Morning never properly arrived.
It was as if the sun had forgotten this part of the town for a day.
A dull grey hung outside as though the sky had been smudged with ash. Light seeped in weakly, barely illuminating Vyom's room. It felt like the world outside was undecided—awake, yet asleep.
Vyom remained sitting on his bed, clutching Dev close.
That steady warmth beneath his ribs pulsated faintly, calm and slow, like something breathing inside him.
He hadn't slept.
He was too afraid to.
Dev's warning whispered continuously through his mind—
"When you dream… you knock back."
So he stayed awake.
He didn't want to knock.
He didn't want anything to answer.
Even now, his eyes kept drifting toward the floor, expecting… listening…
But the house was strangely quiet.
Too quiet.
As if it was also waiting.
Vyom finally dared to whisper—
"Dev… where did he go?"
Dev didn't move. Its button eyes looked clouded—dimmed after the strain of speaking so long last night.
No answer.
Vyom shook it slightly.
"Dev?"
Still nothing.
Just a dull weight in his hands.
He bit his lip.
Had Dev fallen silent again…?
Or was it listening too?
Vyom slipped off the bed, feet touching the cold floor—hesitating for a moment before he stood fully. Nothing knocked beneath him.
Not yet.
Sixteen hours…
Or maybe less now.
He went to the window on impulse, wanting to see outside—to see something normal, anything normal.
But the moment he looked through the glass…
His breath stopped.
There was nothing outside.
No street.
No trees.
No houses.
No sky.
Just black.
Not darkness like night—
but absence.
Like someone had painted over the world.
Vyom stumbled back, bumping into his bed.
"No… no…"
He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again.
Still nothing.
Just blackness, tightly pressed against the glass—as if the world ended right there.
He swallowed.
Was it a dream?
No.
He was awake.
He could feel the floor.
He could hear the faint ticking of his own wall clock—
though the hands remained frozen at eleven.
He stepped forward slowly, almost against his will, and lifted a trembling hand toward the glass.
He hesitated.
His reflection stared back—small, wide-eyed, almost pale.
Dev hung limp in his other arm.
He raised his fingers…
And touched the glass.
Cold.
Hard.
Real.
But beyond it…
Nothing.
A low creak came from behind him.
Vyom whirled.
His bedroom door was slightly open — even though he remembered shutting it tightly.
He backed away from the window.
"Baba…?"
No answer.
"Mom…?"
Silence.
He hugged Dev tighter.
Something about the silence felt wrong.
It wasn't empty—
it was thick, like unseen things crowded within it, waiting for him to speak again.
He didn't.
Instead, he took a deep breath and stepped toward the door.
His small feet padded softly over the wood, careful not to make noise—though the house seemed to listen regardless.
He pushed the door slowly.
The hallway outside looked the same as before… but darker.
Like the lights had forgotten how to burn.
He waited.
Nothing moved.
No footsteps.
No whispers.
No tak beneath the floor.
Just stillness.
He stepped out.
For a moment, he almost turned toward his parents' room—wanting his mother's voice, her arms, warmth…
But he hesitated.
A faint memory of breakfast returned—
The way they watched him too closely.
The way Baba flinched at the word "door."
The way Mother's smile cracked when she looked at his chest…
Vyom hugged Dev closer and walked instead toward the living room.
The clocks on the walls continued their backward march, hands sweeping in slow reverse.
Tick…
tick…
tick…
Steady.
Wrong.
He tried to ignore them—
but the sound seemed to trace him.
When he reached the living room, he paused.
His father's tools were scattered on the table, gears and springs like small metal bones. The workshop door at the far end was shut tight now.
Vyom remembered the forbidden clock—
its glow, like his chest.
He stepped around the table, peeking toward the kitchen.
Mother wasn't there.
The stove was cold.
The parathas still on the plate looked untouched now. The steam from earlier had vanished.
Vyom scanned the room.
"Mom…?"
Still nothing.
Even the hum of the house felt muted.
