Morning light spilled into the narrow streets like it was afraid to touch anything.
Today it felt quieter than usual, as if the city itself was waiting for someone to speak first.
Bhagya walked beside Arvin and Anaya toward the university gates, his bag slung low on one shoulder. The bruises on his knuckle ached in strange, muffled ways, but they were already fading faster than they should.
Arvin was silent. Not the distracted, half-listening kind of quiet — this was deeper, like every thought he had was being locked away behind his eyes. He kept glancing at his watch, then at the gate ahead, then back at the ground.
They entered the main building together, the corridor buzzing with the usual shuffle of students. Anaya was halfway through reminding Bhagya about their pending assignment when Arvin stopped abruptly.
"I'm not feeling well," he told their professor in the corridor, voice flat but steady. "Can I take a medical leave for today?"
The professor nodded without question, already marking the register.
Anaya's brows drew together. "Arvin? You were fine this morning."
"I'll be fine," Arvin said, offering a quick smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
Bhagya tilted his head. "You sure? You look..." He stopped mid-sentence, unsure why the words wouldn't come.
Anaya's gaze flicked between them. Arvin's face was pale, his movements too careful. Bhagya's, meanwhile, was strangely blank — nothing from last night seemed to be bothering him. It was like both of them were hiding something, and whatever it was, it wasn't good.
"Something's wrong with both of you," she said quietly, almost to herself. Neither of them heard,nor replied.
Instead of heading toward home after signing out, Arvin drifted in the opposite direction once he stepped outside. His steps were unhurried at first, but once he turned a corner and was out of sight, his pace quickened.
Bhagya's building stood still and unassuming under the mid-morning sun. Arvin climbed the steps, glancing over his shoulder once before crouching by the welcome mat. His fingers brushed against something metallic — the spare key.
The lock clicked softly. Inside, the air felt heavier. Not dusty, not stale — just wrong. He moved straight to Bhagya's room.
The first thing that caught his eye was the torn bedsheet draped over the mirror. It hung there like an old wound hastily covered. For some reason, the sight of it made his neck prickle.
Near the desk, something else stood out — a thick, old blue diary, the kind that looked like it belonged in another decade. Its corners were softened with age, its leather spine worn.
He hesitated, then picked it up.
The moment he opened it, his breath caught.
The handwriting inside was uneven, almost frantic in places, looping wildly in others. Words sprawled across the pages in sentences that didn't always make sense. But the content… the content was what froze him in place.
His eyes darted from one page to another, faster and faster, as if reading all of it at once could somehow make it less real. But it didn't.
He looked pale, as though something cold had crawled under his skin. With trembling hands, he reached for his phone, flipping through the diary page by page, photographing everything.
Closing it carefully, he slid it back exactly where it had been. His gaze lingered on the torn bedsheet over the mirror. He didn't touch it.
Putting the keys back under the mat, he stepped out into the sun, but his face stayed locked in that same expression — like he'd just seen a ghost for the first time.
That evening, Anaya's message pinged on Bhagya's phone.
Are you home? You've been acting strange since morning. And Arvin… he's worse.
Bhagya stared at the screen for a long moment, then turned it off and put it in his pocket. He didn't reply.
Orange streetlamps bathed the street in their dull glow as Bhagya crouched by the doormat, retrieving the spare key. Unlocking the door, he stepped into the quiet.
The torn bedsheet over the mirror didn't bother him. His attention went straight to the blue diary on the desk.
He opened it.
Something shifted in his face. The tension in his jaw loosened, but not in relief. His eyes darkened, and a strange calm settled over him — one that didn't belong to the boy who had walked in few seconds ago.
A faint grin spread slowly across his lips — not warm, not kind.
It was the kind of grin that felt older than him, heavier than him, like it had been waiting for the chance to surface.
The room seemed to lean in closer, listening.
And Bhagya kept grinning.