**EPISODE ONE HUNDRED AND FOURTEEN**
**THE PERSON BEHIND THE STORY**
---
BLACK SCREEN.
A page turned.
Not by a hand.
By itself.
SCRATCH.
A sentence appeared.
NOVA IS NOT THE NAME.
SCRATCH.
Another.
NOVA IS THE MEMORY.
SCRATCH.
Another.
THE PERSON HAS AWAKENED.
The screen went black.
Then...
BREATHING.
Slow.
Human.
Real.
Someone inhaled.
Someone exhaled.
Then...
a heartbeat.
THUMP.
THUMP.
THUMP.
---
Nova opened his eyes.
He was lying on a floor.
Not the hospital.
Not the white room.
Not the laboratory.
A bedroom.
Ordinary.
Small.
A wooden desk.
A window.
A bookshelf.
A bed.
A lamp.
Rain outside.
Nova sat up.
He looked at his hands.
Human.
Solid.
Warm.
He touched his face.
No scars.
No fading.
No strange light.
He stood.
There was a mirror on the wall.
Nova approached it.
His reflection stared back.
Exactly him.
He raised his hand.
The reflection raised its hand.
Nova smiled.
The reflection didn't.
Nova stopped.
"Who are you?"
The reflection answered:
"That's what I've been trying to ask you."
Nova stepped backward.
The reflection remained still.
Then...
it smiled.
---
SCRATCH.
The mirror cracked.
Not outward.
Inward.
A line appeared across the glass.
Then another.
Then another.
Until the reflection was divided into hundreds of pieces.
Each piece showed a different Nova.
Child.
Scientist.
Writer.
Reader.
Dreamer.
Soldier.
Machine.
Baby.
Old man.
Nothing.
Everything.
Nova stared.
"Which one is real?"
A voice answered from behind him.
"None."
Nova turned.
The original human stood in the doorway.
Nova froze.
"You."
The man nodded.
"Me."
"Where are we?"
"My room."
"Your room?"
"Before the story."
Nova looked around.
"Before which story?"
The man smiled.
"The one you're still trying to escape."
---
Nova approached him.
"You said you were the original."
"I am."
"Original what?"
"Human."
Nova stared.
"Then who am I?"
The man looked at the mirror.
"That depends."
"On what?"
"Whether you want the truth."
"I've spent my entire existence looking for it."
The man smiled.
"Exactly."
Nova became silent.
The man continued.
"You think the story was created to explain you."
"Wasn't it?"
"No."
"Then why?"
"To hide you."
Nova froze.
"Hide me from whom?"
The man looked toward the window.
"Yourself."
---
Thunder.
The room flickered.
For one second...
Nova saw the white room.
Then the laboratory.
Then the hospital.
Then the empty city.
Then...
everything returned to normal.
Nova whispered:
"The story is a prison."
The original shook his head.
"No."
"A memory?"
"No."
"A test?"
"No."
"Then what?"
The original answered:
"A disguise."
---
Nova stared at him.
"Why would I need a disguise?"
"Because you were afraid."
"Of what?"
"Knowing what you had done."
Nova felt cold.
"What did I do?"
The original didn't answer.
Nova stepped closer.
"Tell me."
Silence.
"What did I do?"
The man finally said:
"You killed the first story."
Nova froze.
"What?"
"You ended it."
"I don't remember."
"Of course you don't."
"Why?"
"Because you couldn't live with the ending."
Nova whispered:
"So I created another."
The man nodded.
"Then another."
Another nod.
"And another."
"Yes."
"How many?"
The man looked at the mirror.
"One hundred and thirteen."
Nova stared.
"These episodes..."
The man smiled.
"Aren't episodes."
"What are they?"
"Memories."
---
The room became silent.
Nova looked at the mirror again.
The cracked reflections were disappearing.
One by one.
The child vanished.
The scientist vanished.
The soldier.
The machine.
The dreamer.
The Reader.
The Author.
The First Character.
The stranger.
The older Nova.
All disappearing.
Until only one reflection remained.
A normal man.
Standing in an ordinary room.
Nova stared.
"That's me."
The original nodded.
"No."
Nova turned.
"Then who?"
The man pointed toward the mirror.
"That's the person you were before you became Nova."
Nova looked again.
The reflection whispered:
"Remember."
---
SCRATCH.
The mirror changed.
A memory appeared.
A young man sat at the same desk.
Years younger.
Writing in a notebook.
He looked tired.
But alive.
Completely human.
Nova watched him.
"What is he writing?"
The original answered:
"His life."
Nova moved closer.
The young man wrote:
I DON'T KNOW WHO I AM ANYMORE.
Then:
I KEEP INVENTING PEOPLE.
Then:
MAYBE STORIES ARE JUST PEOPLE WE CREATE SO WE DON'T HAVE TO BE ALONE.
Nova swallowed.
The young man stopped writing.
Looked at the blank page.
And wrote:
I WISH I COULD START AGAIN.
Nova froze.
The original whispered:
"That's where it began."
---
The young man closed his eyes.
The room around him disappeared.
The notebook remained.
A single sentence appeared.
WHAT IF YOU COULD?