He swallowed and turned to move back toward the hallway—
when he noticed something.
A new window.
It hadn't been there yesterday.
It sat where a bookshelf should've been—a square frame in the wall, shuttered, old and wooden.
Not glass.
Just wood.
Shut.
Silent.
Vyom stared at it.
It didn't belong.
He slowly approached.
The wood was dark, ancient—older than the house itself. Strange patterns were carved around its edges, looping into circles and twisting lines he didn't recognize.
He reached out—
"Vyom."
He jumped, heart leaping, spinning around—
Mother stood behind him.
She looked normal.
Calm.
Too calm.
Her eyes flicked toward the strange window—
then away too quickly.
Like she already knew it was there.
Vyom whispered, "Mama… what is that?"
Her smile tightened.
"Nothing, baby. Just decoration."
That was a lie. He could feel it.
"No…"
Vyom shook his head, voice trembling.
"It wasn't there before."
Mother placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"It's always been there."
No emotion.
No hesitation.
Just certainty.
Vyom stepped back, looking at her closely.
Her face… felt like hers.
Her warmth… felt real.
But something behind her eyes—
He swallowed.
"Where's Baba?"
"In the shop," she answered.
"Working."
Her voice didn't waver.
But Vyom felt a strange cold bloom in his chest.
"Mom," he said softly, "I… I'm scared."
Her smile softened, eyes gentler—
like the real her surfaced for just a second.
She knelt, lifting her hand to cup his cheek.
"I know," she whispered.
Her thumb brushed his skin.
"You have always been."
Vyom blinked.
Always?
The moment passed.
Her hand dropped, and she stood up too quickly—regaining that same unnatural calm.
"You need rest," she said.
"No more wandering around. Stay in your room."
She turned away.
"Mom—"
She froze mid-step.
Didn't turn.
Just spoke—
"It's too early."
Vyom stared.
Too early…
for what?
He wanted to ask.
But she moved—
walking toward the hallway without a backward glance.
Leaving him with the shuttered window.
And silence.
Vyom hesitated, then slowly approached the wooden frame again.
Dev hung limp in his arm.
He whispered, "What do I do…?"
This time—
Dev answered.
Soft.
Weak.
"Don't open."
Vyom froze.
Dev's voice sounded strained—like every word cost it something.
"That is not a window. It is a mouth."
Vyom stepped back instinctively.
"I didn't touch it!"
Dev's head tilted slightly—barely.
"It heard you."
Vyom felt sweat bead on his forehead.
He stared at the wood—
unmoving, silent, dead.
But he could feel it.
Not watching.
Listening.
Dev's weak voice continued—
"Some things do not look in… They wait for you to look out."
Vyom swallowed.
"What's… outside?"
The doll's button eyes flickered faintly.
"Nothing you can survive."
Vyom clutched the doll tighter.
"Then why is it here?"
Dev took a moment before answering—
"It remembers you."
Vyom's breath caught.
"Me…? Why?"
Dev didn't answer.
The wall clock behind him ticked backward—
once.
Twice.
Then stopped.
The house exhaled.
A long groan rolled beneath the floorboards—deep, distant.
Not knocking.
Shifting.
Like it was adjusting itself.
Vyom backed away from the window, retreating toward the hallway.
But his foot brushed something—
He looked down.
A paper slip.
No—
a page.
Yellowed.
Crisp.
Burnt along the edges.
He picked it up.
There was handwriting on it.
Not a child's.
Not his parents'.
The ink was dark, curling like smoke.
It said—
"DO NOT LOOK OUT WHEN IT CALLS."
Vyom's heart hammered.
He flipped the page.
More words—
scribbled hurriedly—
"IF YOU SEE YOURSELF, RUN."
Vyom's breath caught.
He had seen himself—
in the mirror-world.
He dropped the page.
His legs moved on their own—
running toward his room.
He didn't look back.
The hallway felt longer now.
The walls closer.
The air thicker.
As he reached his door, the floor beneath him trembled.
