15: The Healing Circle

12 August 2000

The apartment was quiet, dimly lit by the soft glow of a single lamp in the hallway. Outside, the city murmured through the monsoon night, but inside, the air felt still — thick with anticipation, like something sacred was about to begin.

In the living room, Celina finally slept, her fever subdued but not conquered. The girls had rotated care for hours. Now, it was their turn to prepare — not just for rest, but for the ritual that would unfold the moment their minds crossed into the dream.

Bharath stood at the sink, splashing cool water on his face, trying to settle the restlessness in his chest. He felt the pressure building in his ribs — not just from what lay ahead, but from the quiet guilt gnawing at him.

He didn’t hear Kim enter until she was right behind him hugging him from the back.

“You’re overthinking again,” she said softly.

He turned and smiled. “I don’t want to let you down.”

Kim tilted her head. “You won’t.”

“I just...” he hesitated, voice low. “When Anya and I moved into this place, our first night here — it was unforgettable. I gave her everything she had ever dreamed about her first time. And with you...” He exhaled. “I haven’t given you that yet.”

She stepped closer, barefoot, fresh from a shower, wrapped in a long towel that clung to her curves. “You don’t owe me anything,” she said. “I love you. You have already shown me how much you love me in our dreams. We have already experienced more in a couple of weeks together than most people ever will in their lifetimes.”

He looked down. “But your first time with me — in the real world — it should matter.”

“It does matter,” Kim said, her voice steady. “And that’s why I don’t want it to be just the two of us.”

He blinked. “What?”

She smiled, a little shy but certain. “I’m part of a us now. That’s what this is, right? Anya is part of us. Of you. And so am I. So when it happens ... I want her there. With us. Then when Celina becomes alright. She will become a part of us as well.”

He stared at her, stunned.

From the doorway behind them, Anya leaned against the frame, towel tucked under her arms. “Did I just hear what I think I heard?”

Kim turned, then slowly untucked the towel and let it drop.

Anya’s jaw actually slackened. “Holy fuck.”

Bharath didn’t speak. He couldn’t. His brain just ... stopped.

They had both seen Kim nude before — in dreams, in rituals, in vision after fevered vision. But in the real world, under the soft light and shadow of this room, she was ... overwhelming.

Her skin was flawless, kissed with a natural blush that made her glow. Her breasts were impossibly full and round, rising with every breath, her waist delicate and hips curving like a sculpture carved with reverence. Her thighs had a softness that made Bharath’s breath hitch. Even her posture — elegant, grounded, sensual — was magnetic.

Anya blinked. “I feel like a backup dancer at my own concert.”

Bharath mumbled, “I have no words.”

Kim smiled, walking toward them, completely unselfconscious. “That’s the real-world difference, isn’t it? The dream softens things. Makes everything blurred and symbolic. But this?” She took Bharath’s hand and placed it gently on her heart. “This is the truth.”

Anya stepped forward, reaching out to touch Kim’s breasts, fingertips tracing its curves with wonder. “You are ridiculous. I’d hate you if I didn’t already love you.”

Kim leaned in and kissed her gently, then turned to Bharath. “And I love you.”

He swallowed. “I promise I’ll make it unforgettable.”

“You already have,” she said. “Just by letting me stay.”

Anya looped her arms around both of them. “And just like that ... the dream team is almost complete.”

They made their way to the bed, Kim lying on one side of Bharath, Anya on the other, their bodies pressed close, their limbs thrown over Bharath clutching at him like vines. No urgency. Just contact. Warmth. A current of intention thrumming beneath the skin.

Kim whispered against his shoulder, “Let’s go find Celina.”

And as the three of them drifted into sleep — skin to skin, heart to heart — the air shimmered with promise.

Tonight, they wouldn’t just dream.

They would heal.

Celina lay on her back, breath shallow, body unmoving.

