The morning after the double sunrise, the city behaved like a body trying to hide a wound.People still went to work. Traffic still snarled. But everything moved slightly slower, glancing upward too often—as if everyone feared the sky might do something strange again.
Maya kept her eyes down.Her only mission was simple: get Aarav to school, act normal, and pretend the universe wasn't unraveling above them.
Outside the apartment block, the air felt heavier, charged with invisible static. Streetlamps flickered even though it was daylight. The hum that had followed her for weeks had deepened, vibrating somewhere between heartbeat and thunder.
Aarav tugged her sleeve."Mama, is it gonna happen again?"
She crouched to his level, forcing a smile she didn't feel."No. It was just a trick of light, remember? Like… when the air bends after rain."
He frowned, doubtful. "But the air doesn't sing."
Her hand froze halfway through tying his shoelace. "What do you mean?"
"The air. When it glows. It makes that sound, like… someone talking but far away."He pressed a finger to his ear. "It says your name sometimes."
Maya's throat went dry. She tied the knot too fast, hurting his ankle slightly. "You're just imagining it, baby."
But she heard it too—the faint whisper curling through the city's noise.
Hold fast.
The same voice as before.
She dropped Aarav at school but lingered outside the gate long after the bell.Cars hissed by, horns blaring, but her gaze kept drifting to the clouds.They weren't moving right; they churned in slow spirals, circling an invisible point somewhere far to the east.
Where he is, she thought.
The man with the silver hair, the stormlight eyes. The one whose voice had brushed her mind.The one she had shouted at in that impossible dream.
He wasn't a dream. He was real. Another Borrower.And somehow, their choices had found each other.
By afternoon the city began to shimmer.Not in a dramatic, world-ending way—more like heat mirage, thin ripples bending light along building edges. People stared, took photos, laughed nervously.The hum rose again, joined by something new: faint glimmers of silver dust spiraling through the air, catching sunlight like drifting ash.
Maya held her phone up to record it.The screen glitched—flashed white—and for an instant showed something else: a stretch of tents, a red star in a twin-mooned sky.When the image cleared, her own reflection stared back, terrified.
That was the proof she hadn't wanted.
The two worlds were bleeding.
She ran to the school.
Children were being ushered inside; teachers tried to stay calm, calling it a safety drill. The hum grew louder near the gates, a vibration she could feel through the metal bars.
Aarav saw her and sprinted across the playground. "Mom!"
She pulled him into her arms, heart pounding. "We're going home."
"But Ms. Patel said—"
"We're going home. Now."
He didn't argue. Maybe he heard the fear in her voice.
On the walk back, the air thickened, warmer and colder all at once. Pigeons swirled upward in chaotic flocks. The sky over the eastern horizon shimmered scarlet for a second and then returned to gray.
Aarav clung to her hand. "Mama, it's like the stories you tell me before bed."
Maya swallowed hard. "Those are just stories."
"But what if they're not?"
She didn't answer. Because she could feel eyes—his eyes—watching her through the shimmer.
That night, she locked every window and unplugged every light. Aarav fell asleep on the couch, head in her lap. She stroked his hair, staring at the city beyond the balcony glass.
When the hum rose again, she whispered, "What do you want from me?"
The voice came soft, almost sorrowful: To fix what we broke.
The glass fogged over, and faint letters appeared, written in condensation by an unseen hand.ARJUN.
Maya's breath caught. The name pulsed once before fading.
She whispered it aloud, testing the sound. "Arjun."
A wave of memory—not hers—hit like thunder: a young man standing on a wall of flame, holding lightning in his hand, shouting orders to soldiers who worshiped him.The echo was so vivid it stole her balance.
When she blinked, her reflection in the window wasn't hers at all. It was his.
Storm-bright eyes. Silver-threaded hair.
He was looking at her through the glass.
"Maya," the reflection said, lips moving perfectly in sync with hers.
She staggered back, clutching Aarav. "Stay away!"
"I can't," the voice said from everywhere at once. "The seams are open. You feel it too."
"I made my choice!" she shouted. "I let that world go!"
"And it's still calling you," he answered softly. "Because we're all still tethered."
The window trembled. Cracks laced across the glass, spider-webbing outward from where his eyes met hers.
Then the hum cut off—sharp, absolute silence.
The lights flickered.
Aarav stirred. "Mama?"
She pulled him close. "It's okay, baby. It's okay."
But the truth trembled inside her like a heartbeat.
Nothing was okay.The world wasn't splitting anymore—it was connecting.
Maya stared at the cracked window until dawn painted it gold.
Behind the fractures, she could still see faint silver eyes watching, patient and sorrowful.
The man from the other world—the one who had once been Arjun—wasn't trying to invade.He was reaching out.
And something deep in her, a pulse older than guilt and heavier than fear, whispered that soon she would have to reach back.