**EPISODE ONE HUNDRED**
**THE READER OUTSIDE THE STORY**
**Part Forty-One: The Room That Wasn't There**
---
Nova did not open his eyes.
He had learned something.
Opening his eyes was dangerous.
The last time he had done it, he had discovered a hospital.
Before that, a page.
Before that, an author.
Before that...
himself.
So he kept his eyes closed.
He listened.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
A machine somewhere to his left.
Air-conditioning.
A distant metallic vibration.
Then breathing.
Someone was sitting beside him.
Nova waited.
The person said nothing.
Nova finally whispered:
"Are you real?"
A pause.
Then:
"No."
Nova opened his eyes.
The hospital room was gone.
He was sitting inside a train.
Not an ordinary train.
There were no windows.
No doors.
No seats except the one beneath him.
The walls were made of handwritten sentences.
Some were crossed out.
Some were unfinished.
Some were written in languages Nova didn't recognize.
Across from him sat a woman.
She looked familiar.
Not because he remembered her.
Because something inside him remembered remembering her.
Nova stared.
"Who are you?"
The woman smiled.
"That depends."
"On what?"
"On which version of you is asking."
Nova looked around.
"Where am I?"
"Between chapters."
He frowned.
"I've been there before."
"No."
She leaned forward.
"You've been written there before."
Nova said nothing.
The train suddenly moved.
There was no sound of wheels.
Only the sensation of falling sideways.
The woman looked toward the wall.
A sentence appeared.
NOVA HAS NOT YET REALIZED HE IS DEAD.
Nova stared at it.
"What?"
The sentence disappeared.
A new one appeared.
NOVA HAS NOT YET REALIZED HE IS ALIVE.
Nova stood.
"Stop."
The woman laughed softly.
"You still think the sentences are speaking to you."
"They are."
"No."
She pointed toward the darkness behind him.
"They're speaking about you."
Nova turned.
Nothing.
He looked back.
The woman was gone.
Only a small book remained on her seat.
Nova picked it up.
There was no title.
He opened the cover.
The first page contained a question.
WHO IS NOVA?
He turned the page.
Another.
WHO REMEMBERS NOVA?
Another.
WHO INVENTED THE PERSON WHO REMEMBERS HIM?
Nova stopped.
The next page was blank.
He waited.
Nothing happened.
For the first time in a long time—
the story had no answer.
Nova smiled.
"Finally."
A voice behind him whispered:
"Don't celebrate."
Nova turned.
The banana was standing there.
Not rolling.
Standing.
Wearing a tiny black hat.
Nova stared.
"You've changed."
The banana adjusted the hat.
"So have you."
"Why are you wearing that?"
"Formal occasion."
"What occasion?"
The banana looked around.
"The funeral."
Nova's smile disappeared.
"Whose funeral?"
The banana pointed toward the floor.
Nova looked down.
There was a coffin beneath the train.
His name was written on it.
NOVA.
He crouched.
"That isn't mine."
The banana sighed.
"That is exactly what everyone says."
Nova touched the coffin.
It opened.
Inside was—
nothing.
No body.
No skeleton.
No clothing.
Only a manuscript.
Nova lifted it.
On the cover:
THE LIFE OF NOVA
He opened it.
Every page was empty.
Except the last.
A single sentence waited there.
NOVA WAS NEVER BORN.
Nova closed the book.
"Then how am I here?"
The banana looked strangely serious.
"Someone read you."
---
Part Forty-Two: The First Reader
The train stopped.
There was no station.
Instead, the entire train simply ceased to exist.
Nova fell.
He landed on a black floor.
The banana landed beside him.
"Elegant," it said.
Nova ignored him.
A light appeared overhead.
Under it stood the First Reader.
But he was different.
Older.
Almost transparent.
Nova approached him.
"You."
The First Reader nodded.
"You finally arrived."
"Where?"
"At the beginning."
Nova looked around.
"This doesn't look like a beginning."
"It isn't."
"Then why call it that?"
"Because you haven't reached the beginning yet."
