Amanat didn't think he was the kind of person who stayed awake at night for no reason.
But here he was.
He lay on his bed with his phone near his pillow, screen dim, thumb scrolling without really reading. The room was warm. The fan above him moved slow, making that small "tick… tick…" sound every few turns. He had noticed it before and ignored it. Tonight it felt louder, like the fan was bored and wanted attention.
He checked the time.
2:16 a.m.
"Bro…" he whispered, not even angry, just tired.
Tomorrow wasn't even a big day. That was the annoying part. If he was nervous, it would make sense. If he had some huge problem, it would make sense. But nothing special was happening. His brain was just refusing to shut up.
He turned the phone face-down and closed his eyes.
Outside, the city sounded normal. Not loud. Just alive in small ways. A dog barked far away. A bike passed on the main road. Somewhere, someone laughed for a second and then stopped. He could hear a faint TV sound through a wall, like the neighbor had fallen asleep with it on.
That sound—tiny, boring, normal—made him feel safe.
Amanat pulled the blanket up and tried to breathe slowly.
In… out… in… out…
He was almost there. Almost.
Then the normal sound disappeared.
Not slowly. Not like a power cut where things fade. It was like someone removed the sound from the air. Like the whole city got muted, cleanly, in one moment.
Amanat opened his eyes.
The fan was still moving.
But the tick wasn't there.
He stared up at the fan, waiting for the sound to come back, like maybe his ears had blocked for a second. He turned his head on the pillow and listened harder.
Nothing.
He sat up and snapped his fingers near his face.
He felt the snap. The little sting. But no sound.
"Okay… weird," he said, mostly to test his voice.
His voice came out, but it sounded wrong too. Like it didn't travel. Like it stayed close to him.
Amanat swung his legs off the bed and stood on the cold floor tiles. Usually the tiles made a small sound under his feet. Not loud, but there. Now—nothing.
He walked two steps.
Still nothing.
His stomach tightened and he didn't like that feeling. It was the feeling you get when you realize something is wrong but you don't know what, so your body decides to panic quietly before your brain can stop it.
He went to the window and pulled the curtain aside.
Streetlight glow fell on the road. The road looked normal. Parked cars. Closed shops. Empty street.
For one second, he felt relief.
Then he saw a man near the tea stall across the road.
The man was standing, one hand resting on the counter.
Amanat watched him for three seconds.
The man didn't move.
Amanat leaned closer to the glass.
The man's head was slightly down. Eyes closed.
Sleeping.
Standing up.
Amanat's throat went dry.
He opened the window.
Cool air touched his face. Clean air. No dust smell. No petrol smell. No city smell. That was strange too, but he didn't even have time to think about it.
"Bhai?" he called. "Hello?"
No response.
He waited.
Still nothing.
Amanat didn't want to believe it, so he looked around the street again. Near the corner shop, a dog was curled up on the ground, sleeping. Normal.
But the man standing and sleeping was not normal.
Amanat grabbed his hoodie and slippers. He stepped into the hallway, careful not to make noise, even though noise didn't matter anymore. The hallway light was on. Everything looked normal. That almost made it worse.
He walked to his parents' room and stood near the door.
He listened.
No sound.
He slowly opened the door a little.
His parents were sleeping.
Not in a scary way. Not stiff. Just calm. Like a normal night.
But something about it felt too still. Like a photo.
Amanat looked for small signs—blanket movement, a hand twitch, a head turning.
Nothing.
He gently closed the door and took the stairs down.
Outside, the building gate was open.
The security guard was sitting in his chair, leaning back, mouth slightly open.
Sleeping.
Amanat walked up to him.
"Uncle?" he said softly.
No reaction.
Amanat raised his voice. "Uncle!"
Nothing.
He stared at the guard's chest until he saw it rise and fall slowly.
Okay. Alive.
Amanat looked around the gate area. The lights were on. The guard's phone was in his lap. The keys were on the desk.
Everything was just… paused.
Amanat stepped onto the road.
That's when he saw more people.
A woman sat on her scooter, helmet still on, forehead resting on the handlebar as if she got tired in the middle of driving and decided, "Okay, sleep time."
Two boys were sitting on a bench, both asleep sitting straight, heads leaning slightly toward each other. Like they were in a bus.
A man in an auto-rickshaw was asleep with both hands on the handle.
A delivery boy was asleep against a shop shutter, bag still on his back.
Amanat's brain kept trying to find a normal answer.
Gas leak?But the lights were on. People weren't collapsed. They looked comfortable.
Some weird medicine in the water?But why only tonight? Why in the middle of the street?
Dream?But everything felt real. Cold air. Rough road. His own heartbeat.
Amanat pulled out his phone.
Time was moving.
2:21 a.m.
No internet.
No signal.
He tried calling Farhan.
Farhan's contact name was saved as Foxu because that's what everyone called him. Farhan always acted like it was cool, like he didn't care, but Amanat knew he liked it.
Amanat hit call.
The phone didn't ring.
It didn't even show "calling."
It just… did nothing.
Like the phone didn't understand what he was asking.
Amanat hit call again. Harder this time, like pressing harder would force reality to work.
Nothing.
"Foxu… pick up," he whispered.
No answer. Not even a dial tone. Not even a failure message.
That's when Amanat felt the fear properly.
Not a scream-fear.
A quiet fear.
The kind that sits inside your stomach and doesn't move.
