My name is Saurabh Gautam, and this is a true story from my life—one that I have never shared with anyone, not even my family. I am sharing it now because the theme is “Real Story”, and this incident is as real as my breath, as real as my fear that night, and as real as my faith today.
I belong to a Hindu family. I was born into Hindu traditions, festivals, prayers, and customs. My family respects all religions, and from childhood, I was taught that God is one, though people call Him by different names. As I grew older, my understanding of faith changed. I did not abandon my roots, nor did I disrespect them. Instead, my faith expanded.
Over time, I found myself deeply connected to Jesus Christ. I chose Jesus as my Guru, my guide, my protector—not because someone forced me, not because I was influenced, but because my heart found peace there. For me, Jesus is not limited to a religion; He is a presence, a comfort, a strength that holds me together when my mind is heavy and my heart is restless.
In my hometown, I regularly visit a church. I go quietly, respectfully, and with humility. I do not go to convert anyone or to prove anything. I go there to pray, to sit in silence, and to feel protected. Whenever I am stressed, anxious, or mentally disturbed, I find relief in prayer.
The pastor of that church is a man I deeply respect. I will not disclose his name, not because I fear anything, but because he deserves privacy and dignity. He is intelligent, honest, calm, and deeply committed to helping others. What I admire most about him is that he never asks for money. Whenever someone comes to him in pain—mental, emotional, or spiritual—he helps without expecting anything in return.
Many times, when I go to church, I notice people who seem… different. Some cry uncontrollably. Some scream. Some collapse. Some speak in strange voices. The pastor and his team pray for them patiently. Over time, those people calm down. I do not fully understand these things, and I never try to judge them. I just observe silently.
Whenever I feel stressed, I simply request the pastor to pray for me. He always does. He never asks why, never questions my belief, never judges my background. That itself is a blessing.
I am a normal person with normal habits. I like reading, learning new things, and watching movies. I especially enjoy Hollywood movies, mostly because of their storytelling and visuals. What happened one particular night changed the way I look at silence, fear, and faith forever.
That Night
It was a normal day. I had gone to church, prayed, and returned home. There was nothing unusual about the day. No arguments, no stress, no bad news. After dinner, I decided to watch a movie on my laptop.
I honestly do not remember the movie’s name. I only remember that it was a Hollywood movie, and it was late. I started watching it around 11:00 PM. My room door was locked from inside, as it usually is. My laptop was plugged into the main switch. Everything was normal.
Sometime between 11:00 PM and 1:00 AM, I fell asleep while watching the movie. This was not unusual for me. Many times, I fall asleep with the laptop on my bed. I clearly remember the movie still playing when my eyes closed.
The next thing I remember is waking up suddenly around 4:00 AM.
What I saw froze my body.
My laptop was closed.
The charging wire was unplugged from the main switch.
And most terrifying of all—
My room door was open.
For a few seconds, I did not move. I did not breathe properly. My heart was beating so fast that I could hear it in my ears. My mind started racing.
I was alone in my room.
I had locked the door.
I had not woken up in between.
No one had entered my room.
No one had a key.
Then how?
Who closed my laptop?
Who unplugged the charger?
Who opened the door?
There were no signs of theft. Nothing was missing. No noise had woken me up. The house was silent.
Fear slowly wrapped around me like a cold blanket.
The Fear I Could Not Explain
I am not an easily frightened person. I believe in logic. I believe in science. But that morning, logic had no answers.
I checked the latch. It was fine.
I checked the switchboard. It was intact.
I checked my phone—no calls, no messages.
I tried to convince myself that maybe I did it unknowingly. But deep inside, I knew that was not true. I am a light sleeper. I always remember waking up, even briefly. That night, there was no memory at all.
I sat on my bed for a long time, unable to think clearly. I did not scream. I did not run. I did not call anyone. I just sat there, silent and afraid.
For the first time in my life, I felt a kind of fear that had no shape, no sound, no explanation.
Why I Told No One
I did not tell my family.
I did not tell my friends.
I did not even tell the pastor.
Why?
Because some experiences are too personal, too fragile to be spoken aloud. I feared that people would laugh. I feared they would dismiss it as imagination. I feared that if I spoke about it, the fear would grow stronger.
Instead, I chose silence.
I prayed.
I did not ask God to explain it.
I did not ask Jesus for answers.
I only asked for protection.
And slowly, the fear faded.
Faith Without Answers
That incident remains a mystery to this day. I still do not know what happened that night. I do not try to interpret it as a miracle or as something evil. I do not claim it was supernatural. I also do not deny that it could have been something beyond my understanding.
What I do know is this:
That night taught me that faith does not always come with explanations.
Sometimes, faith means trusting even when you do not understand. Sometimes, protection is silent. Sometimes, God does not speak—He simply watches.
After that night, my belief in Jesus did not weaken. It became calmer, deeper, and more mature. I stopped asking for signs. I stopped seeking proofs. I started valuing peace.
I still go to church.
I still pray.
I still respect my Hindu roots.
I still believe God is one.
And I still remember that night—not with fear, but with humility.
What This Story Means to Me
I am not sharing this story to scare anyone. I am not sharing it to prove anything. I am sharing it because real life is full of moments that do not fit into logic, religion, or science neatly.
Some experiences exist only to remind us that we are not in complete control.
That night did not give me answers.
It gave me faith without conditions.
And sometimes, that is enough.
If you ask me today whether I am afraid of that incident, my answer is no. I am grateful that nothing harmful happened. I am grateful that I was protected. I am grateful that my faith was tested—and survived.
Some stories remain mysteries forever.
Some prayers are answered silently.
Some doors open for reasons we may never know.
This was one such night in my life.
And this is my real story.