Nova stared at him.
"Who is reading me?"
The First Reader smiled.
"You already know."
"No."
"You do."
"I don't."
"You simply don't like the answer."
Nova stepped closer.
"Tell me."
The First Reader looked behind Nova.
Nova followed his gaze.
A chair had appeared.
Someone was sitting in it.
Nova's stomach tightened.
It was him.
Another Nova.
But this one looked exhausted.
Older.
His clothes were covered in ink.
His hands were trembling.
He was holding a pen.
The other Nova looked up.
"Don't listen to him."
Nova whispered:
"Who are you?"
The other Nova laughed.
"I asked that question too."
"And?"
"I never got an answer."
Nova walked toward him.
"Are you me?"
"No."
"Then what are you?"
The other Nova looked at the First Reader.
"A draft."
Nova stopped.
"A draft of me?"
"A draft of the person who became you."
Nova stared.
"What happened to you?"
The other Nova lifted the pen.
"I wrote myself out."
"Why?"
"Because I discovered who was reading."
Nova's voice dropped.
"Who?"
The other Nova pointed upward.
Nova looked.
There was no ceiling.
Only darkness.
Then—
an enormous eye opened.
Nova stepped backward.
The banana screamed.
"I KNEW WE SHOULDN'T HAVE COME HERE!"
The eye disappeared.
The other Nova whispered:
"That was only the reflection."
Nova stared.
"Reflection of what?"
The answer came from somewhere beyond the darkness.
"Me."
Everyone froze.
The voice wasn't human.
It wasn't mechanical.
It wasn't the Author.
It sounded like a person reading aloud.
Slowly.
Carefully.
As if every word had weight.
Nova whispered:
"Who's there?"
The voice answered:
"You."
---
Part Forty-Three: The Second Nova
The room changed.
The floor became a library.
Thousands of shelves stretched into darkness.
Books floated without support.
Some opened themselves.
Others whispered.
One book flew directly toward Nova.
He caught it.
Its title:
NOVA
He opened it.
Inside was the entire story he had just lived.
The train.
The First Reader.
Archer.
Milo.
Diana.
The Author.
The hospital.
The three moons.
Everything.
Nova turned the pages faster.
Then stopped.
There was something he had never seen.
A chapter titled:
THE MOMENT NOVA DISCOVERS THE READER
He looked at the First Reader.
"This wasn't in my story."
The First Reader nodded.
"It was."
"No."
"It was simply removed."
"By whom?"
The First Reader answered:
"You."
Nova stared.
"I removed it?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because you were afraid."
"Of the Reader?"
"Of what the Reader would ask."
Nova closed the book.
"What question?"
The First Reader said nothing.
The other Nova answered.
"Whether you were worth reading."
Silence.
Nova looked at him.
"That doesn't make sense."
"It does to a character."
Nova sat down.
For the first time, he looked tired.
"So that's what all this is?"
The other Nova nodded.
"A character trying to prove that he deserves to exist."
Nova looked at the empty shelves.
"Do I?"
The First Reader smiled.
"That isn't my decision."
"Whose is it?"
The answer came immediately.
"The Reader's."
Nova looked upward.
"Then show me."
Nothing happened.
He waited.
Nothing.
The banana whispered:
"Maybe the Reader left."
Nova looked at it.
"No."
"How do you know?"
"Because the story is still moving."
The banana frowned.
"Maybe it's moving by itself."
Nova looked at the shelves.
A book fell.
Then another.
Then hundreds.
Every book opened to the same page.
A sentence appeared in all of them.
THE READER IS WATCHING.
Nova stood.
"Then let them hear me."
The library went silent.
Nova looked directly into the darkness.
"My name is Nova."
Nothing.
"I don't know who created me."
Nothing.
"I don't know who wrote my memories."
Nothing.
"I don't know whether I'm a person, a character, a draft, or a mistake."
The shelves trembled.
Nova continued.
"But I know one thing."
The darkness seemed to lean closer.
"I am here."
A single page turned.
