Episode 07
The alarm buzzed at 5:45 a.m., as always. Alok lay staring at the cracked ceiling, listening to the faint arguments of his parents in the kitchen. The smell of reheated tea drifted in, but it wasn't comforting. Nothing in his home was.
The old apartment walls were thin enough for every bitter word to pass through.
He got up slowly, dressing in his faded school uniform. It was clean, but the fabric was worn thin from years of use. He slipped on his old sneakers the ones with frayed laces and tucked his notebook into his backpack. That notebook wasn't for homework. It was for his thoughts… the ones he couldn't tell anyone.
On his way out, his mother glanced at him briefly but didn't speak. His father sat with a cigarette in hand, the smoke curling toward the ceiling. No "good morning." No "take care."
The walk to school was long, but Alok preferred it. The quiet streets gave him time to think. He passed the same stray dog lying near the alley, the same fruit seller arranging oranges by size. It was a dull routine… yet, somehow, it kept him from falling apart.
When he reached the school gates, the noise hit him like a wave — laughter, shouting, chatter. He kept his head low. He wasn't invisible, but people treated him like he was.
In class, his seat was in the back, next to the window. He liked it there; he could stare outside when the teacher droned on. Today was math, but his mind wandered. He thought about the dream he had last night — that strange golden sky, the massive gates, the voice calling his name.
It felt so real.
During lunch, while the others laughed in groups, Alok sat alone, biting into his cold sandwich. He overheard bits of conversation about weekend trips, birthday parties, and things he knew he'd never be invited to.
But there was one moment that broke the monotony.
As he was walking down the hallway, he bumped into a girl carrying a stack of books. They scattered across the floor. She crouched to pick them up, her long hair hiding her face.
"Sorry," Alok muttered, kneeling to help.
"It's fine," she said, her voice soft but clear. When their eyes met, something flickered in his chest. Not recognition… but something close.
Before he could say more, the bell rang, and she was gone.
That night, lying in bed, he opened his notebook and wrote:
Who was she? And why… did it feel like I've met her before?
The wind rattled the window. Somewhere deep in his mind, the same voice from his dream whispered again a voice he didn't yet understand.