We walked in silence for a while — not awkward, not heavy —just the kind that comes after a choice the world will never forget.
The burned market faded behind us like the end of a paragraph.
Ahead, the road stretched forward, paved by footsteps instead of city planning.Some turns existed only if I looked at them long enough.Some disappeared if I blinked.
Reality stayed pliable.Waiting for input.For narrative momentum.
For me.
The bookmark rested in my pocket like a tiny weight with massive gravity.
"Every hero becomes a villain in someone's ending."
Words written like prophecy.Or warning.Or foreshadowing the world itself couldn't censor.
The girl walked beside me, arms wrapped around herself.
Not afraid of disappearing.Afraid of existing wrong.
"Ishaan…" she said quietly. "What if the reader doesn't like me?"
Her vulnerability hit harder than any monster ever could.
"You're not here to be liked," I said. "You're here to be real."