The surface beneath her was soft and warm — like cloud wrapped in memory. The air smelled faintly of rosewood. Somewhere above, the sky shimmered like silk steeped in saffron and blood.

This wasn’t the real world.

But it didn’t feel like escape either.

It felt like being caught between a prayer and a scream.

Her fingers twitched. Her limbs didn’t.

And then — a pulse.

She didn’t hear footsteps.

She felt him.

Like a drumbeat in her soul.

“Celina,” Bharath’s voice cracked through the hush as he dropped to his knees beside her. His hands trembled as they gently brushed her hair from her face. His eyes were wild, red-rimmed, alive with fury and tenderness.

She blinked up, dazed. “You came...”

“I promised.”

Her lips parted in disbelief. “You ... you really came.”

“I would’ve torn down every wall in this world and the next.”

Tears prickled at her lashes. “I thought I was hallucinating again.”

He touched her cheek gently. “Not this time. This is real.”

And then — footsteps again.

Light. Graceful. Smirking.

“Don’t hog her, jaan,” came Anya’s teasing voice. “She’ll think you’re the only gorgeous one here.”

Celina turned her head — and her mouth fell open.

Anya stepped into view, naked as sunrise, her dusky skin glowing in the surreal light, black hair flowing down her back, petite but devastating — every curve deliberate, every glance lethal.

She was stunning. She knew it.

“Wha—Anya?!” Celina rasped.

Anya winked. “In the soft, silken flesh.”

Celina blinked again, stunned. “You ... look ... unreal.”

Anya laughed. “It’s a dream. But thank you. I am one of the most beautiful women in India. It’s about time someone said it properly.”

Bharath muttered, “She says it enough for all of us.”

“Because it’s true, jaanu,” Anya tossed her hair, before kneeling beside Celina. “But don’t worry shona. You’re right up there too.”

Then — another presence.

Soft steps. A gentler aura. And suddenly the entire space felt... warmer.

Celina’s gaze flicked up.

And her eyes widened.

Kim. The shy nerdy girl from the photoshoot. Only — not the shy, scholarly girl anymore.

This version glowed.

Her skin was golden, supple. Her curves were breathtaking — slender legs, a trim yet full ass, hips full, waist narrow, and her breasts...

Celina stared, shameless.

“ ... holy shit,” she whispered. “How is that even fair?”

Anya cackled. “I know, right?! They’re ... art.”

Kim blushed, but didn’t shrink away. “Dream logic. Or ... evolution.”

Celina blinked at her. “You’re the quiet one, aren’t you? The nerdy girl who barely looked up from her notebook?”

Kim smiled. “Guilty.”

“And now you’re—what the hell even are you?”

Kim just shrugged. “Different.”

Anya leaned in. “She’s harem-curious.”

Celina gawked. “Harem?”

Bharath cleared his throat. “Can we not do this now?”

Celina blinked. “Wait. You have a harem?”

“Technically it’s voluntary,” Anya offered sweetly. “We’re a very consensual cult.”

Kim nodded politely. “Research-led. Spiritually informed.”

Celina just stared at all three of them. “Okay. This is a dream. This has to be a dream.”

She tried to sit up — and immediately winced. Her limbs refused. Her core ached. Even in this space, she felt like she was shattered.

“I can’t move,” she whispered.

Bharath’s humor vanished. He cupped her face again. “You don’t have to.”

Kim stepped closer, examining her like she was precious and wounded. “Your real body’s exhausted. The dream just reflects that.”

Celina blinked up at her. “I feel so broken.”

“You’re not,” Bharath said. “You’re hurt. You’re scared. But you’re not broken.”

Kim knelt beside them, her palm hovering just above Celina’s abdomen. “We can help.”

“How?” Celina whispered.

Anya grinned. “Ever heard of orgasmic energy transfer?”

Celina groaned. “You’re kidding.”

Bharath looked embarrassed. “It’s not—exactly—that. Well, sort of.”

