Arman had heard thousands of thoughts by now.
Some were boring.
Some were disgusting.
Some were the kind that made you want to smash your skull against the wall to forget them.
But this… this was new.
> "Let's see how long you last, Thought Broker."
The words sliced through the air, not spoken but broadcasted — directly into Arman's skull. Loud, clear, intentional.
He stumbled back.
That voice wasn't his. And it wasn't just a passing thought — it was a challenge.
"Who are you?" Arman hissed, scanning the hallway.
It was empty, but his mind was in chaos. A cold sweat trickled down his back. Someone else could use the same power.
He wasn't special anymore.
---
Earlier That Morning…
It started as a normal school day, if being a mind-reading outlaw in a web of secrets could be called normal.
Arman strolled through the gates, earbuds in (even though he wasn't playing music), eyes half-lidded, trying to block out the barrage of thoughts from everyone.
> "I hope Mr. Karim cancels the math test."
"I can't believe I forgot to shave again—ugh."
"Why does Arman always look like he's hiding a body?"
That last one made him grin slightly.
He passed by Rina, who looked up and blushed instantly.
> "Oh no, he caught me staring again—he's so mysterious… does he even like girls?"
He almost tripped.
Then Rafiq slapped him on the back.
"Bro, you going emo again or just mentally fighting your demons?"
Arman snorted. "Both."
---
Later: The Message
By lunch, the note appeared in his locker.
No handwriting. No signature. Just four chilling words:
> WE KNOW WHO YOU ARE.
Arman crushed the note, but the panic stayed.
That's when it happened.
---
The Boy in the Stairwell
He was cornered after class — the west stairwell, quiet and mostly unused.
A boy stood there, older, taller, with crimson-streaked eyes and an eerily calm smile. His school uniform was sharp. Too sharp. Like it belonged in a different school… or a cult.
"Arman Syed," the boy said softly, "Broker of Thought. Distributor of secrets. Welcome to your reckoning."
Arman's eyes narrowed. "You're from the Whisper, aren't you?"
The boy smiled wider.
> "He's faster than expected. He'll be a problem."
Arman flinched. The thoughts were deliberate, like the guy wanted Arman to hear them.
"So you can—"
"Yes," the boy said, reading his question. "I can hear them too. But unlike you, I don't flinch when the world screams."
He rushed forward.
---
Fight: Mind Games and Dirty Tricks
Arman barely dodged the punch. The boy wasn't just telepathic — he was trained.
Fist after fist flew. Arman ducked, rolled, slammed his elbow into the boy's ribs — but his opponent smiled.
> "He's holding back. He's afraid of what he might become."
"SHUT UP!"
Arman grabbed a broken broomstick from the janitor's closet nearby and swung it like a staff.
The boy caught it… and headbutted Arman.
Blood trickled from his forehead.
> "This pain… reminds me I'm alive. That's how we survive."
Then, with a hiss, the boy whispered out loud, "Tell your precious Nira… we'll meet soon. Our mistress is curious about her."
Arman froze. "Who?"
The boy only laughed and vanished down the hallway, moving with inhuman speed.
---
Back in the Classroom…
Arman sat down, head pounding. His shirt was slightly torn, lip bruised, and his eyes had that faraway storm look.
"Whoa," Rafiq whispered. "Bro, did someone try to undress you or beat you up?"
Rina stared, concerned. "Are you okay?"
> "Should I offer him my scarf or just... hug him?"
Arman couldn't help but chuckle darkly.
> "A girl's worry… vs a boy's war. Why does this feel like a K-drama mixed with a horror flick?"
Still… somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard another thought.
A voice — female, clear, seductive, chilling:
> "The game has started, Arman. Let's see if you can protect your thoughts… or if we own them."
His eyes widened.
She was watching.
And she wasn't alone.
---