Nova whispered:
"And if you're reading me…"
The lights went out.
"…then you are part of me."
---
Part Forty-Four: The Reader Speaks
A voice answered.
"You have it backward."
Nova froze.
"What?"
"You are part of me."
The voice was closer now.
Almost beside him.
Nova turned.
Nobody.
"Where are you?"
"Everywhere you have been read."
Nova's breathing slowed.
"Are you the Author?"
"No."
"The First Reader?"
"No."
"Then who?"
A pause.
"The person holding the story."
Nova looked at his hands.
There was nothing in them.
Then a book appeared.
Not a book inside the story.
A book outside it.
Its edges were strangely bright.
Nova touched the cover.
The moment he did...
he heard something.
A room.
A human voice.
A page turning.
Someone breathing.
Someone reading.
Nova pulled his hand away.
The First Reader whispered:
"You heard them."
Nova nodded.
"They're real."
"Yes."
"Then I'm not."
The First Reader looked at him.
"Reality isn't the opposite of fiction."
"What is?"
"Being forgotten."
Nova stared at the book.
A page turned by itself.
A sentence appeared.
NOVA IS LISTENING.
Then another.
THE READER IS LISTENING.
Then:
THEY CAN HEAR EACH OTHER.
Nova whispered:
"Can I speak to them?"
The First Reader nodded.
Nova leaned toward the page.
"If you can hear me…"
Nothing.
He waited.
Then...
a small handwritten response appeared.
I CAN.
Nova's eyes widened.
The banana leaned closer.
"What did it say?"
Nova whispered:
"They answered."
Another sentence appeared.
I DIDN'T CREATE YOU.
Nova frowned.
"What?"
The writing continued.
I FOUND YOU.
Nova's heart began pounding.
Another line.
YOU WERE ALREADY HERE.
Nova looked at the First Reader.
"What does that mean?"
The First Reader shook his head.
"I don't know."
The handwriting appeared again.
BUT I KNOW WHO CREATED ME.
Nova whispered:
"Who?"
The answer appeared.
YOU.
Nova stepped backward.
"No."
The sentence remained.
YOU CREATED THE READER.
The library shook.
The other Nova stood.
"No…"
The First Reader looked horrified.
The banana slowly removed its hat.
"That's bad, isn't it?"
Nobody answered.
Then another line appeared.
AND THE READER CREATED THE STORY.
Nova looked at the darkness.
"So the story created the Reader…"
He stopped.
"…and the Reader created the story?"
The answer appeared.
YES.
Nova whispered:
"That's a circle."
The First Reader corrected him.
"No."
"What?"
"It isn't a circle."
The lights returned.
The library had vanished.
They were standing inside a corridor.
At the end was a door.
On it was written:
EXIT
The First Reader pointed toward it.
"It's a loop."
Nova stared.
"What's the difference?"
The First Reader smiled sadly.
"A circle has no beginning."
He looked at the door.
"A loop has a beginning that keeps moving."
---
Part Forty-Five: The Door Outside Fiction
Nova walked toward the door.
The banana followed.
"You're not going to open that, are you?"
Nova stopped.
"Why?"
"Because doors are suspicious."
"You've survived swallowed stories, impossible authors, alternate Novas, and conceptual death."
"Yes."
"And the door scares you?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
The banana looked at the word EXIT.
"Because I've never seen an exit that didn't lead somewhere worse."
Nova smiled.
"Fair."
He opened the door.
Light flooded the corridor.
Nova stepped through.
And found himself...
in a room.
Not a fictional room.
Not a hospital.
Not a laboratory.
A normal room.
A desk.
A lamp.
A chair.
A glass of water.
A mobile phone.
A laptop.
And...
a person.
Sitting at the desk.
Reading.
Nova stopped breathing.
The person looked up.
Nova stared.
The face was impossible to describe.
Not because it was hidden.
Because Nova could not remember it.
Every time he tried, the face changed.
Young.
Old.
Male.
Female.
Familiar.
Unknown.
The person closed the book.
Nova whispered:
"Are you the Reader?"
