Chapter Two: Echoes That Refuse to Fade
Morning arrived without permission.
Sunlight crept through the curtains, thin and pale, like it was afraid of waking him. Arjun hadn't slept—not really. His eyes were closed for hours, but his mind kept walking in circles, replaying the message again and again.
Peace is not found where you think it is.
He checked his phone. No missed calls. No new messages. The number was still there, untraceable, empty, like it had never existed. For a moment, he wondered if exhaustion had imagined it. But the weight in his chest told him otherwise.
He got up and went through the motions: brushing teeth, splashing water on his face, wearing yesterday's emotions like clean clothes. In the mirror, he looked normal. That was the most dangerous part. No cracks. No warning signs. Just a man who knew how to hide well.
Outside, the city had resumed its performance. Horns, footsteps, vendors shouting prices like life was a bargain no one could refuse. Arjun walked aimlessly, letting the crowd decide his direction. Being carried by strangers felt easier than choosing for himself.
At a small roadside tea stall, he stopped. The old man behind the counter didn't ask questions—just poured tea, steaming and bitter, the way truth usually was. Arjun took a sip. It burned his tongue, grounding him in the present despite his resistance.
"Too quiet inside?" the old man asked suddenly, not looking up.
Arjun froze. "What?"
The man smiled faintly. "People who look tired like you aren't tired of work. They're tired of thinking."
Arjun almost laughed. Almost. Instead, he paid and walked away quickly, as if insight were contagious.
The words followed him, though—too quiet inside. That wasn't true. His mind was loud. What he lacked wasn't noise, but answers.
By evening, the sky turned the color of old bruises—purple, blue, unresolved. Arjun returned home, unlocking the door to the same silent room. The fan still hummed. The ceiling still stared back.
His phone buzzed again.
Unknown Number: You're listening now. That's why it hurts.
This time, his fingers trembled.
Arjun: Who are you?
The typing dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Unknown Number: Someone who once believed death was peace too.
Arjun sat down slowly. His heart wasn't racing—it was heavy, like it recognized something familiar.
Arjun: Then you were wrong?
A pause. Long enough to feel deliberate.
Unknown Number: I was incomplete.
Outside, a siren wailed in the distance—urgent, alive. Arjun stared at the screen, realizing something unsettling: the idea of peace had always pulled him toward endings, but this conversation was pulling him somewhere else.
Toward questions.
Toward discomfort.
Toward staying.
For the first time in a long while, death felt silent.
And life—quietly, stubbornly—refused to let go.