He started walking toward the main road. Maybe there would be police. Maybe a hospital would still be working. Maybe someone, anyone, would be awake there.
The traffic signal at the intersection was working.
Red.
Yellow.
Green.
The road was empty.
No cars moving. No bikes passing.
A bus was stopped at a red light like it was obeying rules.
Amanat jogged toward it.
The driver was asleep with both hands on the steering wheel.
Passengers were asleep in their seats. A kid slept with his head against the window. A woman slept holding her purse like she was afraid someone would steal it, even in sleep.
No one looked scared. No one looked sick.
It looked… safe.
That was the problem.
If a disaster happened, it would be messy. There would be accidents, crashes, panic.
But this wasn't messy.
It was clean.
Organized.
As if someone planned it.
Amanat stepped back from the bus, breathing a little faster.
He looked down the street.
Streetlights were on. Shops were closed. Everything normal.
But there was no movement at all. Not even a single animal walking.
Even the air felt still.
Amanat walked into the middle of the intersection and looked around.
He could hear his own breathing. That's it.
He raised his hand and waved it slowly, just to see if he could hear anything from the air.
Nothing.
He felt stupid, but he couldn't stop doing small tests. The brain tries to make sense of things by doing silly little experiments.
Amanat took his phone and opened the camera. He recorded a short video.
"If someone sees this… it's 2:23 a.m. Everyone is asleep. I'm outside. This is not normal."
He stopped recording and played it back.
He could hear his voice in the recording. The phone speaker worked. So sound still existed inside devices.
But in the world itself, sound felt… swallowed.
Amanat's hands shook a bit. He put the phone in his pocket like it was suddenly useless.
He looked at the sleeping people again.
He didn't touch anyone. He didn't shake anyone. He wanted to. But a part of him felt like touching them would break a rule he didn't understand.
Instead, he walked toward a police booth he knew was nearby.
The booth light was on.
Inside, a policeman sat at a small desk, head down, sleeping.
Amanat stood at the door and knocked on the metal frame.
No sound came from the knock. He felt the knock in his knuckles, but the world didn't react.
He tried again, louder.
Nothing.
He stepped inside slowly.
The policeman's mouth was slightly open. A pen lay near his hand. On the desk was a cup of tea that looked half-finished.
Amanat leaned closer and spoke.
"Sir?"
No response.
Amanat stepped back and looked around the booth. The monitor screen was on, showing a camera view of the road. The camera view showed the same thing: empty roads, sleeping people.
So it wasn't just Amanat's eyes.
This was real.
He walked out, trying not to run because running would make it feel like a nightmare. He forced himself to keep a steady pace.
He went back toward his building.
On the way, he noticed something small.
A shop signboard was slightly tilted. Not like it fell. Just… tilted more than he remembered.
He stopped and stared.
Was it always like that?
Amanat couldn't tell.
That small doubt annoyed him. He hated when his memory failed at times like this.
He reached his building gate again and looked up at the flats above.
No lights turning on.
No curtains moving.
No one standing at a window asking, "What's happening?"
That made him feel very alone.
He climbed the stairs back to his flat, quietly, like the building might get angry if he made too much noise.
He opened the door and went straight to his parents' room again.
He stood near the bed and watched them.
They were breathing. Slow. Calm.
Amanat whispered, "Mom?"
No reaction.
He whispered again, louder.
Nothing.
He sat down on the floor beside the bed, back against the wall, knees pulled up. He didn't cry. He didn't shout. He just sat there, looking at the small movement of their breathing like it was the only proof that this wasn't death.
He checked his phone.
2:31 a.m.
Time moved normally.
The world didn't.
Amanat leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling.
"Okay," he said to himself, "it's some weird thing. It will end. Morning will come. People will wake up and laugh about it."
He kept saying those words in his head because the other thoughts were worse.
What if morning comes and nothing changes?
What if he is the only one awake?
What if he stays awake forever?
He didn't want to think that far. So he didn't.
After a while, he stood up again. He went to his own room, sat on the bed, and tried calling Farhan again.
Nothing.
He typed a message anyway.
Foxu, where are you? Call me. Please.
The message didn't send.
One tick mark. Then nothing. Like the message was stuck in his phone, trapped.
Amanat stared at the chat screen until his eyes hurt.
Then he whispered his own nickname without meaning to.
"Amullzzz…"
That nickname usually felt silly. Tonight it felt like a small anchor. Like if he said it, he would remember who he is.
He put the phone down and lay back.
He tried to sleep.
He wanted sleep so badly it hurt.
But even with his eyes closed, he could feel the silence sitting in the room like another person.
He turned his face into the pillow and forced his mind to go blank.
Minutes passed. Maybe more. It was hard to tell.
Then he heard something.
A tiny sound.
So small he almost thought he imagined it.
It came from outside. From the corridor.
Not a voice.
Not footsteps.
It sounded like a chair being moved very gently.
Amanat froze.
His eyes opened slowly.
He held his breath.
The sound came again.
A soft scrape.
Like something heavy being dragged carefully so it wouldn't wake anyone.
Amanat sat up on the bed, heart beating harder now.
He looked at his door.
The handle was still.
The corridor light under the door was still the same.
Then—
The door handle moved.
Just a little.
Like someone outside touched it and stopped.
Amanat's throat tightened.
He didn't move. He didn't even blink.
Because one thought rose in his mind, cold and clear:
Everyone is asleep… so who is outside my door?