Kim, ever the scientist, simply explained: “Healing via resonance. Energy harmonization. We’ve seen it work in previous dreams. You just ... need to be willing. Bharath mentioned that he healed you a little the last time he met you in the dream.”

Celina stared at all of them. At her own bruised arms. Her trembling fingers. Her nakedness.

And then at Bharath — who’d held her when she wept, who came when no one else had.

“You’re ridiculous,” she whispered.

Bharath smiled softly. “But I’m here.”

“I know,” she said, eyes welling. “And I’m yours. Forever.”

He kissed her softly on her hungry lips.

And somewhere in the dream — the yantra pulsed.

Celina lay draped against Bharath’s chest, her breath slowing, her eyes glassy, but aware. The dream was beautiful, but it couldn’t hide the truth — her real body was deteriorating. And even here, in this sanctuary of imagined skies and velvet grass, her soul ached. Her limbs were hollow. Her body still remembered pain.

“I want to feel whole again,” she whispered. “But I ... I don’t know if there’s enough left.”

Bharath cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing the side of her jaw with reverence. “There is,” he said quietly. “I can feel you. Your light’s still there. Faint ... but alive.”

His voice broke slightly. “I want to give you what you need. I just ... I can’t do it alone. Not this time.”

He looked up at Kim and Anya — naked in the dreamworld’s glow, luminous in their trust and bond.

Kim was already moving toward them, her expression open, steady, utterly sure.

She didn’t need more explanation. She understood — not with data, not with logic — but through something deeper. Intuition made holy.

“We’ll do it together,” Kim said softly. “But we have to focus our energy correctly. This has to be deliberate. Not just through lust ... through our devotion for Bharath.”

Anya nodded, stripping the playfulness from her expression. She was no longer teasing, no longer flirting. She was a goddess now, as fierce as she was compassionate.

“What do you need us to do?” she asked.

Kim turned to them both, her voice taking on a calm authority. “The yantra seems to respond to rhythm, to union, to clarity of intent. We’re going to attempt to create a field of energy around Bharath — a radiant aura. One that he can charge with our love and channel directly into her.”

Bharath’s eyes softened. “You’re sure about this?”

Kim nodded. “I’ve measured my own body. The nights I shared dreams with you — I woke stronger. Clearer. I don’t wear glasses anymore. I haven’t had a backache in weeks. My posture realigned. And it’s not just me.”

She looked at Bharath, gaze intense. “You’ve changed too.”

He nodded. “My speed. My strength. The way I read the game ... it’s like I heal and become stronger every time I enter the dreamscape.”

Anya folded her arms under her chest, pouting playfully. “Well, I don’t have any enhancements. Except for a higher sex drive.”

Kim laughed. “You were already a goddess. The yantra had nothing to improve.”

Anya winked. “You just wish your breasts looked like mine.”

Kim smirked. “They do. But ... bigger.”

“Show off!”

Celina, still lying between them, blinked. Her voice was faint. “I feel like I’m hallucinating a dream-team of supermodels arguing about their spectacular boobs.”

Anya leaned over her, cupping her face gently. “You’re not. This is real. And we’re going to fix you.”

Kim knelt beside Bharath, placing her hand over his chest, directly over the glowing yantra. “Let’s begin.”

They began slowly, deliberately.

Kim straddled Bharath’s lap as Celina lay wrapped on him, face in his chest. Kim faced him leaning over Celina, her movements reverent. Her lips touched his with sacred slowness — not hunger, but offering. Her hips rocked with measured grace, the curve of her spine undulating like breath made flesh. As she moved, her body shimmered in the golden light, her moans low and devotional, like a mantra being whispered into the wind.

Anya knelt behind Bharath, wrapping her arms around him, her breasts pressed into his back, her mouth exploring his neck and shoulders with quiet passion. She kissed him with intent, not possession — adding warmth, stability, grounding the spiral of energy they were building.

Kim’s voice was steady between breaths. “Breathe with me. Anchor the circuit. Let it fill you.”

