My friend told me hise life adult bed time stories. Fifty years ago, our life was quiet and ordinary in a small town. I was around eighteen or nineteen —young, handsome, and still a student. Our family home was called Castle, a large property spread over a thousand square meters, half of which was covered with dense trees. There were apple trees, pomegranate, tamarind, and several others heavy with fruit, but I loved only one tree—
the ancient banyan tree.
No matter how heavy the rain was, anyone who stood beneath that tree would never get wet. I never understood why… but I loved it more than anything.
My father worked for the railway and lived mostly outside, somewhere in Georgia, so I stayed with my elder brother and his wife. Every day after school, I returned home and sat under that peepal tree for hours, speaking to myself, thinking, dreaming. It was my favorite escape.
My mother often warned me,
“Don’t spend so much time under that tree.”
But I never listened.
The First Whisper
One night, as I slept on my bed, a soft whisper brushed my ear.
A girl’s voice… but her words were unclear, impossible to understand.
This continued for two or three nights.
Then the whisper grew stronger.
More urgent.
It said,
“Come… under the banyan tree…”
I grew frightened, convinced it must be a dream. Somehow, I slept again.
But the next night, around midnight, something changed.
I woke up without knowing why.
My body moved on its own.
Everyone else in the house was in deep sleep.
I walked out… straight toward the banyan
tree.
As I reached it, the voice came again—
sweet, soft, dangerously beautiful:
“Come up… climb the tree.”
Without thinking, as if the tree itself was pulling me, I climbed it.
Higher.
And higher.
“Sit on the topmost branch,” the voice commanded.
“Don’t be afraid. I won’t let you fall.”
A shiver ran through me.
Then the voice whispered,
“From now on, you belong to me. Only me.”
Her tone sharpened.
“If any girl comes close to you, I will destroy her. Remember this.”
Terrified, I asked,
“Who are you? Why can’t I see you?”
A soft laughter filled the darkness.
“You will see me soon. Come here every night at this time.
This tree is our home now.”
Then she said her name:
“I am Komal… and you, Henry, are mine.”
I froze.
“How do you know my name?” I whispered.
She laughed again—
a chilling, knowing laughter.
“I know everything about you. About your family.
Even about your love…”
My heart dropped.
“You love your uncle’s daughter. And she loves you too.”
“But don’t worry… I will fix everything.”
Before I could speak, she said,
“Go now. Dawn is near. Come again tomorrow night.”
I found myself back in bed, and no one knew anything.
The Morning Call
Around 10 a.m., the phone rang.
It was Kiran, my cousin—my uncle’s daughter.
“Are you not going to university today?” she asked.
“No… I’m not in the mood.”
“Come with me then. I need to pay my fees.”
I agreed and rode my bike toward her house.
When Kiran came out, ready to go, we left together.
But halfway through the road… the whisper returned.
“I am watching you.”
Her voice filled my ears.
“Don’t ever take Kiran on your bike again. Look how close she’s sitting to you… her hands on your waist… her face on your shoulder. Tell her to move away. Or I will throw her off.”
Cold fear seized me.
“Kiran… sit a little straight. I’m having trouble controlling the bike,” I said weakly.
She shifted away.
“Good,” the voice whispered.
At the university, I told Kiran I’d pick her up later.
As I rode back, I suddenly felt weight behind me—
as if someone was sitting on the bike.
The whisper came again:
“It’s me, Komal. Your love. This is my place, not hers.”
This time I spoke firmly,
“Come in front of me then. Why don’t you show yourself?”
She giggled softly.
“Soon. Very soon. Tonight, meet me under the banyan tree.
I will reveal the truth of why you cannot see me yet.”
The voice faded.
I felt the weight leave the bike.
Night of the Unveiling
That night, again, I woke without wanting to.
Everyone was asleep.
I walked to the banyan tree.
Strangely, I no longer felt cold.
It was as if someone had warmed my entire body.
“Come up,” the voice called.
