night, never failing?

Why did his presence feel like comfort, like home?

Was he just a fantasy? Some twisted trick my subconscious played, whispering what I really needed in life? A cruel reminder that the existence I had built for myself wasn’t enough?

It wasn’t.

I knew that.

But what choice did I have? We don’t pick our paths. Destiny carves them for us.

And mine had always been a lonely one.

Tonight was different, though. He was different. For the first time, my dream didn’t feel like a dream. It felt real. As if I wasn’t just imagining him anymore—I was watching him.

Like a hidden camera was planted somewhere in his world, and my soul had been given exclusive access. I saw him moving through his day, living a life that existed beyond the confines of my mind.

And that terrified me.

Because if this was real, if he was real… then it meant I could lose him.

Just like I had lost everything else.

No. My heart wailed, clinging to the remnants of a fantasy I didn’t want to let go of.

But I had to. If that’s what fate had decided, who was I to fight it?

The air in my room felt heavy, thick with the weight of too many thoughts. I exhaled, pressing my forehead against the cool glass of the window. The rain had softened now, the storm losing its anger. Only the rhythmic pitter-patter of raindrops remained, tapping against the earth like a heartbeat.

I let the sound soothe me, but my mind refused to quiet.

His eyes.

They haunted me. They consumed me.

I was a painter, yet I had never captured something like this—not in the five years I had made a career out of it. Those eyes weren’t just a shade of gray. They were alive, holding galaxies within them, pulling me in like gravity.

And his lips… full, shaped to perfection. The sharp curve of his cheekbones, the way they framed his face like they were carved by gods. My fingers itched to trace them, to feel the warmth of his skin under my touch.

But my dreams were never mine to control.

On the contrary, they controlled me.

I needed to stop this. It was just a dream. Just a figment of my imagination.

People who let their fantasies bleed into reality? They earned themselves a permanent place in a mental hospital. That’s why I had never told anyone.

Well, once.

Nicky.

But no one else.

He wasn’t real. He wasn’t mine. And he never would be.

The End of My Soulmate – Chapter 1.
Continue reading the next chapter of My Soulmate.

Other short stories.

I Confessed (click to read)

A Touch From a Stranger (click to read)

The Trapped Butterfly (click to read)

The What If Romance (click to read)

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Author Payal Dedhia independently publishes books on Amazon Kindle. You can check out her collection by clicking here.

If you like Dark Romance Fiction, do read my Sctintilla Series. Click here to read.

Aayansh Ahluwalia isn’t just a billionaire business tycoon—he’s the kind of man who haunts people’s nightmares. The world may recognize Scintilla Corporations as a legitimate empire, but Aayansh isn’t confined to the light. In the shadows, he commands an empire of fear, power, and blood. He rules over the underdogs, the darkness that terrifies everyone else.
Ruthless and untouchable, they call him a devil for a reason—he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t blink when it comes to taking lives.
His existence is fearless. His power, unmatched. Yet beneath the wealth and carnage lies a void—a darkness so complete it consumes him. There’s no light, no hope. Just emptiness stretching endlessly, leaving him hollow.
Then, one night, everything changed.
He saw her—a woman so radiant, so full of life, she made his chaos stand still. She erupted into his world like a dream, settling in his heart and claiming it as her own.
Tisha Chopra.
Aayansh hadn’t been searching for her, hadn’t asked for her. But the moment he saw her, he knew—she would be his.
She didn’t belong in his world, and that only made him want her more. Her laughter, her light—it wasn’t meant to survive the darkness he thrived in, yet it pulled him in, unrelenting. Like a predator to prey, he followed. He didn’t want her to save him. No. He wanted to ruin her, piece by piece, until she belonged to him completely. He would drag her down, crown her queen in his Devil’s Paradise, and make her sit beside him on the devil’s throne while he ruled the world.

What unfolds is a story steeped in obsession, control, and desire—a dangerous game where love is a battlefield, and submission comes at the cost of a soul.
Scintilla isn’t just the name of Aayansh’s empire; it’s the pulse of this saga—a place where power thrives and morality dies.

The series is divided into four phases:

🔥 The Chase – Where the predator finds his prey. Click here to read.

1. The Beginning – A collision of worlds. A spark ignited.
2. Unveiling Paradise – Her light tempts the darkness.
3. The Masked Guy – Secrets wear masks. So do devils.
4. Unleashing the Demons – Once awakened, there’s no turning back.
5. The Winner – Victory tastes sweeter when claimed by force.

🔥 The Possession – Where obsession takes root. Click here to read.

1. New Beginning – The chase ends. The real game begins.
2. The Rules – Boundaries are set, only to be broken.
3. Gilded Cage – Possession doesn’t feel like freedom.
4. Unleashed Fury – When control falters, chaos reigns.
5. Ensnared Hearts – Hearts trapped, souls scarred.

🔥 The Submission – Where surrender is demanded, not given. Click here to read.

1. Her Resistance – Light fights back. Darkness pushes harder.
2. Her Confession – Truths whispered in the dark.
3. The Good Times – A fleeting calm before the storm.
4. The Devil Struck – The predator strikes. The angel shatters.
5. Angel’s Judgement – When love turns to reckoning.

🔥 The Reward – Where love and darkness collide, leaving nothing unscarred. Click here to read.

1. The Storm – Chaos erupts, tearing apart the fragile ties of love and power.
2. The Punishment – Sins are judged, debts are paid, and vengeance claims its due.

Arranged Marriage series is a collection of 5 books.

Book 1 – The First Meet (Read now)

Book 2: The Life Together (Read now)

Book 3 – The Surprises in Store (Read now)

Book 4 – The Everchanging Times (Read now)

Book 5: The Story of Us (Coming Soon)

Unscripted Love Series is a collection of 10 books

Book 1 – Arjun’s Jenny (click to read)

Book 2 – Priti’s Rendezvous with Somesh (click to read)

Book 3 – Rana’s Vivacious Girlfriend (click to read)

Book 4 – Claire’s Dashing Raj (click to read)

Book 5 – My Rebirth (click to read)

Book 6 – My Family (click to read)

Book 7 – My Sister’s Wedding (click to read)

Book 8 – My Secret Love (click to read)

Book 9 – My Silent Romeo (click to read)

Book 10 – The Brunch (click to read)