Tak.
He froze.
Not again.
Tak.
Tak.
Not knocking this time.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Measured.
Approaching.
From beneath.
Coming upward.
Vyom pressed his back against the door—shaking. He clutched Dev to his chest, breath ragged.
"Dev—"
"Do not speak."
The footsteps stopped directly beneath him.
Silence.
Then—
A whisper from the floor—
soft
rasped
too close—
"Are you awake…?"
Vyom bit his lip to stop himself from screaming.
Dev whispered—
"Do not answer."
Vyom pressed his palms over his ears.
The voice came again—
not louder,
but nearer—
"…little clock…"
Vyom's stomach twisted.
The floorboards bulged slightly—
as though something pressed upward from below.
A hairline crack formed.
Vyom stumbled backward, tripping over his blanket and falling onto the bed.
The crack spread across his floor—thin, branching lines like veins.
The heartbeat in his chest pulsed—
BOOM…
....BOOM…
Not fearful.
Not hurried.
Just patient.
Waiting.
The whisper seeped upward again—
"…sixteen hours…"
Vyom shut his eyes tight.
"Dev…! Make it stop—"
"I cannot."
Dev sounded faint—
far weaker than before.
"He is listening… through the wood."
Vyom trembled violently.
"What does he want?"
Dev paused.
Then whispered—
"You."
A soft thud struck the underside of the floor—
not knocking.
Not footsteps.
Something heavier.
Dragging.
Slow.
The whisper rose again—
almost curious—
"…why are you hiding…?"
Vyom's throat clenched.
He felt tears spill.
"I want—"
His voice broke.
"I want Nara…"
Dev jerked lightly—startled.
"Do not call her."
Vyom sniffed hard.
"But she—"
"She is not here. She is… between."
Vyom looked at Dev desperately.
"Then who will help me?"
Dev didn't answer.
Because the floor spoke first—
"…open."
The crack widened.
Something beneath shifted.
Wood popped—
groaned—
splintering slowly.
Vyom backed up until he hit the wall behind him, curling into himself, Dev clutched tight.
Dev's whisper trembled—
"He cannot cross… yet. The hour does not allow."
The floor fell silent.
No footsteps.
No whisper.
Nothing.
Just stillness.
Slowly—
carefully—
Vyom lowered his knees from his chest.
The crack remained.
Open.
Waiting.
Not growing.
Just there.
The voice beneath was gone.
But Vyom knew— it hadn't left.
It was waiting.
He didn't move for a long time.
Then—
softly—
Dev whispered—
"You must leave the room."
Vyom shook his head violently.
"No! No—there's something outside— the window—"
"Better than what is below."
Vyom's breath trembled.
He slid off the bed, feet landing on the cool floorboards—
avoiding the crack.
Dev whispered—
"Stay to the left."
Vyom stepped into the hallway again.
The house was darker than before.
Silent.
Listening.
He walked slowly—
toward the living room.
As he passed his parents' room—
the door creaked.
Vyom froze.
A hand appeared in the gap—
small.
Delicate.
His mother stepped out—
eyes wide, breath heavy.
"Vyom!"
She rushed to him, kneeling and pulling him into her arms.
He melted into her warmth, sobbing.
"They're here—Mom—under the floor—"
"I know," she whispered.
He froze.
She pulled him close, trembling.
"I tried to keep you asleep…"
Her voice cracked.
"You weren't supposed to hear them this early…"
Vyom's blood turned cold.
She knew.
She always knew.
She cupped his face with shaking hands.
"Listen to me—"
her voice urgent, terrified—
"You must not open the window."
Vyom nodded quickly.
"I won't! I—"
"But…"
She swallowed hard.
"…if the window opens on its own—"
Her voice broke.
"Don't look outside. No matter what you hear. No matter who calls you."
Vyom's breath shook.
"Mama… what's outside?"
Her lips trembled—
eyes filling with fear he'd never seen before.
She whispered—
"Not a world meant for you."
