"Hey,"
a faint voice whispered in the dark.
"Long time no see."
The voice didn't echo.
It lingered — close enough to breathe against his ear.
Kaizen could almost see the person's face — a blurred silhouette, smiling faintly.
A smile filled with familiarity… and regret.
Before Kaizen could speak, the image fractured — splintering like broken glass struck by memory itself.
He woke up, sitting straight.
His heartbeat was steady, but his forehead was damp with sweat.
The city outside was quiet — the kind of quiet that only existed before morning decided what kind of day it would be.
The clock read 6:03 A.M.
Kaizen stood and looked at his reflection in the mirror across the room.
Same face, Same tired eyes.
Except— A flicker.
His right eye flashed red for half a second.
Not pain, Not fear, Recognition.
Then it was gone.
"Just a dream," he muttered.
But dreams didn't leave afterimages.
Kaizen's mornings were always the same — quiet, organized, efficient.
Routine was the closest thing he had to control.
He washed up.
Made black coffee — no sugar, no milk.
Checked emails from editors, producers, investors who all wanted more.
More chapters, More emotion, More of him.
He sat before his desk.
On the digital screen, unfinished chapter sketches of The Girl I Met Online waited patiently — like characters who already knew their fate.
His stylus moved smoothly.
Lines flowed without hesitation.
He drew a girl standing under a flickering streetlight, rain falling like static noise, her phone glowing in the dark.
Later, fans would call it "melancholy perfection."
To Kaizen, it was just muscle memory.
Art without attachment.
He paused for a moment, then whispered to himself,
"Stories don't need happy endings."
"They just need honest ones."
Hours later, he stood before the massive canvas near the balcony.
Seven feet tall, Unfinished.
The girl's face was still incomplete.
Her expression unreadable.
Her eyes — half-formed, yet unsettlingly alive.
As if they were waiting for him to remember something.
Lyra often asked who she was, Kaizen never answered.
Maybe because names gave power.
And he wasn't ready to give this one away.
At noon, while scrolling through headlines, his thumb stopped.
"Indian B.Com Student Simi's Death — Police Still Searching for the Killer."
The photo showed her smiling beside her friends.
Bright, Alive, Unaware.
Kaizen stared for a second longer than necessary — then closed the app.
The coffee on his table had gone cold.
"So this is how it ends," he thought.
"Not with meaning. Just a headline."
By evening, he visited the Senvidia Gym — a private space built into the company tower.
He wasn't chasing strength.
He was chasing silence.
Each punch landed cleanly.
Each breath followed rhythm.
The sandbag swayed, absorbed everything — anger, grief, questions that didn't want answers.
Pain is honest, Kaizen thought.
It doesn't pretend.
Later, at the Senvidia Library, he pulled an old sketchbook from the shelf.
Yellowed pages, Uneven lines, Dreams without polish.
Inside, a small doodle read:
"For S.M. — my first reader."
His lips curved faintly.
"Looks like you stayed till the end," he whispered.
He closed the book.
On his way back, inside a supermarket, a man suddenly shoved him.
"You ruined the manga!" the stranger shouted.
"She wasn't supposed to die!"
Before anyone could react, the man swung.
Kaizen moved.
One step.
One grip.
One controlled strike.
The attacker hit the floor — unconscious.
Kaizen adjusted his coat, eyes calm.
"Stories don't belong to readers," he said quietly.
"They belong to the truth."
He walked away as sirens approached.
Night fell gently.
Back at the apartment, Lyra arranged flowers near the balcony.
Kaizen joined her, helping silently.
They sat together, the city glowing beneath them like a living circuit board.
Lyra rested her head on his shoulder.
"You work too much," she murmured.
Kaizen smirked lightly.
"Work doesn't talk back."
"Neither do you," she replied, half joking.
He looked at her — calm, composed, beautiful.
Then he said softly,
"If I disappear one day… will you still finish my manga?"
Lyra smiled.
"I'd burn every page until you came back."
For the first time that day, Kaizen laughed — quietly, surprised that sound still existed inside him.
Then his phone buzzed.
Manajit Ghosh.
Kaizen answered lazily.
"Yo. What now?"
Silence, Then a trembling voice.
"Kaizen… I don't know how to say this."
Kaizen straightened.
"What happened?"
"Our friends," Manajit whispered.
"There was a car accident… They didn't survive."
"I barely did."
The world shrank.
Sound vanished, Light dulled, Time stalled.
Kaizen didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Across the room, the unfinished canvas seemed to glow under the lamplight.
The half-drawn eye stared straight at him.
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