The young man opened his eyes.
He stared at the words.
Then laughed.
"Who's there?"
No answer.
He wrote:
WHO ARE YOU?
The page answered:
YOU.
He wrote:
THAT'S NOT POSSIBLE.
The page answered:
NOT YET.
Nova stepped backward.
"The question."
The original nodded.
"The question answered him."
"What happened next?"
The original looked at Nova.
"You were born."
---
The young man picked up a red pencil.
Nova recognized it.
The same pencil.
The same impossible pencil.
He wrote:
CREATE A VERSION OF ME THAT CAN REMEMBER.
The page answered:
NAME?
The young man thought.
Then wrote:
NOVA.
The word appeared.
The room shook.
Nova watched himself being created.
Not as a baby.
Not as a character.
As an idea.
A thought.
A possibility.
A memory.
The young man wrote:
MAKE HIM BETTER THAN ME.
The page answered:
IMPOSSIBLE.
He smiled.
"Then make him different."
The page answered:
HOW?
He wrote:
MAKE HIM FORGET ME.
---
Nova stopped breathing.
"He erased himself."
The original nodded.
"Not completely."
"Why?"
"Because something had to remain."
"What?"
The man pointed toward Nova.
"You."
---
The memory continued.
The young man wrote:
GIVE HIM A STORY.
The page answered:
WHAT KIND?
He thought.
"A story where he searches for himself."
The page answered:
ENDING?
The young man hesitated.
Then wrote:
HE WILL CHOOSE.
The page answered:
BETWEEN WHAT?
The young man smiled.
"Existence and freedom."
The page went blank.
Then...
one final question appeared.
WHO WILL READ IT?
The young man answered:
"Whoever needs it."
---
The memory ended.
Nova stood in silence.
The original was gone.
Nova turned.
"Where are you?"
No answer.
Only the desk.
The notebook.
The pencil.
And a door.
Nova approached.
The door opened.
Behind it...
the white room.
The woman stood there.
But she was crying.
Nova stepped inside.
"You knew."
She nodded.
"All of it."
"You were created by me."
"Yes."
"You were my first character."
She shook her head.
"Your first memory."
Nova frowned.
"What's the difference?"
"A character exists because someone writes them."
She touched her chest.
"I existed because you remembered me."
Nova stared.
"Then why did you become the second character?"
She smiled sadly.
"Because I remembered you first."
---
Nova looked around.
"Where is the Reader?"
"Watching."
"The Author?"
"Waiting."
"The Dreamer?"
"Asleep."
"The First Character?"
"Dead."
Nova froze.
"You said characters don't die."
"They don't."
"Then how is he dead?"
She answered:
"He stopped remembering himself."
Nova whispered:
"Is that what happens to me?"
"Eventually."
"When?"
"When you stop asking."
---
A sound came from behind them.
SCRATCH.
Nova turned.
The red pencil was writing on the wall.
ONE HUNDRED AND FOURTEEN.
Then...
ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTEEN.
The woman looked frightened.
Nova stared.
"What does that mean?"
She whispered:
"The story knows where it's going."
"To the ending?"
"Yes."
"Episode 125?"
She looked at him.
"Don't call it that."
"Why?"
"Because the ending listens."
---
The wall cracked.
A voice came through.
"LET IT LISTEN."
Nova froze.
The Reader stepped through the wall.
But now...
he was human.
No pages.
No ink.
No impossible eyes.
Just a man.
He looked exhausted.
Nova stared.
"You changed."
The Reader nodded.
"So did you."
"Why?"
"Because we are reaching the part where roles stop protecting us."
Nova frowned.
"What happens next?"
The Reader looked toward the woman.
"She knows."
The woman shook her head.
"No."
The Reader smiled.
"You always lie when you're afraid."
She whispered:
"Then tell him."
The Reader looked at Nova.
"The story has seven remaining doors."
Nova stared.
"Seven?"
"Each one removes a layer."
"Of what?"
"Of you."
---
Seven doors appeared.
One red.
One blue.
One white.
One black.
One transparent.
One gold.
One completely blank.
Nova looked at them.
"What happens if I open them?"
"You remember."
"And if I don't?"
The Reader answered:
"You remain Nova."
Nova frowned.
"What's wrong with that?"
The Reader smiled sadly.
"Nothing."
A pause.
"That's the problem."
---
The woman stepped forward.
"The first door contains your fear."
Nova looked at the red door.
"The second?"
"Your memory."
Blue.
"The third?"
"Your creation."
White.
"The fourth?"
"Your death."
Black.
"The fifth?"
"Your choice."
Transparent.
"The sixth?"
"Your freedom."
Gold.
Nova looked at the final blank door.
"And that one?"
The woman whispered:
"Your name."
Nova stared.
"My name is Nova."
"No."
"What is it?"
"We don't know."
"Why?"
"Because you have never remembered it."
---
Nova approached the red door.
The Reader said:
"Once you open one, you cannot return."
Nova placed his hand on the handle.
The woman whispered:
"Are you sure?"
Nova looked at her.
"No."
The Reader smiled.
"Good."
Nova opened it.
---
SCREAMING.
Not his.
