Morning should have felt safe.
It didn't.
Vyom sat frozen on his small wooden bed, sunlight crawling across his skin like fingers trying to wake him. It wasn't warm. It wasn't comforting.
It only made the dark corners of the room look deeper.
The whisper of the tak under the floorboards still echoed inside his bones.
He stared at his palms.
Tiny. Soft. Shaking.
He wasn't sure if he'd really slept… or if he'd only changed dreams.
His breath came shallow.
The warmth under his ribs pulsed again—
BOOM.
...BOOM.
Too calm.
Too real.
Vyom lifted his thin shirt slightly.
Under his skin, just where his heart should be, a faint golden glow throbbed like a buried ember.
He covered it quickly, terrified that even looking at it might draw attention.
From what— he didn't know.
No…
He knew.
The knock.
The thing searching.
The man-shape drowned in ink.
The breathing walls.
His chest tightened.
He whispered,
"Sixteen hours…"
No answer came.
The house was still.
Almost too still.
He swung his legs over the bed, feet touching the cold floor. A shiver climbed his spine.
The floor didn't feel like wood anymore.
It felt like stone—the way it had in that place beneath the school.
His breath hitched.
He pulled his feet back onto the bed.
Then…
he heard footsteps.
Normal ones.
Slow. Measured. Familiar.
Baba.
Vyom finally breathed.
He's here.
He's real.
He's… normal.
Vyom opened his bedroom door quietly and stepped into the hallway.
The air smelled of hot brass and old oil—his father's usual scent. The clockmaker lived inside gears and springs; they clung to his skin like perfume.
But today… another smell lingered.
Dust…
and something metallic.
Like the smell before lightning.
The living room looked ordinary—almost disappointingly so after everything he'd seen. Wooden shelves. Old clocks. A table covered with tools and unfinished repairs.
Ticking.
Everywhere.
Normal.
Except…
every clock was ticking backwards.
Vyom felt his throat close.
They weren't supposed to.
He stepped closer to the nearest wall clock—its hands rotating backward, slow and smooth, like nothing was wrong.
He reached out—
but a hand gripped his wrist.
Firm.
Warm.
Real.
"Vyom!"
His father.
Vyom's head snapped up.
Baba's brows were furrowed, eyes sharp with concern. He looked tired, darker shadows under his eyes than usual.
"You're awake early," Baba whispered, voice gentle.
"Did you… have another bad dream?"
Vyom's mouth trembled.
He wanted to say everything—
the knocking, the wall, the face, Dev's voice, Nara gone, reflection…
But his voice didn't come.
Instead—
"It… felt real."
His father's face softened.
Without asking further, he lifted Vyom into his arms and held him against his chest.
The warmth should have calmed him.
But Vyom listened—
Baba's heartbeat was ordinary.
His own—
was not.
The second pulse beneath his ribs answered.
BOOM.
...BOOM.
He wondered if his father could feel it— but Baba only stroked his hair.
"Tell me what you remember," he asked quietly.
Vyom clung to his shirt.
"There… was a door."
Baba's breathing paused.
Only for a second.
But Vyom felt it.
Baba slowly placed him down and crouched to meet his eyes.
"What kind of door?"
Black. Carved. Waiting.
Vyom hesitated.
"It… talked. Something inside… said… sixteen hours."
He whispered the last words.
Baba froze.
His eyes—
widened.
Just slightly.
But enough.
Vyom stepped back.
"…Baba?"
The man's expression cleared quickly—too quickly.
He forced a small smile.
"Dreams can borrow strange voices, Vyom. They scare us because we don't understand them."
He touched Vyom's cheek gently.
"But remember—dreams cannot hurt you."
Vyom wanted to believe him.
He really did.
But dreams didn't make clocks run backward.
Dreams didn't knock behind walls.
Dreams didn't leave warmth under his ribs.
Vyom whispered,
"What if it wasn't dream…?"
Baba's lips parted— but he didn't answer.
Instead— he stood abruptly.
"Come," he said. "We'll wash up. Your mother will worry."
He led Vyom toward the kitchen.
But Vyom saw it.
Every clock they passed—
every single one—
revolved backward.
And Baba didn't look at them even once.
As if ignoring them made them harmless.
Or— as if he already knew.
---
The Kitchen
Mother was at the stove—
back turned, humming softly.
Normal.
Safe.
Vyom ran to her, hugging her from behind.
She startled—then laughed and bent down to kiss his head.
"You scared me, baby!"
Vyom relaxed slightly.
Her familiar warmth made the room brighter.
But then she pulled back.
Her face changed.
She stared at him carefully— eyes scanning his face his chest as if searching for something.
Vyom stepped back, uneasy.
"Maa…?"
Her gaze softened instantly, strained smile returning.
"Yes! I'm here. Breakfast is almost ready."
Her voice was cheerful— too cheerful.