I climbed the tree easily, as if steps had formed beneath my feet.
I sat on the highest branch.
Moments later, she whispered:
“Tonight is a lucky night.
Tonight… I will appear before you.
Tonight, two stars will meet.”
My heart pounded.
I whispered softly:
“Beloved one… someone has entered your world tonight.
Someone who longs to see you…
Lift the veil of your beauty…
Show me your face.”
Silence fell.
Deep. Heavy.
Then I felt it.
A head… resting gently on my shoulder.
“Komal?” I whispered.
No answer.
I turned slowly—
And she appeared.
In human form.
She was so breathtakingly beautiful that for a moment, the whole world disappeared around me. Her presence wrapped itself around my senses—warm, intoxicating, unreal. We talked for what felt like hours, lost in each other’s voices, unaware of how the night slipped away.
At some point, without realizing it, we found ourselves wrapped in the same sheet, her warm skin pressed gently against mine. Her body heat ignited something fierce inside me, a fire that spread through every nerve.
But fear held me still.
I didn’t dare move beyond the closeness she allowed.
By the time dawn approached, she leaned in and kissed me… a long, lingering kiss that left my entire soul trembling.
Then I climbed down the tree and returned to my bed.
No one in the house had the slightest idea where I had been.
The Morning After
The next morning, I was happier than I had ever been in my life.
My mind kept replaying the night—the warmth of her body, her beauty, her voice, that kiss.
Kiran didn’t even cross my mind.
I didn’t go to her house or to the university.
The entire day, I waited for nightfall like a man obsessed.
Heavy clouds covered the sky.
By evening, a fierce storm rolled in.
Cold December rain hammered against the windows.
The kind of bitter, freezing night where leaving the bed felt impossible.
Yet I knew she would come.
I lay under my blanket when suddenly…
I felt someone sit down on my bed.
For a moment, I thought it was my mother—
she often came to sit beside me before sleeping.
But then I remembered…
she was very sick and could barely get out of bed.
So who…?
Before fear could rise, a familiar whisper reached my ear:
“I will come again at midnight.”
Her voice.
Komal.
And then—
just as mysteriously—
she disappeared.
I relaxed.
Comforted by her promise.
And I fell asleep again, without fear.
romance night
Suddenly, I became aware that I was no longer on my bed.I was lying somewhere else—somewhere warm, luxurious, unreal.The cold winter rain, the storm outside…none of it touched me here.
It felt as if I were resting in the royal bed of a king, wrapped in velvet softness, surrounded by a stillness so deep it silenced even my thoughts.Before I could understand where I was, her voice came—
Komal’s voice.
Soft. Sweet. All-consuming.
“How do you feel?”
I breathed out slowly.“It’s… wonderful. Outside it’s freezing and raining, but here I feel nothing.So much comfort…But this place—this mansion—it looks like my grandfather’s old mansion.Why is it so dark?” I asked, confused.
Komal laughed.
A beautiful laugh,A dangerous laugh.
A sound so enchanting that my soul seemed to melt into its rhythm.
“Don’t worry,” she said gently.
“There will be light soon.”
Her words echoed through the vast, shadowy hall of the mansion—a place I knew from childhood…but somehow, it felt different.
Older.
Deeper.
Alive.
“Close your eyes… now open them,” she whispered.
I did as she said.
And the moment my eyes opened,
my heart almost stopped.
All around me—
in every corner of the grand hall—
stood beautiful maidens holding tall silver candelabras.
Flames flickered softly in the darkness, painting the walls with trembling shadows.
For a moment I could not breathe.
When I finally gained control of myself, I stammered,
“What… what is all this?”
Komal laughed again—
a soft, enchanting laugh that filled the hall like perfume.
“Tonight,” she said,
“you will see me in such a way that you will forget the entire world.
This I promise.”
Her confidence, her beauty…her mysterious power—
it wrapped around me like a spell.
