Aarav Malhotra woke up to the sound of his cheap plastic alarm clock rattling like a broken insect beside his pillow. He slapped it without looking, missed, slapped again, and finally hit the snooze button.
The room was dim, dust particles dancing in the thin sunlight slipping through the curtains. It smelled faintly of old books, coconut hair oil, and the detergent his mother used for the bedsheets.
Aarav lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling fan rotating lazily above him.
Another school day.
Another long walk to the bus stop.
Another lecture from his father about "focus" if he reached breakfast late.
He sighed, pulled himself up, stretched his arms, and rubbed his eyes.
A normal morning.
He didn't know it was the last normal moment he would ever have.
He shuffled to the mirror fixed to his cupboard, splashed water on his face, and wiped it roughly with his towel. His reflection stared back at him: messy hair, half-sleepy eyes, and a faint pimple on the chin that felt like a personal insult.
"Great," he muttered. "Of course you show up today."
He got dressed in his school uniform — blue shirt, grey pants — and stepped out of his room, tying his tie lazily around his collar.
"Ma, I'm ready! Make tea na—" he began, walking towards the dining area.
Then he stopped.
There was a strange silence in the house.
Not tension. Not fear.
Just… absence.
His mother's back was turned to him as she prepared breakfast. His father sat reading the newspaper, head resting on one hand.
Everything looked the same.
Everything felt the same.
But something in the air felt slightly… off.
Aarav shrugged it off and walked toward the dining table.
As he passed the corridor, his eyes found the family photo that hung there — his parents standing behind him, their hands on his shoulders, all three smiling awkwardly because the photographer had taken too long.
Except today—
he wasn't in the photo.
Aarav stopped mid-step.
"What the…?" he whispered.
The frame was the same.
The background was the same.
Same clothes.
Same decorations.
But the child in the photo was missing.
It wasn't replaced.
It wasn't edited.
It was simply… empty.
A gap between his parents.
Aarav blinked hard.
Maybe he was half asleep?
Maybe he remembered the wrong photo?
Maybe his mother changed it yesterday?
But why would she remove him?
He leaned closer, his face almost touching the glass.
"No way… this is not possible."
It hit him like a pulse of cold electricity — something was wrong.
But the smell of upma being cooked, the rustling of a newspaper, the sunlight falling across the room… everything was too normal for something supernatural.
He forced himself to breathe.
It had to be a mistake.
"Ma?" Aarav said, finally walking towards the kitchen. "Why did you—"
His mother turned her head slightly, confused.
"Yes?"
Aarav paused a moment, then shook his head.
"Nothing… I'll just eat."
He sat down.
His father lowered the newspaper slightly to look at him…
…and then looked away.
Not a glance of acknowledgment.
Not a flicker of familiarity.
No irritation.
No "You're late as usual."
Just… neutrality.
Aarav frowned.
He cleared his throat dramatically.
"Good morning," he said, louder this time.
No response.
His father flipped to the next page of the newspaper.
His mother kept stirring the pan.
Aarav felt something strange crawl up his spine.
Was everyone sleepwalking today?
He stood up, walked right in front of his father, and waved his hand.
His father blinked once.
"Beta, do you… need something?" he asked politely, like speaking to a stranger.
Aarav stared.
His father had never called him "beta" in that polite tone.
His father didn't speak politely to strangers either.
His father always had this tone of authority when talking to him.
This tone?
This wasn't recognition.
This was formality.
Aarav forced a laugh.
"Papa, are you joking with me? Enough. It's morning — I'm not in the mood."
His father's eyebrows pulled together slightly.
"I think you're mistaken," he said. "Do I know you?"
Aarav's blood ran cold.
He looked at his mother.
She was staring now — confused, wary, like seeing an unknown boy inside her house.
She clutched the spoon a little tighter.
"Raghav… who is he?" she asked quietly.
Aarav felt the world tilt.
"Ma… come on. It's me. Aarav. Your son."
His mother took a step back.
"I think you should leave," his father said firmly, though still without recognition. Just concern.
Aarav's heartbeat hammered in his ears.
"This isn't funny!" he shouted. "Enough of this! Stop acting!"
His father and mother exchanged a troubled look — the kind parents share when a stranger in their home becomes unpredictable.
And in that moment, something inside Aarav snapped.
It wasn't fear yet.
It wasn't panic yet.
It was disbelief burning into anger.
"You're both crazy," he hissed. "This is MY house. I live here! My room is right there! What the hell is wrong with you two?!"
His father stood up, keeping distance.
"Please calm down. I can call someone to help—"
"HELP?!" Aarav yelled. "You want help for what? For forgetting your own son?!"
His mother whispered, "Raghav, call the watchman…"
Aarav froze.
That sentence…
That level of fear…
That tone…
It wasn't acting.
They were scared.
Of him.
Not angry.
Not joking.
They genuinely thought he was a stranger.
Aarav's voice cracked as he whispered, "Ma… please. Stop. Look at me properly."
Her eyes softened for just a second — empathy, not recognition — then she shook her head.
"I'm sorry… I don't know you."
Aarav stood there, his chest trembling, throat closing up, breath shaking.
The world around him suddenly felt too bright, too hot, too loud.
He stumbled back from the dining area.
"Fine," he whispered. "I'll prove it. I'll show you my room."
He ran down the hallway and pushed open the door to his room—
And his heart nearly stopped.
It wasn't his room.
It wasn't a messy teenage boy's room.
It was a neat storage room.
Boxes stacked.
Old clothes.
Dust.
No bed.
No books.
No posters.
No schoolbag.
No trace of him.
Not even a misplaced comb.
Aarav stepped back slowly, feeling the world crumble under his feet.
His mother stood at the doorway, holding her phone, finger hovering above the call button.
"I think you should leave," she said softly. "Whoever you're looking for… they don't live here."
Aarav stared at her.
At his room.
At everything he'd known.
A tear slipped from his eye before he even realised.
And for the first time that morning, he felt fear.
Real fear.
The kind that shakes the soul.
He whispered, voice breaking,
"Ma… why can't you see me?"
No answer.
Just silence.
Aarav ran out of the house.
Not because he wanted to escape.
But because for the first time in his life…
his home had become the most unfamiliar place in the world.