The city woke up uneasy.
Not angry.
Not calm.
Uncertain.
Ayush felt it the moment he stepped outside. Conversations stopped mid-sentence when people noticed each other listening. Screens showed debates without conclusions. News anchors spoke carefully, as if afraid their words might echo back at them.
He had expected backlash.
Instead, there was hesitation.
Neel walked beside him, glancing around. "It's quieter than yesterday."
"That's worse," Ayush replied.
At school, no one joked about The Pattern anymore. Students didn't whisper theories—they asked questions. Not out loud. To themselves.
Riya met Ayush near the staircase. "Your line worked," she said.
Ayush frowned. "Worked how?"
"It broke synchronization," she replied. "The Readers wanted one meaning. You gave them many."
Ayush exhaled. "So it's over?"
Riya looked at him for a long moment. "No. It's evolved."
Before Ayush could ask more, the bell rang—on time. Perfectly on time.
That bothered him more than the glitches ever had.
In class, Ayush couldn't focus. His notebook stayed blank. Every time he looked at the window, he felt like the world was waiting for him to blink first.
His phone buzzed.
Unknown Number.
Again.
Ayush ignored it.
Then a message appeared—not a call.
We accepted your question.
Now accept the consequence.
Ayush's fingers went cold.
At lunch, the rooftop was crowded for the first time. Students stood in small circles, debating softly. Not theories—interpretations.
Neel leaned close. "Some say the Pattern is testing free will."
Ayush grimaced. "That's exactly what I didn't want."
Riya joined them, gaze sharp. "Belief doesn't disappear. It mutates."
Ayush looked at her. "What do they believe now?"
"That you're not the writer," she said. "You're the filter."
Ayush stiffened. "Filter for what?"
"Something older," Riya replied. "Something patient."
A sudden chill passed through Ayush.
That evening, he locked his door and opened the laptop.
The document was blank.
Completely blank.
Ayush's heart raced. "Don't do this," he said aloud.
No response.
Minutes passed.
Then, slowly, text appeared—but not like before.
No explanations.
No system language.
Just a sentence.
"You changed the structure."
Ayush swallowed. "That was the point."
"You introduced ambiguity," the screen replied.
"Ambiguity creates authors."
Ayush's pulse quickened. "You said not everyone could write."
"I said not everyone succeeds."
Ayush stood up. "Are others trying?"
The answer came after a pause—long enough to scare him.
"Yes."
Ayush felt dizzy. "How many?"
"Enough."
His phone rang immediately after.
This time, it wasn't an unknown number.
It was Riya.
"They've split," she said without greeting. "The Readers are no longer united."
Ayush closed his eyes. "Into what?"
"Two groups," Riya replied. "Those who want guidance… and those who want authorship."
Ayush whispered, "That's worse."
"Yes," Riya agreed. "Because the second group believes control is earned."
Ayush stared at the laptop.
"What happens if someone else writes something big?" he asked.
The cursor blinked.
"Reality resists conflicting drafts."
Ayush's throat tightened. "Meaning?"
"Meaning the world will choose."
Outside, thunder rolled—clear sky, no clouds.
Ayush flinched.
"That's not weather, is it?" he asked.
"It is a correction attempt," the screen replied.
Ayush slammed the desk. "You said I delayed collapse!"
"You did," the laptop answered calmly.
"But delay increases pressure."
Ayush sat back slowly.
"So what am I now?" he asked. "Writer? Filter? Target?"
The screen responded with a line that made his breath stop:
"You are the draft they cannot agree on."
A knock echoed at the door.
Ayush froze.
Neel's voice followed. "Bhai… someone's here. They're asking for you."
Ayush's heart pounded. "Who?"
Neel hesitated. "They said they're not Readers."
Ayush opened the door carefully.
A woman stood there—early thirties, calm eyes, no phone in hand.
"I'm not here to believe," she said. "I'm here to observe."
Ayush felt the world tilt slightly.
"Who are you?" he asked.
She smiled faintly.
"Someone who's seen this story before," she replied.
"And someone who knows how it usually ends."
Behind her, the city hummed—waiting.