And I could only whisper,
Intermission
She asked me once more to close my eyes. I obeyed, heart drumming like a mad monsoon clouds. When I opened them again at her soft command, it felt as though a houri had stepped straight out of paradise and planted herself in front of me. She was wearing a rosy-pink dress, and every beauty the world has ever known seemed to have wrapped itself around her and walked into my room.
She tilted her head, lips curving. How do I look?” she asked softly”
I could barely breathe. “Koomal… you are more radiant than the moon. You look like the queen of fairies herself, and there is no one, no one on this earth, more beautiful than you.”
She smiled, shy and proud at once, and that smile finished me. I was lost, utterly and happily insane. In that madness I heard myself whisper, “It’s raining outside, the weather is perfect… why don’t we celebrate our Nuptial night?”
Her eyes widened, then danced. “we still unmarried ” she teased, but she was already stepping closer. she murmured, “come with me.”
And then her arms were around me. I pressed myself against her chest, breathing her in, and we melted into each other like we had been waiting lifetimes for this single moment. Her lips, soft and shining like rose petals dipped in morning dew, found mine. The instant they touched, warmth flooded every vein in my body. I tasted her slowly at first, then deeper, as if honey itself was pouring from her mouth.
Control slipped away like sand. My hands moved on their own, sliding the delicate fabric from her shoulders. She didn’t stop me; she sighed instead, encouraging. I kissed the line of her throat, lower, lower, until I tugged her pink frock over her head. Beneath it she wore a white, almost transparent bra that fastened in front. I caught the little hook between my teeth and pulled; it opened with a soft snap. She gasped, a sweet, trembling sound that shot straight through me.
Her skin was moonlight made flesh—smooth, warm, glowing. Her waist so narrow I could almost span it with my hands, her breasts full and heavy, rising with every quick breath. I wanted to devour her, yet her beauty itself held me back from roughness; I could only worship. My palms cupped her, my mouth traced down to her navel, licking slow circles while she shivered and moaned my name.
Then the rest of our clothes fell away like they had never mattered. She pulled me down with surprising strength, arms tight around my back, and I laid her gently on the bed. I covered her body with mine, skin to skin at last, and we moved together, slow at first, then urgent, then slow again, like the rain outside that would not stop. I kept whispering against her ear, over and over, “Koomal… I love you… you are the most beautiful thing that has ever happened to me… there will never be another like you.”
It lasted a long time—sweet, fierce, endless. When the storm inside us finally quieted, we lay tangled, her head on my arm, heartbeat against heartbeat. We spoke soft nonsense, laughing quietly, fingers laced, while the night slipped past unnoticed.
Only when the first grey of dawn crept through the curtains did I kiss her once more and force myself to leave her warmth. I returned to my own bed, body singing, soul drunk. Sleep dragged me under instantly, deeper than I had ever slept.
Hours later a loud, familiar, utterly ordinary voice thundered through the house:
“”Get up, henry! Go get some milk, I have to make breakfast!”
It was mother.
I blinked at the ceiling, disoriented. Just a moment ago I was a bridegroom lost in his bride, and now… now I was supposed to go fetch milk.
I buried my face in the pillow and laughed, half-dazed, half-heartbroken.
Dream or reality—did it even matter?
Koomal’s scent still clung to my skin, and the rain was still falling outside like it would never stop.
But mother had no idea where her son had truly spent the night, or in whose arms he had burned and been reborn.
That whole day I drifted through the house like a man underwater. Every breath carried the memory of Koomal’s skin, every heartbeat echoed with the taste of her. I was restless, feverish, counting minutes until darkness fell again.
As soon as dinner was over I fled to my room, lay down fully dressed, and waited. The clock crawled. Somewhere past midnight her voice floated to me, soft as silk in my mind:
“I am waiting for you restlessly… under the banyan tree.
Just hearing her calmed the storm inside my chest.
fall in deep love
At half past one I slipped out and went to the old banyan behind the house. She was waiting, moonlight tangled in her hair like silver thread. Without a word she took my hand and led me to that same hidden place that existed only when we needed it. She made me sit on the edge of the bed, then knelt at my feet and laid her head in my lap. For a long time we stayed like that, silent, breathing together.
