London rain hammered the streets like it had a personal grudge.
Joshua Wise trudged along the slick pavement, polished black oxfords splashing through puddles. His school bag bounced against his hip, heavy with notebooks full of half-finished lyrics. The kind that scratched at his brain late at night—words about ash, voids, endless falling.
He shook his head. Stupid dreams again.
The city hummed around him—car horns blaring, buses hissing to stops, vendors shouting about hot pies under steaming carts. Normal. Boring. Safe.
But lately... something felt off.
Streetlights flickered weirdly as he passed. Shadows stretched a little too long. And those whispers. Faint, like someone humming a tune just out of reach.
Fire calls, but the void answers.
Joshua shivered, pulling his blazer tighter. Probably just lack of sleep. Exams coming up, band practice running late, Mum working double shifts at the hospital. Yeah. That was it.
"Hey, Josh! You look like a drowned rat!"
Mrs. Patel waved from her stoop, umbrella bobbing as she sorted veggies. Her tabby cat wound around her ankles like a furry scarf.
He forced a grin. "Yeah, Mrs. P. Weather's winning today."
Her laugh warmed him a bit. Normal stuff. Grounding.
Further down, little Timmy zipped by on his bike, tires hissing. "Josh! Race ya to the corner?"
"Not today, Tim." Joshua ruffled the kid's messy hair as he pedaled past. "Save some speed for tomorrow."
Timmy whooped and vanished around the bend.
Constable Harris leaned against a lamppost ahead, chatting with shopkeepers. He tipped his cap. "Evening, lad. Stay dry, yeah? These lights been acting funny lately."
"Will do, sir."
Joshua hurried past. The buzzing under the streetlights felt louder today. Like they were... watching.
Home finally. The apartment block loomed, familiar and gray.
"Josh! You look like a drowned rat—again!"
Mum—Annette—stood in the doorway, nurse's bag slung over her shoulder, umbrella dripping.
He chuckled for real this time. "Weather hates me."
She ruffled his dark brown waves. "Dinner's almost ready. No staying out late, okay?"
"Got it."
Inside smelled like home—damp carpet, faint antiseptic from her scrubs, something simmering on the stove. Joshua kicked off his shoes and headed to his room.
Messy as always. Guitar in the corner, picks scattered like confetti, posters peeling at the edges. Notebooks open on the desk, lyrics bleeding across pages.
He flopped onto the bed, pulling out his phone.
Yumi's contact stared back.
Those sketches of hers—moons, weird rifts tearing the sky. They stuck in his head like his own songs.
"Hey. Your drawings are stuck in my brain. Wanna hang sometime?"
His thumb hovered. Delete? Send?
Heart thudding, he hit send.
Then deleted the evidence. Like it never happened.
Stupid.
The rain picked up outside, drumming harder against the window.
That whisper again. Closer this time.
Not yet.
Joshua sat up, scanning the empty room.
Nothing.
Just the rain.
Just London.
But deep in his chest, something warm stirred. Not painful. Just... alive.
Like a spark waiting for oxygen.
He grabbed his guitar, strumming softly to drown it out.
Lyrics spilled out unbidden.
Shadows hum, pulling at the seams...
Little did he know—the seams were already tearing.
Next day at school, everything felt sharper.
Lockers slamming. Sneakers squeaking. Chatter roaring like a wave.
Leo clapped his shoulder. "Josh! Aced that essay, yeah? Yumi's garden's looking wild today. Flowers straight out of sci-fi."
Joshua's eyes drifted across the courtyard.
There she was—Yumi, kneeling by the community garden beds, dirt-smudged green sweater, brown eyes focused on crimson roses that glowed a little too bright.
"Yeah," he muttered. "Magic touch."
Priya waved from a bench, notebook open. "Josh! Come hear this tale—rifts swallowing cities!"
He waved back, but couldn't look away from Yumi.
She glanced up. Smiled softly.
His phone buzzed.
I'd like that. Library after class? Chess rematch?
Joshua's cheeks burned. He typed back fast.
Deal.
The day dragged, but finally—library.
Sunlight slanted through tall windows, dust dancing in beams. Old paper smell. Quiet hum.
They claimed a corner table. Chessboard between them.
Yumi moved first. Bishop forward. Confident.
"You're quiet today," she said after his hesitant pawn push.
Joshua's fingers hovered. Heart pounding like drums.
Those sketches. The way she saw the world—cracks in reality, moons bleeding light.
It felt... real.
"I can't stop thinking about your drawings," he blurted. "Moons. Rifts. They feel like... something."
Her brown eyes widened. Soft smile.
"That's sweet, Josh. I've noticed you too. The way you hum lyrics in class. Like you're in your own world."
Outside the window, a shadow lingered in the branches. Too sharp. Too still.
Joshua didn't see it.
But his chest tightened. Sharp twist. Not hunger. Not nerves.
Pain.
"I mean it," he pressed, voice rough. "I like you. A lot."
The words hung.
Then—agony lanced through him.
He doubled over the board, pieces scattering.
"Sorry—stomach—" he gasped, bolting up.
Yumi called after him, but he was gone.
Halls blurred. Classmates faded.
Outside, the garden roses pulsed violet. Unnatural.
Whispers roared now.
Not yet.
Joshua clutched his side, breath ragged.
Something was coming.
And it was calling his name.