Devan stared out the window, his chin resting in his palm. He wished the suffocating anxiety and loneliness in his chest would simply vanish.
His gaze was vacant, like someone waiting for something that would never truly arrive. His face was calm, matching the gloom of the rainy afternoon, yet it reflected a deep, hollow loneliness, the kind that no longer begged for company, but only yearned to be understood.
Behind the glass, raindrops fell in rhythmic lines, sliding down the clear surface like tears that were never wiped away. The scent of damp earth seeped through the cracks in the wooden frame, carrying uninvited memories. Devan took a long, shaky breath and slowly let it out, hoping the weight in his chest would dissolve into the air.
He winced. His chest felt tight not from a physical wound, but from something far deeper, a secret he had never been able to voice. If only a single light would descend and revive the parts of him that had already died. Or perhaps, he thought, his life could just end here. The idea surfaced often, like a soft whisper that was both comforting and terrifying.
"Dev…"
Someone tapped his shoulder cautiously, as if afraid of shattering the eighteen-year-old. The touch was light and hesitant, as though he were made of fragile glass.
Devan turned his head slightly, checking if the voice was real or merely another echo in his mind.
"Auntie, what is it?" he asked with a faint smile, a mask he had perfected to look "fine" even as his heart fell to pieces.
His aunt placed a basket of bread and fruit on the old wooden table, which groaned under the weight. Вer eyes swept across the room: the curtains were always drawn, the air was stale, and the silence had overstayed its welcome. She had a thousand things to say, but every word felt clumsy on her tongue.
Since his parents passed away, Devan had become a prisoner in his own home. The world beyond those walls felt too vast, too loud, and too cruel. Even a simple greeting filled him with dread. Every step outside felt like a gamble, as if something terrible was lurking in wait.
"Don't you want to continue your studies?" his aunt asked as she sat beside him.
Her voice was tender, but her worry was unmistakable. She knew the question poked at old wounds, but she was desperate to help.
Devan shook his head slowly. It was a small movement, but final.
"No, Auntie," he whispered.
His answer silenced her. She lingered for a few seconds, wanting to tell him that life wasn't over, that hope still flickered somewhere. But the words died in her throat. She stood up, her footsteps heavy as she left him alone with his shadows.
Devan turned back to the downpour. His eyes followed small birds darting through the grass, their tiny bodies soaked through. He envied their courage. Beyond them, the darkening sky seemed to struggle, as if the afternoon were refusing to surrender to the night.
The wind began to roar from the west, slamming against the house. A thin mist thickened, huddling together like gray buildings, swallowing his view inch by inch. The world outside the window grew foreign, almost unrecognizable.
Suddenly…
"BOOM!!!"
Lightning struck so close it felt as if the sky had split open right above the roof. Devan instinctively covered his ears and dove under his white blanket. His heart hammered against his ribs. His breath came in jagged gasps. He lay there, rigid, waiting for the world to end.
The window, which had been locked tight, suddenly flew open with a violent crack.
BANG—BANG—BANG!
The wood slammed against the wall repeatedly, fueled by the gale rushing inside. The curtains whipped wildly like trapped ghosts. Rainwater sprayed across the floor. A sudden, biting cold swept through the room, prickling Devan's skin.
He trembled uncontrollably. The sounds dragged him back to the terrifying memories of his childhood, the ones he had tried to bury. From beneath the thin shroud of his blanket, he saw a streak of mist slip inside, moving with a speed that defied the eyes.
Then came a deafening crash.
CRASH!
Objects shattered. The sound of glass and wood colliding tore through the chaos. Devan shivered from the cold, yet a sudden, feverish heat surged through his veins. Cold sweat slicked his temples. Still, he did not dare peek. The blanket was his only shield.
"Was it… a bird?" he whispered to himself, a desperate attempt to find logic in the madness. The thought felt pathetic, like a prayer to a god he didn't believe in.
Then, he heard it.
TAP… TAP… TAP…
Footsteps. Heavy and deliberate. They stopped right in front of him. Devan held his breath, his body turning to stone. His ears rang with a piercing hum.
Suddenly, the air filled with a cacophony, wind clashing with overlapping whispers. The voices came in distorted layers, their source impossible to pin down, yet they felt inches away. A shadow of a hand appeared, stretching toward him. As it drew closer, the air turned ice-cold, piercing straight into his marrow.
The atmosphere grew heavy, the room seemingly shrinking around him, pressing against his lungs until there was no air left.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
Devan screamed in pure, unadulterated terror.
"Aaaaaaak!!"
Devan jolted awake, gasping for air. His chest heaved as he struggled to draw oxygen into his lungs. His vision blurred, then slowly cleared to reveal the faces of villagers standing around him. They looked at him with profound worry. Some whispered; others just stared.
His aunt was sobbing. Tears tracked down her face as she pulled him into a desperate embrace, as if afraid he might slip through her fingers.
"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice trembling. Her hands gripped his shoulders, checking if he was warm, if he was truly there.
Devan remained silent, his head throbbing. His eyes darted around, trying to stitch reality back together.
"What happened, Dev?" asked Surya, an eighty-year-old elder. He stepped forward and handed Devan a glass of water. "Drink this first."
Devan's hands shook so much the water nearly spilled. His throat felt like it had been scorched by fire.
"I… earlier, Sir, I…" Devan stammered, but the words wouldn't come. He looked pale, haunted, his eyes searching for something that was no longer there.
Mr. Surya gave him a small, reassuring smile to ease the tension. "Thank God you're alright," he said softly. He then turned to the crowd. "Go home now, everyone. Let him rest."
One by one, the villagers filed out. The sound of their footsteps faded, leaving behind a silence that felt heavier than the storm.
"Auntie…" Devan croaked.
His aunt wiped her eyes and looked at him, her gaze still watery.
"I was so scared. I was only gone for a few minutes, and suddenly you started screaming as if you were possessed. Your body was convulsing... I've never seen anything like it," she said between sobs.
Devan swallowed hard. His mind was a kaleidoscope of blurred, broken images.
"Auntie, I saw the lightning. I heard the thunder. It was so loud... it felt like the earth was collapsing," he said, his voice low but certain.
His aunt looked at him, her brows knitting together in confusion.
"Devan... there was no thunder. It's been a steady rain all afternoon," she replied softly.
Her words chilled him. He turned toward the window. There was nothing there but the quiet rhythm of raindrops clinging to the glass. The sky was a calm, monotonous gray. No signs of a storm. No broken windows.
Devan slowly stood up and surveyed the room. The table, the chairs, the cabinet—everything was exactly where it belonged. Nothing was shattered. No mist. No traces of the nightmare.
"You've been alone in this house for a month," his aunt said anxiously. "Please, won't you come live with us?"
Devan took a deep breath, trying to find his footing in a world that no longer made sense.
"It's okay, Auntie," he said at last. "Maybe... maybe I was just overthinking."
His aunt didn't argue. She only gently stroked his hair, just as she had when he was a child crying over a nightmare. But the shadow of worry in her eyes didn't lift.
Because Devan knew. He knew that what he had felt the biting cold, the whispers, the hand…was not a dream.