Just then—
A soft creak echoed through the living room.
The shutters of the strange window—
were opening.
On their own.
Slowly.
Vyom's mother jerked backward, pulling him with her.
"No—NO—don't look—!"
Vyom squeezed his eyes shut.
Something cold brushed his cheek—
like wind from a place that had never known the sun.
The shutters groaned—
stopped.
Silence.
Something waited beyond the open frame.
Something that didn't breathe.
Didn't move.
But was there.
Listening.
Vyom clung to his mother, heart racing.
The warmth in his chest pulsed—
BOOM…
...BOOM…
Not fear.
Not warning.
Just presence.
Dev whispered, voice weak—
"Do not open your eyes."
Vyom didn't.
But then—
Something spoke from the window.
A voice.
Soft.
Familiar.
"Nara…"
Vyom's eyes flew open—
But his mother's hand slammed over them.
"DON'T!"
Her voice trembled.
"That is NOT her!"
Vyom froze.
The voice from the window spoke again—
a little broken
a little too thin—
"Vyom… open your eyes… please…"
It sounded like Nara.
But wrong.
Stretched.
Hollow.
Echoing like it came from somewhere far, far away.
Dev whispered urgently—
"If you look… you will fall out."
Vyom shook violently under his mother's hand.
The voice from the window continued—
"…Vyom… why won't you look…?"
His mother held him tighter, whispering—
"Don't answer. Don't look."
The voice twisted—
warping—
"…I'm here… we can go home…"
Vyom's stomach churned.
Dev's button eyes glowed faintly, staring toward the window—
as if watching something he couldn't describe.
The voice changed again—
lower
darker
closer—
"…little clock…"
Mother's grip tightened.
She whispered—
"Keep your eyes shut. He's trying to wear her voice."
Vyom trembled violently.
The voice grew soft again—almost kind—
"…sixteen hours, Vyom."
A cold draft slithered across his skin.
He heard it move—
like someone stepping through snow.
Closer.
Closer.
His mother's breath hitched.
She whispered—
barely audible—
"Not yet…
please…
not yet…"
Dev's voice flickered—
"He cannot take him. The hour forbids."
The draft paused.
Silence.
Then—
without warning—
The shutters slammed shut.
The house exhaled.
The warmth beneath Vyom's ribs pulsed once.
BOOM.
The silence that followed was total.
Slowly—
very slowly—
his mother loosened her grip.
Vyom opened his eyes.
The wooden shutters were closed again.
But the carvings around it…
had changed.
They now curled into a symbol he recognized—
The same pattern on the forbidden clock.
His mother pulled him close, shaking.
"You mustn't go near it again."
Vyom nodded weakly.
"…what was that…?"
His mother didn't answer.
Because she didn't have to.
Dev whispered instead—
"That was the first face."
Vyom swallowed.
"The first…?"
Dev nodded weakly.
"There will be… seventeen."
Vyom's blood froze.
"Seventeen…?"
Dev's voice dimmed—
almost gone.
"One for each hour."
Vyom felt the cold spread through him.
He looked toward his wall clock.
The hands spun—
then froze again.
At twelve.
Fifteen hours left.
The house creaked—
as though acknowledging the count.
His mother's grip tightened.
"Stay with me," she whispered.
But Dev spoke faintly—
"He cannot."
Mother stiffened.
"…why?"
Dev's button eyes flickered.
"Because time… is moving."
The house shook.
The lights flickered—
then steadied.
Vyom looked toward the hallway.
It was longer now.
Different.
Like the house had shifted again.
Dev whispered—
"It has begun."
Vyom clutched the doll, pressing into his mother's side.
"Where do we go…?"
Dev answered—
"Forward."
His mother lifted Vyom—holding him tight—and stepped toward the long, changing hallway.
Vyom buried his face into her shoulder.
Behind them—
the wooden shutters on the window
began to tremble.
As though something behind them
was smiling.
END OF CHAPTER 18 — The Window With No Outside