The rain had a strange way of falling that night—soft, whisper-like, yet heavy enough to blur the streetlights of Brookside Estate. Falila Ahmed wrapped her shawl around her shoulders as she hurried along the quiet road, her slippers splashing through shallow puddles.
It was almost midnight.
And she hated being outside at this hour.
Her grandmother had always said, "Midnight is when the world opens, and things you cannot see begin to move."
Falila never believed her… until tonight.
She had just turned the corner toward her street when she noticed him.
A man stood under the lone streetlamp ahead—tall, perfectly still, facing the ground as rain poured over him. He didn't seem bothered by the storm. He didn't move. He didn't even shiver.
Falila slowed her pace, her heartbeat thumping like a warning drum.
Something felt wrong.
As she drew closer, she realized he wasn't just any stranger. His clothes were torn… not from wear, but like something had clawed through them. Three deep scratches ran across the back of his shirt, soaked dark with rain—or was it blood?
She froze.
He raised his head.
And their eyes met.
His eyes glowed.
Not reflections. Not tricks of light.
They glowed—a soft, unnatural silver that flickered like moonlight on water.
Falila staggered back.
Her breath caught in her chest.
The man stepped forward, slow, deliberate… as if fighting something inside himself.
"Don't be afraid," he said, his voice low and strained. "I won't hurt you."
His words were gentle, but his body disagreed. His hands were trembling like he was holding himself back. His jaw clenched tight enough to crack.
Falila's instincts screamed—Run.
But her legs refused to move.
Something about him pulled her in, rooted her to the spot.
He stepped closer.
The air around them shifted—warm, electric, dangerous.
Then, just as he reached her, the village mosque clock rang out:
DONG… DONG… DONG…
Midnight.
The transformation hit him instantly.
He gasped, dropping to his knees. His hands clawed at the ground as silver light burst across his skin, tracing his veins like fire.
"Not now—" he choked out. "Please—go!"
Falila stared, horrified, mesmerized.
His shadow stretched unnaturally across the ground, twisting into a shape that wasn't human.
A low growl vibrated from his chest—wild, ancient, wounded.
She finally found her voice.
"What… are you?"
He looked up at her with eyes now fully luminous, filled with agony.
"I'm the man who changes at midnight."
And right before her eyes, he changed.