Devendra noticed the silence first.
Not the heavy, watching kind.
Not the whispering kind.
This silence was… ordinary.
Morning light came through the window in soft lines. The dust in the air floated lazily, like it had nowhere important to be. For once, his head didn't feel crowded.
He sat at the dining table while his mother poured tea into two cups.
Two.
That alone felt strange.
She smiled at him—tired, but real.
"Drink it before it gets cold," she said.
Her voice didn't echo.
It didn't split.
It didn't bend into something else.
Devendra wrapped his hands around the cup. The warmth grounded him in a way he hadn't felt in years. He didn't remember when the shaking in his fingers had started—but for the first time, it slowed.
They ate together.
Nothing dramatic happened.
No shadows stretched too long.
No whispers threaded between thoughts.
No pressure pressed against the inside of his skull.
His mother talked about small things. The price of vegetables. A neighbor who had moved away. How quickly children grow.
"You're already ten," she said casually, stirring her tea. "Time really doesn't wait."
Devendra froze.
Ten?
The word didn't fit.
He looked down at his hands. They were larger than he remembered. The sleeves of his shirt sat higher on his wrists. His reflection in the steel plate looked… older.
Not grown.
But no longer five.
A dull realization settled in.
He hadn't aged forward.
Time had moved without him.
"How long…?" he started, then stopped.
His mother didn't notice the change in his expression. She rarely did anymore.
"You used to hate mornings," she said softly. "Now you're quiet. I don't know which version of you I miss more."
Devendra swallowed.
He wanted to ask her so many things.
About the past.
About what she remembered.
About what she didn't.
But the calm felt fragile—like touching it too hard would shatter it.
So he stayed quiet.
For a while, it almost felt like a normal life.
Almost.
The Crack Beneath the Calm
That afternoon, Devendra sat on the floor of his room, sorting through old notebooks. Dates didn't line up. Handwriting shifted. Pages were missing—not torn out, but erased, like they had never existed.
That's when he felt it.
Not a voice.
A presence, patient and close.
He didn't turn around.
He didn't need to.
The air behind him felt colder—not physically, but emotionally, like standing near something that remembered too much.
"Did you enjoy today?"
The voice wasn't playful anymore.
It was measured.
Careful.
Devendra's throat tightened.
"You said you'd leave me alone," he whispered.
A soft sound followed.
Not laughter.
Something closer to amusement.
"I never said that."
"I said I would let you rest."
His reflection in the window shifted.
For just a moment, he saw another Devendra standing there—smaller, frozen, eyes wide with the kind of fear that doesn't scream anymore.
"You keep wondering why this happened to you," the voice continued.
"Why I chose you."
The room darkened slightly, like a cloud passed over the sun.
"You weren't chosen."
"You were… inherited."
His chest tightened.
"What does that mean?"
The presence leaned closer—not touching, never touching.
"Your parents made mistakes."
"Very old ones."
"Very quiet ones."
His mother called his name from the other room.
The presence paused.
Then whispered one last thing—soft enough to almost sound kind.
"This peace?"
"It's borrowed."
"And debts are always collected."
The room returned to normal.
Too normal.
Devendra sat there, unmoving, knowing with terrifying certainty—
Whatever was coming next
would not start with screams.
It would start with answers.
Author's Note
Hello guys.
That's all for today.
Sorry if this chapter felt heavy. I'm honestly very tired while writing this, both mentally and emotionally. This story is moving fast now, and I can feel that it's not going to last very long—whatever I have to write, I want to write it honestly.
Before going further, I want to say one thing clearly.
This is not a romantic story.
What's happening here is something else entirely.
There are some spoiler‑level truths behind this story. The girl in Devendra's life didn't appear without reason. His parents did something very wrong to her in the past. Because of that, she exists the way she does now.
Devendra has tried many times to kills he self
But she never lets him go.
Not because she loves him—
but because if he escapes, she loses her reason to exist.
That's all I'll say for now.
The next chapters are going to get darker, more disturbing, and more psychological. I feel like when you read them, you'll understand why this story couldn't be told any other way.
I'm signing off for now.
Please support the story till the end.
Goodbye—for today.