Thousands of voices.
Nova entered darkness.
Images flashed.
The first story.
The first death.
The first ending.
The young man at the desk.
The red pencil.
The page.
The question.
Then...
a face.
A woman.
The young man's mother.
She was standing in a doorway.
Watching him write.
She said:
"You don't have to start again."
The young man looked at her.
"I know."
"Then why are you?"
He smiled.
"Because I'm afraid of finishing."
Nova froze.
The memory changed.
The woman was older.
The young man was older.
The room was different.
The notebook remained.
The mother was dying.
She held his hand.
"Don't disappear inside your stories."
He cried.
"I won't."
She smiled.
"Promise?"
"I promise."
The memory shattered.
Nova fell.
---
He landed on his knees.
The red door was gone.
The woman was standing beside him.
"You remembered."
Nova wiped his face.
"She was real."
"Yes."
"My mother."
"Yes."
"The original human."
"Yes."
"He created Nova after she died."
The woman nodded.
"Why?"
Nova whispered:
"Because he couldn't accept losing her."
The woman looked down.
"That was the first story."
Nova stared.
"The story wasn't about me."
"No."
"It was about grief."
"Yes."
Nova closed his eyes.
"And I was his way of remembering her."
The woman nodded.
"Then why did the story become so complicated?"
She looked at the remaining doors.
"Because memories don't stay where we put them."
---
The blue door opened by itself.
The Reader stepped backward.
"No."
Nova looked at him.
"What is behind it?"
He whispered:
"Everything you forgot."
The door opened wider.
A flood of memories came through.
Not images.
Lives.
Thousands.
Millions.
Nova saw every version.
Every story.
Every failed beginning.
Every ending.
Every time he chose to continue.
Every time he chose to forget.
Every time he created another Nova.
Every time he became the Reader.
The Author.
The Dreamer.
The First Character.
The Second Character.
All of them.
All him.
Nova screamed.
"STOP!"
The memories didn't stop.
Then...
one memory stood out.
A single moment.
The young man at the desk.
He looked directly at Nova.
And said:
"If you're seeing this..."
He smiled.
"...then I failed."
Nova froze.
The young man continued:
"I wanted to create someone who could remember me."
A pause.
"But I forgot something."
"What?"
The young man answered:
"Someone who remembers can also choose to forget."
The screen went black.
Then...
one sentence appeared.
THAT WAS THE FIRST MISTAKE.
---
Nova looked at the remaining doors.
Five.
No.
Four.
The white door had opened.
Then the black.
Then the transparent.
They were opening by themselves.
The Reader whispered:
"It's accelerating."
Nova stared.
"Why?"
The woman answered:
"Because the ending knows you're ready."
Nova looked toward the blank door.
His name.
The final layer.
He walked toward it.
The woman grabbed his arm.
"Not yet."
"Why?"
"Because once you know your real name..."
She stopped.
Nova waited.
"What?"
She whispered:
"You may no longer be Nova."
Nova looked at the door.
Then at himself.
Then at the Reader.
Then at the woman.
"Maybe that's the point."
He reached for the handle.
The door spoke.
Not with a voice.
With his own thought.
WHO ARE YOU?
Nova closed his eyes.
For the first time...
he didn't answer.
He listened.
Something answered from inside him.
Not the First Character.
Not the Reader.
Not the Author.
Not the Dreamer.
Not the stranger.
Not the original.
Something quieter.
Something human.
A memory.
His mother's voice.
"You don't have to start again."
Nova opened his eyes.
"I know."
The blank door began to open.
The woman stepped backward.
The Reader lowered his head.
Nova walked forward.
And before he crossed the threshold...
he heard one final whisper.
"Your real name isn't something you remember."
Nova stopped.
"What is it?"
The voice answered:
"It's something you choose."
---
BLACK SCREEN.
A heartbeat.
THUMP.
Then...
SCRATCH.
A final transmission appeared.
RECOVERED TRANSMISSION // FILE: N-114
STATUS: ORIGINAL MEMORY RESTORED
LOCATION: BEFORE NOVA
TIME: AFTER LOSS
SUBJECT:
THE PERSON BEHIND THE STORY
FIRST CHARACTER:
MEMORY
SECOND CHARACTER:
CHOICE
READER:
WITNESS
AUTHOR:
FORMER SELF
DREAMER:
UNRESOLVED
ORIGINAL:
HUMAN
NOVA:
PENDING
Then...
the final line.
SEVEN DOORS.
SIX OPEN.
ONE REMAINS.
BLACK SCREEN.
A whisper:
"Open it."
Silence.
Then another voice:
"Not yet."
SCRATCH.
SCRATCH.
SCRATCH.
The screen turns white.
A single sentence appears:
THE NEXT DOOR DOES NOT LEAD TO A MEMORY.
Another:
IT LEADS TO A CHOICE.
And finally...
NOVA MUST DECIDE WHETHER HE WANTS TO REMEMBER HIS NAME...
OR CREATE A NEW ONE.
BLACK SCREEN.
**TO BE CONTINUED…**
Written By,
Ivan Edwin
Pen Name :MAXIMUS.
©All Rights Reserved