The boy collapsed in the middle of the market.
No warning.
No scream.
Just a sudden, sharp intake of breath—and then the ground.
People rushed in. Someone called for help.
But before anyone could touch him, the boy sat up.
Eyes wide.
Pupils shaking.
"It didn't go that way," he whispered.
Abinaya was there within minutes.
She knelt in front of him, voice calm, steady.
"What didn't?" she asked.
The boy stared at her like she was a lifeline.
"My sister," he said.
"She died. Three times."
Rakesh stiffened behind her.
Abinaya felt cold spread through her fingers.
"Tell me," she said softly.
The boy swallowed.
"First time—fire."
"Second—train."
"Third—she never came home."
He grabbed Abinaya's sleeve.
"This is the fourth," he said desperately.
"Please tell me this one sticks."
Abinaya closed her eyes.
This wasn't leakage.
This was convergence.
Diagnosis
Back at the safe house, the walls hummed faintly—not with energy, but with tension.
"He's not remembering one past," Rakesh said, pacing.
"He's remembering branches."
Abinaya nodded.
"When the system existed, failed timelines were deleted cleanly," she said.
"Now they're… composting."
Rakesh stopped.
"Meaning?"
"Meaning the world is recycling its dead futures," she replied.
"Most people only feel impressions."
She looked at the boy, asleep on the cot.
"He's absorbing the graveyard."
Ren — Day 34
Ren started skipping class.
Not to be reckless.
To think.
He sat under the old banyan tree near campus, notebook open, pen unmoving.
Why does the word "reset" make me angry?
Why do I feel guilty for being alive?
He closed the notebook sharply.
Across the field, Abinaya was speaking with a teacher.
He watched her laugh at something small.
His chest tightened.
There.
That feeling again.
Like recognizing a song without remembering its name.
The Fourth Crack (Unstable)
The boy woke screaming that night.
Abinaya rushed in.
"They're collapsing!" he cried.
"All the endings are trying to happen at once!"
The lights flickered.
Not electricity.
Probability.
Rakesh swore.
"This is bad," he said.
"If convergence spikes, we get a knot."
Abinaya took the boy's hands.
"Listen to me," she said firmly.
"You don't need to carry everything."
"But if I let go," he sobbed,
"they'll die again!"
Abinaya's voice softened.
"No," she said.
"They already lived."
The boy froze.
She met his eyes.
"Every version mattered," she said.
"But only one needs to continue."
Slowly—painfully—his breathing steadied.
Outside, the flicker stopped.
A fracture sealed.
Not cleanly.
But enough.
Rakesh's Warning
"This is going to get worse," Rakesh said later.
"People like him will appear more often."
Abinaya nodded.
"And some won't want to forget," she added.
Rakesh looked at her.
"And Ren?"
She didn't answer right away.
"He's close," Rakesh said quietly.
"Closer than he's ever been."
Abinaya stared out the window.
"I know," she whispered.
Ren — The Question
He found her that evening.
On the steps outside the library.
Abinaya looked up—and froze.
Ren stood there, hands in his pockets, nervous.
"Hey," he said.
"Can I ask you something… strange?"
She smiled carefully.
"Try me."
He hesitated.
"…Have we ever been somewhere together that doesn't exist anymore?"
Her heart stopped.
The world held its breath.
She could lie.
She could redirect.
She could protect him.
Instead—
She chose honesty.
"Yes," she said softly.
Ren exhaled, shaky—but relieved.
"…Good," he said.
"Because I was afraid I was crazy."
She laughed quietly, eyes shining.
"You're not," she said.
"You're just… remembering carefully."
The world didn't break.
But somewhere deep beneath it—
Something old stirred.
Something that had been watching, even without a system.