She had always worried about him… but this felt different.
Like she was reading him.
Like she expected wrong answers.
Vyom looked down.
Dev wasn't in his hands.
He froze.
Where—
He turned back—
Dev lay on the living-room floor where he'd woken.
Cracked. Still.
He hadn't moved since they returned.
No—
Since he woke.
Vyom's skin prickled.
Was it a dream after all…?
Mother placed hot parathas on the table.
"Sit," she said.
He sat.
Baba sat too.
But they didn't eat.
They watched him.
Vyom stared at the food.
He didn't feel hungry.
He felt—
counted.
Something was off.
Silent pressure hung between his parents.
Baba finally spoke quietly.
"What did you dream… exactly?"
It wasn't a casual question.
It was careful.
Too careful.
Vyom bit his lip.
The heartbeat under his ribs pulsed— warmer.
Almost nudging him.
He felt like something inside whispered—
Don't speak.
Vyom swallowed.
"I… forget."
Baba's shoulders relaxed slightly.
Mother exhaled.
They exchanged a glance— relief mixed with something else.
Fear?
Vyom poked his food.
His parents spoke softly about their day.
Normal words.
Normal worries.
But the room didn't feel normal.
The walls listened.
The clocks ticked backward.
Their voices were too light.
Like actors playing roles.
Vyom's nails dug into his palms.
Did they… know?
Did they know what was happening?
Did they know about the knock?
The countdown?
The forgotten one—
No.
He shut his eyes.
He couldn't go there.
He wasn't supposed to remember that.
Not yet.
Not now.
He heard something else.
A faint—
tap
Under the floor.
He froze mid-breath.
His parents didn't react.
Tak.
Louder.
Just once.
Mother's hand trembled—
ever so slightly—
before she steadied it.
She heard.
But she pretended not to.
Vyom whispered—
"You heard that… didn't you?"
Silence.
Mother didn't answer.
Baba reached for his teacup— hands steady, voice clean.
"You must rest today," he said. "No school."
Vyom stared.
"But—"
"No school," Baba repeated—firm now.
It wasn't a suggestion.
Mother stood abruptly to clean.
Baba rose.
"We'll… be in the workshop."
Vyom grabbed his sleeve.
"Don't leave me!"
His voice broke.
Baba paused— then stroked his hair gently.
"I'm not leaving. I'm right here."
He forced a smile.
"You're safe, Vyom."
He walked away.
But his eyes said—
Not for long.
---
ALONE
Vyom sat at the table long after breakfast had cooled.
The second heartbeat thudded gently.
BOOM.
...BOOM.
Counting.
Waiting.
Sixteen hours.
He didn't know what happened after sixteen.
He only knew…
The knocking wanted him to open.
The warmth wanted him to wait.
And Dev—
Dev had told him to listen.
Vyom slid off the chair and tiptoed toward the workshop.
Mother's back was turned—scrubbing the stove too intensely.
He slipped past her—
toward the hallway toward the sound of metal toward the forbidden room—
The workshop.
The door was cracked open.
Vyom peered inside.
His father stood over the old forbidden clock—the same one Vyom touched months ago, the one the mysterious man had asked for.
Its case was open.
Brass gears lay scattered.
The inner core pulsed faintly— just like the warmth inside Vyom's chest.
Baba whispered— not to himself but toward the clock—
"Not yet…
not again…"
Vyom's breath caught.
His father knew.
The clock clicked.
A single knock-like sound.
Tak.
Baba's head snapped up.
He turned sharply toward the door.
Vyom hid immediately.
Baba stepped closer— listening.
Whispers curled beneath the floorboards.
Like words crawling.
Vyom pressed both hands to his mouth.
He felt the floor vibrate— softly— in rhythm.
Tak…
Taak…
Tak…
Baba whispered—
"Not here.
Not now."
The knocking stopped.
Vyom shook.
He wanted to run.
To scream.
But his father stayed still, listening.
Then— he reached under the table and pulled out…
Something wrapped in cloth.
Not a tool.
Not a gear.
Vyom knew that shape.
It was the old watch.
The forbidden one.
The one that glowed.
The one the stranger wanted.
Baba cradled it carefully, almost reverently.
He whispered—
"Sixteen hours left…
and he's already hearing them."
Vyom froze.
His blood turned cold.
He— meant him.
Baba knew.
He knew everything.
He knew about the countdown.
He knew about the knocking.
He knew about—
Vyom backed away—
—and knocked into something.
A shelf rattled.
A metal tool fell— CLINK.
Silence.
Baba turned toward the doorway—eyes sharp.
"Vyom?"
Vyom ran.
He sprinted down the hall, feet slapping the floor.
He heard Baba calling him—
but he didn't stop.
He felt—
Tak
under his feet.
He didn't stop.
He rushed into his room, slammed the door shut, and pressed his back against it.
