The halls of school were narrower than they had ever been.
The lockers leaned inward, slightly tilting, as if the building itself was aware of him.
Devendra walked slowly, trying to feel his body.
It was there.
Mostly.
But pieces of him were missing—fingers, memory, emotion.
Sometimes, when he blinked, his left hand wasn't aligned properly, as if someone else had drawn it wrong.
A classmate approached—Jaya, one of his few friends.
"Devendra… are you okay? You look… different."
He tried to speak. His voice shook.
"Different… not different."
Jaya frowned.
"You… don't sound like yourself."
It wasn't just his voice.
It wasn't just his face.
It was his presence. Something hollow trailed him, and everyone around felt it, though none dared speak.
First Real Attack
During math class, the teacher wrote equations on the board.
Devendra tried to focus.
Numbers blurred. Letters slithered like snakes across the surface.
A cold wind brushed his neck—again.
A whisper curled into his ear:
"Why do you try? You've already lost."
He turned. Nothing.
Or maybe… someone.
A shadow in the corner, flickering.
The outline of the girl.
Her hair was longer than the last time he saw her in a dream—white as frost, unnaturally sharp at the ends.
Her nails glinted.
Just enough.
"They can't see me… but you can."
Devendra felt it—the pressure along his spine, like her touch was threading through his bones without touching skin.
Not real.
But every bit as painful as if it were.
He fell to his knees.
The classroom blurred around him.
Numbers melted. Chalk dust turned to smoke.
The teacher's voice became incomprehensible.
"Learn your place, Devendra. Every one of them will forget you soon. Every one of them but me."
Outside the School
He ran.
Feet pounding hallways, down staircases, through sliding doors that weren't supposed to open that way.
Outside, the sun was a sick yellow. Shadows stretched too long. Buildings flickered like they were breathing.
People passed. Their eyes didn't register him, though some felt something wrong.
One girl's gaze lingered, but when he approached, her expression blanked.
He realized: he was a ghost.
He hadn't died.
But everyone he knew… was starting to forget him.
And she…
She still remembered.
The First Realization
At home, his mother called him.
Her voice distant, almost distorted.
"Devendra… dinner is ready."
He ran inside.
The house seemed larger, unfamiliar.
The smell of rice and curry was there.
The table set.
Everything normal.
But she didn't see him.
Or maybe she did… but she couldn't reach him.
"Even here… I'm alone," he thought.
He grabbed the chair, trying to sit.
The chair flickered.
His body felt light. Not weightless. Just… incomplete.
And then the whisper came again:
"If you die, you leave. If you live… you belong to me."
A shadow rose from the corner.
No shape—just a presence, coiling, tightening.
It wasn't her yet.
Not fully.
But it was testing him.
The Ending Scene
Devendra dropped to the floor, curling into himself.
"I don't… I can't…" he murmured.
The shadow leaned close, nails scraping the floor.
"Oh, you can. And you will. Every time. Every day. Every life inside your life."
It left him shaking. Alone. Hollow.
Not yet dead.
Not yet free.
But one step closer to being completely hers.
Outside, the world continued.
No one noticed him.
No one remembered him.
Except her.
And that was enough.