Bhagya grinned.
It was small at first, almost hesitant, but it lingered on his face like it belonged to someone else. The corners of his lips twitched upward as if tugged by invisible strings. His eyes felt strange—sharp and heavy one moment, then suddenly light, almost hollow. It was like a cloud had passed over them and then drifted away, leaving only the weight he always carried deep in his chest.
The grin faded.
His shoulders dropped, and the tension in his jaw eased. He blinked slowly, as if waking from something he couldn't quite name.
Then he noticed the diary in his hands.
He didn't remember picking it up.
The cover was slightly warm from his touch, the old leather faintly cracked along the spine. The edges of the pages were smudged in places, as if thumbed through a hundred times. He sat on the edge of his bed, the ceiling fan clicking softly above him, and slowly opened it.
His pen hovered over the page for a moment before he began to write.
'I don't feel alive anymore. The dreams don't scare me now—they've become normal. I just watch them happen. Sometimes, I even wait for them. I don't panic. I think I'm used to it now. Maybe too used to it.'
The scratching of the pen slowed. His hand trembled slightly.
His jaw clenched. His breathing deepened.
'And now… I see him. In the middle of the day. He talks. Says things I don't want to hear. But I ignore him.'
*Here Bhagya is referring to the man in the mirror.*
The pen stopped. He let it drop onto the bed beside him.
For a long moment, Bhagya just sat there, staring at the words he'd written as if they belonged to someone else. A faint chill ran along his arms, raising the hair on his skin. Then he closed the diary, pressing the cover down with more force than necessary, and slid it to the far side of his desk.
He rubbed his temples, eyes shutting for a second longer than a blink.
Later that day, Arvin was sprawled across his bed with his phone in one hand. The curtains were half drawn, letting in lines of dusty afternoon light. His bag lay open beside him, papers spilling out like he'd given up on keeping them organized.
He was going through the photos he'd taken the day before, of Bhagya's diary, each page in careful focus. He'd told himself it was just to check for clues, but there was something else, too. Some part of him wanted to understand.
His thumb stopped on a particular image.
He didn't remember paying much attention to it before, but now it caught his eye. The handwriting was… different.
It was ugly, uneven, jagged, with the letters pressed so hard into the paper it was almost as if they'd been carved rather than written. The words felt angry just by looking at them.
'The people of this era are boring. But soon… dimensions will merge. Many will be influenced by it.'
Arvin's eyes narrowed. This wasn't Bhagya's usual, measured style of writing. This looked like it had been scrawled by someone in the middle of an outburst—full of pressure, impatience, maybe even pain.
Then his gaze dropped to the bottom of the page.
The last line was in Sanskrit, each letter drawn with an almost desperate precision. Even though he didn't speak the language fluently, something in him understood the weight of it before he even translated it.
अंतः अस्ति प्रारंभः
*The end is beginning.*
He stared at the photo for a long while, the words echoing in his mind long after he'd locked his phone.
The next morning, the sun was already warm when Bhagya, Arvin, and Anaya met outside the university gates. The air smelled faintly of wet earth from the sprinklers, and the campus buzzed with the noise of students, scooters, and distant chatter from the canteen.
The three of them walked side by side toward the main building. At one point, Anaya spotted someone she knew and waved, moving ahead to catch up with them. That left Bhagya and Arvin trailing a few steps behind in the shade of the old neem trees.
Arvin slowed his pace.
Without a word at first, he reached into his bag and pulled something out—a plastic ID card, the corner slightly chipped.
"I found this in my bag," Arvin said casually, holding it up between two fingers. "I saw it yesterday and thought I should give it back to its original owner."
Bhagya looked at the ID for a second before reaching out.
But instead of taking it, his hand closed around Arvin's wrist.
Not hard enough to hurt, but firm.
His lips curled upward—not in his usual, easy smile, but in that same strange, lingering grin from before. The kind that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Found you", he said quietly.
The words landed heavier than they should have.
Arvin froze, caught off guard. A nervous laugh escaped him. "Bhagya… what are you doing? This joke isn't funny."
Bhagya didn't answer at first. His gaze stayed locked on Arvin's, grin unmoving.
Then, just as suddenly, his expression shifted. The grin vanished. His eyes blinked rapidly, confusion replacing whatever had been there before.
He looked down at Arvin's hand—at the ID he was still holding—and smiled normally.
"Oh, you found it! Thank you, bro."
Arvin just stared for a moment before handing it over.
Something about the whole exchange left the air between them feeling heavier than before.