Episode 07:
The alarm buzzed at 5:45 a.m., same as always.
Alok lay still, staring at the cracked ceiling, listening to the faint arguments drifting from the kitchen. The smell of reheated tea hung in the air bitter, stale, and far from comforting. Nothing in that apartment ever was.
The walls were too thin to hide the tension. Every sigh, every raised voice passed through them like whispers from ghosts.
He rose quietly, pulling on his faded school uniform. The fabric had gone soft and thin from too many washes. His sneakers frayed at the laces slipped on without a sound. He tucked a small, battered notebook into his backpack.
Not for homework.
For thoughts.
The kind he couldn't share with anyone.
When he stepped into the kitchen, his mother glanced at him once before turning back to the stove. His father sat at the table, cigarette smoke curling toward the cracked ceiling. No greeting. No. "take care." Just silence the kind that eats away at you from the inside.
The walk to school was long, but Alok didn't mind. The morning streets were quiet, half-asleep. The same stray dog dozed near the alley. The same fruit seller stacked his oranges with methodical care.
It was a dull routine but it was his anchor. The only thing that stopped his world from unraveling completely.
By the time he reached the school gates, noise swallowed the calm. Laughter. Shouting. The clatter of shoes on tile floors.
He kept his head low. Not invisible, but close enough.
His seat was in the back, next to the window his favorite spot. The outside world felt more real than the classroom ever did. The teacher's voice faded into static as his gaze drifted to the clouds.
That dream from last night wouldn't leave his mind.
A golden sky.
Massive gates.
A voice calling his name clear, commanding, familiar.
It had felt too real to be just a dream.
Lunch came and went. He ate alone, as always, chewing a cold sandwich while laughter echoed across the courtyard. The others spoke of weekend plans, birthday parties, and inside jokes that had no room for him.
He didn't mind. At least, that's what he told himself.
Then something broke the monotony.
In the hallway, he turned a corner too fast and collided with someone books scattered across the floor, pages fluttering like startled birds.
"Sorry," Alok muttered, crouching to help.
"It's fine," came the reply soft, but clear.
When she looked up, a strand of her dark hair fell across her face. Their eyes met for a heartbeat. And something stirred deep in his chest. Not recognition… but something close.
Before he could say another word, the bell rang.
And she was gone.
That night, Alok lay in bed with the city's faint hum outside his window. He opened his notebook and wrote:
Who was she? And why… did it feel like I've met her before?
The wind pressed against the glass. The room felt colder.
And somewhere deep inside his mind, that same voice from his dream whispered again low and distant, like a memory clawing its way back to him.
A voice he didn't yet understand.