Amanat didn't move for a long time.
He stayed sitting on the bed, eyes fixed on the door like the door could suddenly explain itself. His heart wasn't racing fast, but it was hitting hard—like each beat was a warning.
The handle had moved. He was sure.
And the worst part was the thought he couldn't stop:
Everyone is asleep… so who touched it?
He listened.
Nothing.
The corridor light under the door stayed the same. The air in his room felt too still. Even the fan sound was still missing, like the world had decided sound was not needed anymore.
Amanat swallowed. He forced himself to breathe slowly, like he was calming down a kid. Like he was calming down himself.
"Okay," he whispered. "Maybe… someone is awake too."
That idea made him feel better for half a second.
Then his brain followed it with another thought:
If someone else is awake… why are they at my door?
He slid off the bed quietly and walked closer. His slippers made no sound on the floor. That still felt wrong. He kept expecting the normal noise to come back, like this silence was a prank.
He leaned his ear near the door.
No breathing.
No whisper.
No footsteps.
Just silence.
Amanat lifted his hand slowly and placed it on the handle from his side. Cold metal. Real. He turned it a little.
The latch clicked in a way he could feel more than hear.
He opened the door just a small gap.
The corridor was empty.
Bright light. Clean floor. No person.
Amanat stared down the hallway both directions. Nothing moved. No shadow. No sign.
His stomach dropped again, because if the corridor was empty, then the handle moving made even less sense.
He opened the door wider and stepped out, barefoot now without thinking.
The corridor lights were on, like usual. The building looked normal. Too normal. Like a place in a dream that tries hard to look real.
He walked toward the stairs.
There were other flats on this floor. Other doors. Other families.
He stood in front of the nearest door and knocked.
He expected the knock to be loud. It wasn't.
The sound didn't travel. It felt like tapping on a wall inside a pillow.
He knocked again.
No reaction.
He didn't want to do anything crazy, but he also couldn't stand not knowing. He leaned closer and listened.
Nothing.
Amanat looked at the door lock. He looked at his own hand.
He didn't try the handle.
Not yet.
He told himself, I'm not that kind of person. He didn't want to become that person tonight.
He went down the stairs instead.
The security guard was still asleep downstairs, in the same position, like a statue with breath. The open gate stayed open. The street outside stayed frozen in that same calm sleep.
Amanat stepped out and looked around the street again.
People were still asleep where they were earlier. The woman on the scooter. The delivery boy. The dog. The man near the tea stall.
No change.
Amanat checked the time.
2:44 a.m.
So time was moving. A lot of time, actually.
He didn't like that.
Because if this was some "one-minute weird thing," it would have ended already. If it was a short power cut, people would wake up. If it was anything normal, something would change.
But nothing changed.
Amanat walked fast toward the police booth again. He didn't know why he went there. Maybe because a police booth felt like an "answer place." Like even if the world is weird, the police booth should still have rules.
The policeman was still asleep at the desk. Same position. Same calm face.
Amanat looked at the monitor again.
The camera view showed the same empty road.
Then he noticed something new.
A small red light blinking on the recording device.
It was recording.
So the system was still working.
Amanat leaned closer to the screen. The time on the CCTV view was also moving. He watched the seconds tick.
"Okay," he said softly, "so the cameras can see it too."
He walked behind the desk and looked for a radio. Most police booths had one.
He found a small walkie-talkie on a shelf.
He picked it up and pressed the button.
Nothing.
He tried again.
Still nothing.
He didn't even hear static.
That silence was different. It wasn't "no connection." It was like the radio had become a toy. Like the air itself wasn't carrying signals.
Amanat put the radio down and ran a hand through his hair. His scalp felt sweaty.
"Foxu," he whispered again, like saying his friend's nickname could pull him into this moment.
Farhan always answered his calls. Even if he was busy, he'd at least text "what" or send some stupid sticker.
Amanat took out his phone and tried calling again.
Nothing.
No ringing. No "failed." Nothing.
He opened the message again and typed more.
Foxu please. Something happened. Everyone is sleeping. I'm outside. Call me.
The message still didn't send.
He stared at the one tick mark. It looked like the message was stuck halfway to reality.
Amanat's hands tightened around the phone until his fingers hurt.
He wanted to throw it.
Instead, he put it in his pocket and walked.
He didn't have a plan. His legs just moved, like movement was the only way to keep his mind from breaking.
He walked toward the hospital.
It wasn't too far—maybe twenty minutes in normal time.
The streets were open and empty, so it should be faster.
But as he walked, he felt something strange:
The road felt longer than it should.
Not in a magical way. Not like it stretched in front of his eyes.
More like… his sense of distance was wrong. Like he kept walking and the same corner didn't come closer.
He stopped and looked back.
His building was far behind now. That part made sense.
He looked ahead.
The hospital sign should have been visible by now.
It wasn't.
Amanat stood still for a few seconds, confused, then started walking again.
Finally, after what felt like too long, the hospital gate appeared.
The gate was open.
The guard at the gate was asleep in his chair.
Amanat stepped inside.
The hospital lights were on. The reception area was bright. The floor was clean. Chairs were arranged neatly.
And people were asleep.
Patients asleep on chairs.
A nurse asleep near the counter, head resting on her arm.
A doctor asleep on a bench, stethoscope still around his neck.
Amanat stood in the middle of the reception and looked around, feeling sick.
Hospitals are never truly quiet. Even at night, there's always something. A beeping machine. A crying patient. A nurse walking. A phone ringing.
But here—nothing.
