Records don't announce themselves.
They settle.
That was the feeling that followed us after the man with the notebook disappeared—like dust drifting down after a door closes, invisible until you breathe wrong and suddenly taste it.
The city sounded normal again.
Too normal.
Traffic flowed. Voices overlapped. Somewhere, a vendor laughed at his own joke. Life resumed its careless rhythm, but I could feel it now—tiny hesitations stitched into motion, like people pausing half a second longer before making a choice.
Not fear.
Consideration.
Arjun rubbed his arms."I feel like I'm being remembered by someone I never met."
"That's because you are," Aaryan replied."Paper memories are stubborn."
The girl glanced over her shoulder instinctively.
"No one's following us."
"No," I said."But someone doesn't need to anymore."
✦
We reached an intersection where four streets met, each leading into a different mood of the city—noise, quiet, light, shadow. No signs. No indicators.