At last I lifted her chin. “Koomal… look at me.”
When she did, tears glimmered in her eyes, bright and terrible.
“what happened my love?” I whispered, wiping one away with my thumb.
She spoke in a broken voice.
“Henry… you won’t go far away from me, will you? Our worlds are different. People will take you away from me. No one can see me. Your family will never accept me. Will we keep meeting like this in secret for our whole lives?”
i hold him tightly in my arms. “No, my love. I cannot live without you. If you want, take me into your world. My heart no longer belongs in my home—it only wants to stay with you forever.”
We promised each other the impossible that night—never to part, never to let the worlds tear us away. Then we sealed every promise with kisses. I undressed her slowly, reverently. Her breasts—full, moon-pale, perfect—drove me wild the moment they were free. I kissed and sucked until faint purple blossoms bloomed on that flawless skin and she moaned my name like a prayer. We rolled together—sometimes I above her, sometimes she above me—
lost in each other until the eastern sky began to pale.
When morning threatened, we parted with the same aching promise: see you again tomorrow.
And so it went, night after night. I grew thin and pale, shadows under my eyes, strength leaking from my body like water from a cracked pot. Yet Koomal only became more radiant, as if she drank the life I was gladly giving.
My family panicked. Doctors, blood tests, tonics—nothing helped. Still I escaped every night to her arms, returning weaker each dawn.
One evening Abu’s old friend Uncle Salim, a man who had seen too much of the unseen, took mother’s aside.
“Your son is trapped in the clutches of a spiritual being. Watch over him.”
mom, who already believed in such things, acted at once. She posted my elder sister—who was preparing for her MBA—inside my room at night to study and to watch. Elder sister stayed awake with books and coffee.
I was trapped.
But love finds a way. Every night I offered, “sis, I’ll make some tea and bring it—for you too?.” In the kitchen I crushed two strong sleeping pills into her cup. Ten minutes later she was lost to the world, and I was gone—running to my Koomal.
This worked for weeks.
Then one night sister grew suspicious. She pretended to drink, pretended to sleep. As soon as I crept out, she ran to mom, mom called uncle.uncle brought a famous exorcist (Deliverance minister) and two assistants.
I returned just before fajr, exhausted, glowing with stolen happiness, and walked straight into a room full of grim faces. They questioned, threatened, prayed. I kept silent. The next day the exorcist (Deliverance minister) returned with reinforcements. They sat me in the centre, recited, blew upon me, sprinkled rosewater mixed with Quranic verses. Pain lanced through my body as though someone were pulling threads out of my soul.
At last, broken, I told them everything.
To my horror, they forced Koomal to speak through my own mouth. Her voice—my voice—cried and begged and cursed them for trying to separate us. They threatened to burn us both in spiritual fire. Finally, terrified for my life, she surrendered.
The exorcist extracted promises: she would leave and never return. In a voice thick with tears she said,
“Henry ke saath main lambi umar jeena chahti thi… lekin main use hamesha yaad rakhungi.”
One last time she whispered, “Alvida, my love,” and then she was gone. The emptiness that rushed in almost killed me.
For days I lay like a corpse. Slowly, colour returned to my cheeks, strength to my limbs. Life dragged me back.
Years later I married Kiran—a good woman, gentle and real. We have two beautiful children now. I love them with all the heart I have left.
But sometimes, when rain taps against the window at night, I still smell jasmine and warm skin. I still hear that laughing voice promising forever beneath the banyan tree.
You must be wondering about that tree.
We sold the house long ago and moved to another city. The new owners cut down many things, but the old banyan still stands, roots clutching the earth like desperate fingers.
Before we left, I carved deep into its trunk—letters that no storm has managed to erase—I wrote her name:
KOOMAL
So that even if the worlds kept us apart, at least the tree would remember we were once one soul in two bodies.
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