Amanat walked toward the nurse and spoke softly.
"Excuse me?"
No response.
He spoke louder.
"Hello?"
Still nothing.
He didn't touch her. He couldn't. It felt wrong. Like touching people was crossing a line.
He walked down a hallway and looked into rooms.
In one room, a man slept on the bed with an IV stand beside him. The IV bag was hanging like normal, but the drip didn't seem to move. Amanat stared at it, unsure.
In another room, a woman slept holding her child's hand. The child slept too. Both of them peaceful. Too peaceful for a hospital.
Amanat backed away.
"Okay," he whispered. "This isn't only my area."
He walked into a doctor's office and looked for a landline phone. Hospitals always have landlines.
He found one on a desk and picked it up.
No dial tone.
Nothing.
He pressed buttons.
Nothing.
Amanat placed the phone down slowly, like it might break if he moved too fast.
That's when he felt the loneliness properly.
Not "I'm alone outside."
But "I'm alone in the world."
He left the hospital and walked back outside.
The sky was still dark, but it felt like the night was taking too long. Like dawn was late.
Amanat looked up at the sky and saw something that made him pause.
The stars looked… normal.
But the air didn't feel like the same sky he knew. The night felt flat. Like the world had become a picture.
He shook his head.
"Stop thinking too much," he told himself.
He needed something simple. Something practical.
So he did the most human thing:
He decided to find Farhan.
If phones didn't work, then feet would.
Farhan lived about four kilometers away. Not close, but not impossible. Amanat had walked there before.
Amanat started walking toward Farhan's area.
The streets were still full of sleeping people in random places. A man asleep on a bicycle. A woman asleep in a rickshaw. A shopkeeper asleep sitting on his own shop step.
Amanat kept looking at their faces, searching for any sign of waking.
Nothing.
He reached a familiar big turn near a temple. He knew this road well. He could walk it with eyes half-closed.
He turned left, like always.
He walked for a while.
Then he noticed something.
A shop that should be on the right side… was on the left.
Amanat stopped.
His heart dropped, slow.
He looked around.
The temple was behind him. That part was correct.
But the shop's position felt wrong.
He stared at it, trying to convince himself he forgot the layout.
But he hadn't.
He worked in this city. He moved around. He knew these roads like habits.
Amanat stepped closer to the shop shutter and read the signboard.
Same shop name.
Same logo.
So it wasn't a different shop.
It was the same.
Just… placed wrong.
Amanat backed away.
"Okay," he whispered, "I'm tired. I'm confused."
He kept walking, forcing himself not to panic.
Finally, he reached Farhan's building.
He felt a small relief in his chest.
Like, okay, this is real. This is familiar.
He climbed the stairs quickly, not caring about noise. He reached Farhan's flat door and knocked.
No sound. Just the feeling of knocking.
He knocked again, harder.
Still nothing.
Amanat leaned close.
Silence.
He looked at the door.
Then he did something he promised himself he wouldn't do.
He tried the handle.
It opened.
Amanat froze.
His mind immediately screamed: This is wrong. This is illegal. This is dangerous.
But the door was unlocked.
He pushed it open slowly.
Inside, the flat was dark but not completely. A little streetlight glow came through a window.
Amanat stepped in.
"Foxu?" he whispered.
No answer.
He moved deeper, carefully.
He found Farhan's room.
The door was half open.
Amanat pushed it gently.
Farhan was on his bed.
Asleep.
Not dead. Not hurt. Just asleep.
Amanat felt a painful relief, like his chest finally released a tight hold.
"Thank God," he whispered.
He stepped closer.
"Farhan… Foxu… wake up, bro."
He waited.
Nothing.
Amanat said louder, "Farhan!"
No reaction.
Amanat stood there, shaking a little, and realized something important:
This wasn't "everyone but me."
Because Farhan existed.
Farhan was here.
But Farhan was asleep like everyone else.
So the question became sharper:
Why am I awake?
Amanat stared at Farhan's face. He looked normal. Annoyingly normal. Like he could wake up and say, "Why are you in my house?"
Amanat sat on the edge of the bed, close but not touching him.
He looked around the room. Posters. Clothes. A charger cable. A water bottle.
Normal life.
And still… no sound.
Amanat's eyes landed on Farhan's desk.
There was a notebook open there.
Farhan didn't keep diaries. He wasn't that guy. So an open notebook was unusual.
Amanat stood up and walked to the desk.
He looked down at the page.
It wasn't normal writing.
It looked like someone wrote it in a hurry, with heavy pressure, like they were scared.
Only one line was written:
"AMULLZZZ IF YOU'RE AWAKE, DON'T COME HERE ALONE."
Amanat's body went cold.
Because Farhan wrote it.
Farhan's handwriting was clear. Amanat had seen it on homework, notes, dumb sketches.
And Farhan was asleep now.
So when did he write that?
Amanat stared at the line, not blinking.
Then he heard something small from the hallway behind him.
Not a voice.
Not footsteps.
Just a soft click.
Like a door gently locking.
Amanat turned his head slowly toward the room door.
The door was moving.
Closing.
By itself.
Amanat stood up so fast the chair behind him almost fell, but even that made no sound.
He rushed toward the door.
It shut completely.
Amanat grabbed the handle and pulled.
It didn't open.
His throat tightened.
He pulled harder.
Still locked.
He looked back at Farhan sleeping on the bed—calm, unmoving—like he didn't even know the world was changing.
Amanat pressed his forehead against the door for one second, trying to think.
Then the worst thought came, simple and clear:
Farhan warned me.And I still came.