Bharath closed his eyes. His body throbbed with rising power. He wasn’t chasing climax — he was storing. Each stroke from Kim, each kiss from Anya, filled his core. The yantra glowed hotter, then pulsed — slow, deep, resonant.

Kim cried out softly, arching into him, her orgasm more like an invocation than release. She collapsed on top of Celina, her energy now imprinted in him.

He gently lifted her off, laying her on the dream grass beside him. She quickly moved to hug him from the side giving Anya a passionate kiss. She was radiant. Complete. Smiling.

Celina’s breath caught.

He moved her gently like a worshipper approaching a broken idol. She still lay naked on him, vulnerable, afraid — but her eyes never left his.

“I’m ready,” she whispered. “Please.”

Bharath shook his head, caressing her collarbone. “Not yet. I’m not here to take. I’m here to give.”

He pressed his glowing palms to her back.

The energy flowed.

It wasn’t a bolt — it was a river. Warm, steady, golden. It flowed from his yantra, through his hand, into her spine, down her ribs, into the hollows of her thighs and the bruises on her hips. Her body twitched, then arched — not in pain, but in sudden, overwhelming sensation.

Her scars lit up.

Then began to fade slowly.

Her skin flushed with warmth.

Her breath deepened.

Her limbs moved — slow, trembling, but not broken anymore.

She gasped. “I feel you...”

“You always could,” Bharath whispered. “You just forgot what it felt like to be loved. Never again thangam.”

She began to cry.

Bharath kissed her tears away as he continued to heal her.

Anya pressed gentle kisses to Celina’s legs and ankles, her touch playful but comforting.

Kim curled behind her, spooning her gently, placing a hand over her belly. “You’re safe. You’re whole. You’re loved.”

Celina wept — deep, guttural sobs that pulled from her ribs. The pain left her body with every exhale. She clutched at Bharath like a lifeline, like she was afraid he’d disappear again.

“I thought no one would ever touch me again without hurting me.”

“Then let this be the first time,” Bharath said softly, kissing her head. “And let it change everything.”

The three of them held her — wrapped her, warmed her, mended her. Anya and Kim took turns riding Bharath climaxing constantly to recharge him as he kept healing Celina from the energy they generated from their devotion to each other. In the glowing stillness of that dreamscape, the woman who had been shattered was pieced back together by love, by trust, by union.

The yantra pulsed.

And Celina — for the first time in weeks — was truly happy.

Celina now lay beneath him, her body still fragile, still trembling — but no longer with pain.

Instead, it was filled with hope. With yearning.

She looked up at Bharath through lashes still damp with tears. Her voice cracked, not from fear, but from a desire so ancient, so buried, it came out like a prayer.

“Will you take me?” she whispered. “Really ... take me?”

Her eyes pleaded — not for pleasure, not even for healing. But for affirmation. For belonging.

For love.

Bharath’s breath caught. The last time she had come to him like this — bold, vulnerable — he had turned her away. For her sake. But now, here she was, shattered and glowing, calling to him with her entire being.

He brushed his knuckles along her jaw, eyes searching hers.

“I’m here,” he said softly. “And I see you, Celina. I’ve always seen you.”

She gasped, her chest arching up into him.

“Then show me,” Celina whispered, voice shaking. “Make me yours. I want to feel you claim me. I want to be filled with you. Loved by you. Owned by you.”

The words hung between them like prayer and prophecy. Her eyes didn’t waver. Her breath caught, not in fear, but in readiness.

Bharath didn’t answer with words.

He kissed her.

Not like a man claiming a prize. Not like a hero rewarded for valor. But like a man who had been undone by the woman before him — who saw in her not a conquest, but a home carved from ash and fire.

His lips met hers and she gasped into his mouth, her fingers tightening in his hair. The kiss deepened, slow and full of tremors. It was reverent. Endless. A benediction sealed in breath.