Arun did not notice the moment the day ended.
It happened between one breath and the next.
He was walking home when it occurred.
The sky had been dimming, the color of diluted ink spreading above the buildings. Streetlights flickered on one by one. The air carried the usual sounds of evening — traffic, distant voices, a television playing somewhere above.
Ordinary.
He stopped at the roadside, waiting for the signal to change.
A motorbike passed too close, wind brushing his sleeve.
Then—
Silence.
Not fading.
Cut.
The sound ended as though someone had removed a layer of the world.
The motorbike was still there.
But no engine noise followed.
The traffic light across the street remained green.
No cars moved.
Arun did not turn immediately. He waited, counting his breaths.
One.
Two.
Three.
Still nothing.
He looked around.
The vehicles were in place, frozen in positions that suggested motion had existed moments before. A bus stood at an angle mid-turn. A bicycle lay on its side near the curb. A car door remained half-open.
No drivers.
No pedestrians.
The air smelled faintly metallic, like the residue after rain that never fell.
The sky had not darkened further.
Time had not progressed.
Arun stepped forward.
His shoe touched the road.
The echo was wrong — dull, absorbed too quickly.
He approached the bus. Through the window, seats were empty. A phone lay on the floor near the aisle, its screen cracked, a paused video still glowing faintly.
No signal.
No service.
His own phone showed:
Monday — 6:47 PM
The same time as before.
The clock did not advance.
He raised his hand slowly.
His shadow followed.
A fraction late.
Arun observed the delay without expression.
He turned his head.
Far down the street, a plastic bag drifted across the ground, moved by wind he could not feel.
Motion existed.
Just not in the present.
He looked back at the intersection.
A newspaper fluttered near the gutter, edges worn as if it had lain there for hours.
Yet he had been here seconds ago.
Understanding did not arrive like fear.
It arrived like recognition.
This place was not stopped.
It was completed.
He had not entered a frozen world.
He had stepped into what remained after the day had already passed.
A layer of time discarded by the present.
Arun exhaled quietly.
"So this is what comes after today."
The words did not echo.
They settled into the still air and remained there, as if even sound had nowhere left to travel.
He began walking down the abandoned road.
Behind him, somewhere distant—
Footsteps sounded.
Not approaching.
Not leaving.
Simply existing.
As though someone else had also arrived late.