Devendra woke up to silence.
Not the peaceful kind.
The kind that presses against the ears so hard it starts to ring.
He lay still on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Morning light slipped through the window, cutting the room into pale lines. His body felt heavier than it should have. As if sleep had not rested him—only peeled something away.
For a moment, he thought he was alone.
Then the whisper returned.
Not loud.
Not clear.
Just… there.
Like a thought that wasn't his.
Devendra closed his eyes and pressed his palms against his ears.
"Stop," he muttered. "Please… just stop."
The voice didn't answer.
It never did.
His mother called him for breakfast.
Her voice sounded normal. Warm. Real.
That scared him more than silence.
Devendra sat at the table, spoon moving mechanically. The food tasted like nothing. His hands trembled slightly, but he hid them under the table.
His mother watched him.
"You didn't sleep well again," she said gently.
Devendra nodded.
If he spoke, he was afraid something else might speak through him.
At school, everything felt wrong.
The hallway felt longer.
The lights too bright.
The noise too sharp.
His friends talked around him, laughed, complained about homework—but their voices felt distant, like echoes from another room.
Then it happened.
A laugh.
Soft. Slow.
Right next to his ear.
Devendra froze.
The classroom blurred. His heartbeat slammed so hard he thought others could hear it.
You're still here, the voice seemed to say.
Even after everything.
Devendra stood up suddenly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor.
Everyone turned to look.
"I need… air," he said, though the words barely made sense.
He ran.
In the empty stairwell, Devendra slid down against the wall, hugging his knees. His breath came out uneven, broken.
"I didn't choose this," he whispered.
"I didn't do anything."
The whisper inside him twisted, almost amused.
He covered his face.
For a second—just one second—he felt like his body was here…
…but he wasn't.
That feeling terrified him more than pain ever could.
That night, sleep came without asking permission.
The dream did not start with images.
It started with weight.
The feeling of being watched.
Held.
Kept.
Devendra tried to scream.
No sound came out.
And somewhere in the darkness, something waited—patient, familiar, endless.
He woke up crying.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just tears soaking silently into the pillow.
The trauma didn't end.
It never did.
It only learned how to stay quiet.
Author's Note
Hello guys.
That's it for today.
I'm really sorry—I could only write one chapter today because my mobile phone is currently broken. Due to a family situation, my phone got damaged, and until it's fixed or I get a new one, updates might be slow.
Please forgive me for that.
Thank you for staying with this story and with Devendra.
Your support truly matters.
See you in the next chapter.