Ahaan was running.
The red sky above him didn't change.
The ground under his feet felt soft, like it was alive.
The forest was gone.
The people with white masks were gone.
But their humming?
That lullaby tune?
It was still in his ears.
Like it was inside him now.
He stopped running when he saw something strange in the distance.
A single wooden chair.
Nothing around it.
Just empty space.
And on the chair… sat the journal.
The same one that had been blank.
The same one that used to answer him.
Now, it sat quietly.
Waiting.
He walked toward it slowly.
He didn't trust it anymore.
But something inside told him he had no choice.
Ahaan picked it up.
Opened it.
And froze.
The pages were no longer blank.
They were full.
Every single one.
And the writing?
It was a perfect retelling of everything that had just happened — from the moment he left home to now.
Even the words he had just whispered were already there:
"I want to wake up."
"You never did."
He flipped to the last page.
There were new lines being written right in front of his eyes.
Ink moving by itself.
Writing one word at a time:
Sudden Ahaan opens the journal.
He realizes it has written his life.
And now… it will write his death.
Ahaan's hands started shaking.
"No," he whispered.
"This isn't real. You're not real!"
But the journal kept writing.
The ink didn't stop.
New words appeared:
Ahaan runs. But the world bends.
There is no door. No way out.
He is part of the story now.
He dropped the journal and ran again.
But this time, the ground tilted under him — like the world was a giant moving floor.
He stumbled, rolled, and landed hard near a wall.
Yes — a wall.
An invisible one.
He reached out and touched it.
It felt like glass.
Cold.
And beyond it… he could see his real world.
His house.
His school.
His mother calling his name.
So close.
Yet impossible to reach.
"Let me out!" Ahaan screamed, banging on the wall.
"Let me out!"
The world behind the glass didn't respond.
Instead, a shadow appeared behind him.
It was tall.
Twisted.
A skeleton wrapped in black smoke.
The same thing he saw in the orphanage basement.
The Sleeper.
Its voice was not loud, but it felt like thunder inside Ahaan's chest.
"You left the door open, Ahaan.
Now you must stay and keep it open."
Ahaan turned.
"I never asked for this!"
"You were chosen."
"Why me?!"
The Sleeper didn't blink.
Didn't move.
It only said:
"Because you were curious."
Suddenly, a table appeared behind the Sleeper.
On it… was a second journal.
Older.
Burned at the corners.
It had a label:
PROPERTY OF: RAHUL RAY
(Ahaan's father)
Ahaan's heart stopped.
"That's… my dad's."
He walked slowly toward it.
The Sleeper stepped aside, letting him pass.
Ahaan picked up the old book.
Flipped through it.
Inside were notes.
Drawings.
Maps.
Pages about experiments.
About a place called "The Hollow Mind."
And at the end, a warning:
"If anyone reads this, I am sorry.
Curiosity is not a gift.
It is a trap."
Ahaan closed the book.
His hands were sweating.
He looked up at the Sleeper.
"Did you do this to him too?"
The creature didn't answer.
Instead, it held out its hand.
Ahaan looked at it.
Black smoke curled around the fingers.
In its palm was a piece of mirror.
And in that mirror, Ahaan saw himself — but not how he looked now.
He looked older, stronger… but also hollow, empty-eyed, just like the photo in Chapter 42.
"You can leave," the Sleeper said finally.
"But only if you accept what you must become."
"What does that mean?" Ahaan asked.
The mirror began to glow.
It showed two paths:
One where Ahaan returned home but was never the same.
And one where he stayed in this dream-world to stop what his father started.
Both ended in darkness.
Both were written already.
The journal on the chair opened by itself again.
A new line appeared:
Ahaan makes his choice.
One story ends.
Another begins.
Ahaan looked at the mirror.
Then at the journals.
Then at the wall between him and his real life.
And then… he stepped forward.
Then things getting worse....