His breath came in quick sobs.
"Mom…
Dad…
why…?"
He climbed onto his bed and grabbed Dev.
The doll's body was cracked— its painted smile uneven— but holding it made him feel less alone.
Dev's button eyes stared upward blankly.
"Dev…"
Vyom whispered.
"Tell me what's happening…"
Silence.
He hugged the doll tight, burying his face in its porcelain shoulder, tears staining it.
"I'm scared…"
Then—
A whisper.
Right beside his ear.
"So am I."
Vyom jolted.
He looked at Dev.
The doll's mouth didn't move.
But—
Its eyes.
They were no longer blank.
A faint ember glow burned behind them.
Vyom stared, breath frozen.
Dev's body twitched— head rotating slightly toward the window.
Its voice vibrated inside the room—
"They are close."
Vyom's eyes widened.
"Who?"
Dev turned its cracked face toward him fully.
"The House remembers."
The floor creaked beneath them—
not like wood bending…
but like breathing.
Vyom clung to Dev as the walls darkened— shadows stretching— reaching.
The clocks in the hallway began ticking louder—
TICK—TICK—TICK—
Then—
They all stopped.
Silence.
Dev's voice filled the stillness:
"Time is listening."
Vyom trembled.
The house felt alive.
Awake.
Watching.
Dev spoke slowly—
"Sixteen hours is not just a countdown."
Vyom's voice cracked.
"Then what…?"
The doll turned its head toward the door—
"It is… an arrival."
Vyom's skin crawled.
"Of… who?"
Dev's button eyes burned brighter—
"Of you."
Vyom couldn't breathe.
His heart hammered—but the second heartbeat stayed steady—
BOOM…
...BOOM…
Dev whispered—
"You are coming home."
Vyom shook his head violently.
"I'm already home!"
Dev didn't blink.
"Not this house."
A slow shudder rolled through the walls.
Somewhere beneath the floor—
Tak.
Vyom's breath shattered.
Dev tightened in his small hands.
"He hears you."
The heartbeat beneath Vyom's ribs pulsed—
Warm.
Patient.
BOOM.
Dev whispered—
"Do not answer."
Vyom clamped both hands over his ears— shaking— crying—
"Make it stop—"
Dev leaned close—
"You cannot stop Time."
Vyom sobbed harder.
"Then what do I do…?"
Dev's reply was barely audible—
"Survive."
The knocking returned—
soft
slow
hungry—
Tak
...Tak
It crawled along the floorboards— beneath his feet— circling—
Searching.
Dev pressed against his chest.
"He will come for you.
But not yet.
Not while I remain."
Vyom's voice broke—
"What happens… when the sixteen hours finish?"
Dev's eyes flickered—
"The seal will… thin."
"Seal?"
Dev fell silent— as if it had said too much.
Vyom grabbed its tiny shoulders.
"Tell me!"
Dev's head turned slowly.
"Some doors open from the other side.
Some… from within."
Vyom shivered.
The doll's eyes dimmed.
"You must not remember.
Not yet."
He knew.
The forgotten Boy.
Another life.
Another self.
Buried beneath.
Vyom whispered—
"What… happens to me?"
Dev's voice trembled.
"You change."
The floorboards groaned.
A single word whispered beneath the wood—
a familiar voice
soft
fading—
"Vyom…"
He recognized it.
Nara.
Vyom gasped, eyes wide.
"Nara?!"
Silence.
Only the heartbeat answered.
Dev's body tightened—
"Do not listen.
She is fading.
She is not… here."
Vyom pressed his face into Dev's porcelain shoulder and cried.
"I want her back…"
Dev's small arms wrapped around him weakly.
"She is not gone.
Just… displaced."
Vyom sniffed.
"That means… she can return?"
Dev didn't answer.
The heartbeat beneath his ribs pulsed—
BOOM…
And the knocking stopped.
Silence drowned the room.
Dev whispered—
"He goes to wait."
Vyom felt cold.
"Wait… where?"
Dev slowly turned toward the door.
Its voice dropped to a whisper—
"Where all forgotten things sleep."
Vyom stared at the wooden door— thin
fragile
too small to keep anything out.
"Will he come back?"
Dev nodded once.
"When the hour allows."
Vyom looked at the clock on his wall.
Its hands spun—
then froze.
At the number 11.
He counted on fingers.
Sixteen hours left.
Dev whispered—
"Stay awake, Vyom."
His throat tightened.
"Why?"
Dev's button eyes glowed faintly.
"Because when you dream…
you knock back."
Vyom froze.
The room felt colder.
The floor beneath him pulsed faintly.
He clenched Dev tight.
His heartbeat raced—
The other heartbeat stayed calm.
Counting.
Waiting.
Sixteen hours.
Sixteen…
---
END OF CHAPTER 17 — The House That Remembers