Chapter 1
Shanaya hated mornings.
Not because she was lazy—because mornings demanded answers.Attendance. Assignments. Smiles.
She tugged her hoodie tighter as she walked into the college corridor, earbuds in, world out. The soft hum of a melody played—unfinished, looping. Fix the bridge later, she told herself. Life also needs a bridge.
"Shanaya! Oye, star girl!"
She pulled one earbud out. Riya, her best friend, was jogging toward her with a coffee in one hand and gossip in the other.
"You're trending again," Riya said, breathless. "That reel you posted last night? Half a million views."
Shanaya smiled, small and careful. "Views don't pay attendance."
Riya rolled her eyes. "One day, when you're famous, remember I sat next to you in boring lectures."
Shanaya laughed, but her mind drifted. Fame sounded loud. She preferred quiet corners and late-night recordings—where no one asked her to explain herself.
They slid into their seats. The professor droned on. Shanaya opened her notebook, but instead of notes, lyrics spilled out.
If time had a voice,would it warn me?Or push me forward anyway?
She paused, pen hovering.Why does it feel like something is about to begin?
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown:Your last song wasn't finished.
Her chest tightened.
She stared at the screen. Who texts like that?She typed, deleted, typed again.
Shanaya:Who is this?
No reply.
Riya leaned over. "Boy trouble?"
"No," Shanaya said quickly. "Just… spam."
But her heartbeat disagreed.
By evening, the city had changed its face. Neon lights replaced sunlight. Shanaya set up her tripod in her room, fairy lights glowing softly behind her. She pressed record.
"Hi," she said to the camera, voice gentle. "This one's unfinished. Like most things."
She sang.
Her voice wasn't loud. It didn't need to be. It slipped into places people forgot to guard.
When she stopped recording, silence rushed in.
Her phone buzzed again.
Unknown:Don't rush the ending.
She swallowed.This isn't coincidence.
Before she could reply, another notification popped up—this time, a DM.
Sriyansh:Hey Butki.
Her fingers froze.
She didn't flinch. She didn't panic. She just… breathed.
Hey. Just checking in. Hope you're okay.
She stared at the message.
He wasn't the problem.
Timing was.
Dreams were.
Two people growing, but in opposite directions.
She typed.
Shanaya:I'm okay. Hope you are too.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Sriyansh:Always will be. Proud of you, by the way.
Her chest tightened—not painfully. Comfortably. Like a familiar song playing in the background.
Why does moving on still feel like betrayal? she wondered. Or maybe she never moved on, she just tried to forget him by giving it a name - move on.
Later, needing air, Shanaya stepped outside. The street was quieter than usual. A bike passed, slow and deliberate, its engine low like a warning. She didn't see the rider's face—only felt the moment stretch.
The bike stopped a little ahead.
Time… paused.
Shanaya didn't know why she noticed. Or why her chest felt heavy, like a note held too long.
The rider didn't look back. The bike roared and disappeared.
She exhaled. "Get a grip," she whispered to herself. "You're dramatic."
But her reflection in a shop window looked unsettled.
Back home, she lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling.
Why do strangers feel closer than people I know?Why does music find me before I find answers?
Her phone buzzed—one last time.
Unknown:Choices will come sooner than you think.
Shanaya sat up.
"Who are you?" she whispered to the dark.
No reply.
Outside, somewhere in the city, a clock struck midnight.
And without knowing how—or why—Shanaya stepped into a story that had already begun writing her name.