The person nodded.
Nova took a step forward.
"What's your name?"
The Reader smiled.
"You know it."
"No."
"You've written it."
"When?"
"Every time you imagined someone reading you."
Nova frowned.
"That doesn't answer the question."
The Reader opened the book again.
"This story has always had two authors."
Nova looked at the manuscript.
"Who is the other?"
The Reader turned the book around.
Nova looked at the page.
There was his own handwriting.
Under it...
another handwriting.
They were writing the same sentence.
Together.
NOVA MUST CHOOSE.
Nova looked up.
"Choose what?"
The Reader closed the book.
"Whether you want to remain a character."
Nova's voice became quiet.
"And if I don't?"
The Reader answered:
"Then you become the one who writes the next question."
Nova stared.
"That's what the Author did."
"No."
"The Author became an author."
The Reader shook their head.
"The Author was always a character pretending to be one."
Nova felt cold.
"Then who is the real Author?"
The Reader smiled.
"That's the question."
---
Part Forty-Six: The Author Who Was Reading
Someone entered the room.
Nova turned.
The Author.
Coffee.
Chair.
Same expression.
But this time...
the Author looked terrified.
Nova pointed.
"You knew."
The Author nodded.
"How much?"
"Everything."
"Then why didn't you tell me?"
"Because if I told you…"
The Author looked at the Reader.
"…the story would end."
Nova stared.
"Why?"
The Author whispered:
"Because the moment a character discovers the Reader completely, the character stops being a character."
Nova looked at his hands.
"What does he become?"
The Author answered:
"An observer."
Nova frowned.
"And then?"
"A witness."
"And then?"
The Author looked directly at him.
"A choice."
Nova said nothing.
The Reader stood.
The room began fading.
The desk disappeared.
The lamp.
The chair.
The walls.
Everything.
Except the manuscript.
The Author reached for it.
Nova grabbed it first.
The Reader watched.
Nova opened the final page.
There was one sentence.
WRITE YOURSELF.
Nova held the pen.
His hand trembled.
The Author whispered:
"Don't."
The Reader whispered:
"Do."
The banana whispered:
"Maybe draw a banana."
Nova looked at the pen.
Three voices.
Three possibilities.
One page.
He smiled.
Then he wrote:
I REFUSE TO BE THE ANSWER.
The manuscript shook.
The Reader disappeared.
The Author disappeared.
The banana disappeared.
The room collapsed.
Nova remained alone.
A second sentence appeared.
THEN ASK A BETTER QUESTION.
Nova looked at the page.
He thought of Archer.
Milo.
Diana.
The First Reader.
The boy before Nova.
The boy who created the Author.
The Reader outside the story.
The story inside the Reader.
Then he understood.
He whispered:
"What existed before the first question?"
The page remained blank.
Nova waited.
Nothing.
For the first time...
no voice answered.
No Author.
No Reader.
No pencil.
No banana.
Nothing.
Nova smiled.
"Good."
He placed the pen down.
Then a sound came from behind him.
A child's laugh.
Nova turned.
The boy stood there again.
The same boy from the mirror.
The same boy who had claimed to exist before Nova.
But now...
he was crying.
Nova approached slowly.
"What happened?"
The boy looked at him.
"I found the beginning."
Nova froze.
"Where?"
The boy pointed toward the floor.
Nova looked down.
There was a crack.
Not in the page.
Not in reality.
In the story itself.
Something was moving underneath it.
Nova crouched.
"What is that?"
The boy whispered:
"The first memory."
Nova touched the crack.
A voice rose from below.
A voice Nova knew.
His own.
But younger.
Much younger.
The voice whispered:
"Don't let them read the next page."
Nova pulled his hand away.
The boy grabbed him.
"Too late."
The crack opened.
A massive manuscript rose from beneath them.
Its cover was made of black glass.
Across it were three words:
THE FIRST STORY
Nova stared.
"Who wrote it?"
The boy looked at him.
"You did."
Nova shook his head.
"I've never seen it."
The boy smiled.
