Aman remained deeply engaged in his gaming spree, the neon flicker of his screen serving as a temporary shield against a crumbling reality. For a few hours, he managed to drown out the world. But life is a persistent hunter. nom atter how fast you run or or how deeply you bury yourself in distraction, the truth slowly creeps back. A lie can delay the inevitable, but it can never erase the permanent of the truth.
The sensation his wrist was no longer a subtle itch. It was rhythmic, burning pulse that felt as if his very veins were being rewired. He was acutely aware that this was not a medical condition. There was no textbook for this, no surgical procedure to excise the crawling feeling beneath his skin. That uncertainty terrified him.
He dared not look at his wrist, he feared that a single glance would demolish his cold logic, his medical science, and the certainty that had defined his existence. With a trembling hand, he shut down his console. The silene of the apartment felt heavy almost suffocating, it was the absence of Sophie that truly paralyzed him. She was his anchor. Whenever the ocean of life became too violent, he leaned on her. But now, it felt as if the anchor that kept his ship safe had been swallowed by the dark water itself.
He knew he couldn't hide forever he had to take a leap of faith.
Aman slowly brought his wrist to the front of his face, his eyes squezzed shut for a heartbeat before he forced them open. To his immense relief, there was nothing there- no mark, no scar, just his pale, familiar skin . But the relief was short lived. A sudden surge of electric bolts surged through his body, starting from the soles of his feet and spiraling up to his forehead.
When the energy reached his skull, a subtle sharp pain flared between his eyes. It felt like a warning, a whisper from the void telling him he was not yet ready for what was coming.
But ready or not, the gears had begun to turn. Time and fate never waits for a man to be prepared, they simply force him in to the fire until he is forged or consumed. On the bookshelf behind him, the transformation of the black book was nearly complete. The once-midnight leather had lost it's depth, appearing ashen and brittle. The jagged "snake mark" which had which had once been carved so deeply in the cover, had totally vanished.
Aman walked back into the kitchen, his footsteps heavy and uneven in the cold tile. He ignored the tea kettle and instead opened a cabinet he rarely touched-the one he considered his "sacred" stash for emergencies.
He pulled out the bottle of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the light as he poured a generous amount into his glass. He drank it in one swift, burning gulp, hoping the alcohol would act as the chemical eraser for the thoughts scribbled across his brain.
Retreating to his bedroom, he sat on the edge of the mattress and reached for his phone. For a man for a man who lived his life through a scalpel rather then a screen. scrolling through social media was an act of desperation. He needed a digital distraction, something-anything-to drown rhythmic hum of the energy still pulsing in his limbs.
Then. the screen erupted into light. The phone vibrated in his hand, the name Sophie flashing across the display. Aman's hand hovered over the "Accept" button for fraction of a second, his heart hammering over his ribs like a trapped bird. "What if she knows"? he wondered, his breath hitching, "What if she confirms my reality is rotting from the inside out?"
He swallowed his fear and answered. "Oi idiot! why did it take you so long to pick up?" The voice was sharp, loud and wonderfully normal. Aman exhaled a massive sigh of relief, feeling as if a death sentence had just been overturned. " It was you who went out of network, not me you idiot," his voice finally regaining some of it's usual strength.
"Oh that? yeah, my phone has been acting up lately" Sophie replied dismissively. Aman leaned back against his pillow spark of his old self returning. "Eh? i don't think it's your phone. I think it's that peanut sized brain of yours that is short-circulating."
"Oh, please peanut sized brain?" she shot back she shot back with a playful familiar manner. "Remind me again who is it that keeps you from making a mess in a surgery?'
The word surgery acted like bucket of ice water, drenching his mood. The memory of the 8:00 AM timestamp and the missing two hours flooded back into his mind.
"Sophie...regarding that," he started his voice dropping "can we talk? my head is all messed up right now. Can you come over this evening?"
There was a brief pause on the line before she answered, her tone softening but still laced with her trademark humor "of course Aman, i'll be there. But only if you won't bug me to make you tea again."
Aman laughed. It was the first time he had felt the muscles in his face move that way in days. In that moment he realized how much lighter the world becomes when Sophie was in it.
But as he smiled, he remained blissfully unaware of the shelf behind him. The transformation of the black book was complete. The midnight leather had turned to the ashen, deathly grey. The jagged snake mark-the symbol of the poison and the glitch-had been completely erased.
In it's place, a new symbol had been been burned into the ashen cover: the sharp, predatory head of an Eagle.