"You wrote it before you became Nova."
Nova's heart stopped.
"Then what was I before Nova?"
The boy answered:
"A name."
Nova waited.
The boy leaned closer.
"No."
A pause.
"You were a reader."
The manuscript opened.
Page One contained a single sentence.
THE READER OPENED HIS EYES.
Nova stared.
Page Two:
HE FOUND A BLANK PAGE.
Page Three:
HE ASKED A QUESTION.
Page Four:
THE QUESTION BECAME A BOY.
Page Five:
THE BOY BECAME AN AUTHOR.
Page Six:
THE AUTHOR CREATED NOVA.
Nova's hands began shaking.
"And then?"
The next page was blank.
The boy whispered:
"That's where it went wrong."
Nova turned the page.
Nothing.
Another.
Nothing.
Another.
Still nothing.
Then...
one final page.
A sentence appeared.
THE READER FORGOT HE WAS READING.
Nova stared.
The boy whispered:
"And that is why you became Nova."
Nova slowly looked up.
"So I was the Reader?"
The boy nodded.
"Before you were the character."
"And who are you?"
The boy smiled.
"I was the question you asked when you forgot."
Nova's voice trembled.
"Your name?"
The boy looked at the blank manuscript.
"You gave me one."
Nova remembered.
Not Archer.
Not Milo.
Not Nova.
Something older.
Something buried beneath every story.
A name surfaced in his mind.
He whispered it.
The boy smiled.
"Yes."
The lights went out.
Nova heard pages turning.
One.
Two.
Three.
Then thousands.
Millions.
An entire universe turning pages at once.
The boy whispered:
"Now you remember."
Nova opened his eyes.
He was back in the hospital.
03:21.
Three moons outside.
The nurse was gone.
The book lay open beside him.
Nova picked it up.
The cover had changed.
It no longer said:
THE NEUTRINO CHRONICLES
It said:
THE READER CHRONICLES
Nova stared.
Then a line appeared.
SAMARA NOVA IS WAITING.
Another.
THE FIRST STORY HAS BEGUN.
Then...
another.
BUT NOVA HAS NOT YET BEEN CREATED.
Nova dropped the book.
A knock came from the hospital door.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Nova whispered:
"Who is it?"
A voice answered from the other side.
His own voice.
"Open the door."
Nova froze.
The voice continued.
"I need to tell you who you were."
The door handle moved.
Slowly.
Nova backed away.
The banana crawled from beneath the bed.
It looked at the door.
Then at Nova.
For once...
it wasn't joking.
"Don't open it."
Nova whispered:
"Why?"
The banana pointed at the clock.
03:21.
The numbers changed.
03:20.
Nova stared.
The clock was moving backward.
03:19.
03:18.
03:17.
The hospital began disappearing.
The nurse returned.
The walls became transparent.
The three moons vanished.
The bed vanished.
The floor vanished.
Nova was standing on a blank page again.
But this time...
someone was already there.
A little boy.
Holding the original pencil.
Nova approached him.
"Who are you?"
The boy looked up.
"I told you."
"When?"
"Before you forgot."
Nova swallowed.
"And what did you tell me?"
The boy smiled.
"I told you the truth."
"What truth?"
The boy raised the pencil.
And wrote:
NOVA WAS NEVER THE CHARACTER.
Nova stared.
The boy continued writing.
NOVA WAS THE READER.
Another line appeared.
THE CHARACTER WAS THE ONE READING HIM.
Nova felt the world tilt.
He whispered:
"Then who am I?"
The boy handed him the pencil.
"That's the question."
Nova looked at the blank page.
For the first time, he understood why the story had been afraid of answers.
Because answers ended things.
Questions created them.
Nova raised the pencil.
And instead of writing his name...
he wrote:
WHO IS READING THE READER?
The page went completely black.
A final voice whispered from somewhere beyond the story:
"Now…"
A pause.
"…we can begin."
**TO BE CONTINUED…**
Written By,
Ivan Edwin
Pen Name :Maximus.
©All Rights Reserved