They stood there longer than they meant to — long enough that the playground noise began to thin as kids drifted toward their classrooms. A whistle blew somewhere near the main block. The sky had brightened, the last of the clouds lifting like someone peeling damp fabric off the sun.
Dev finally forced himself to move. "We should go. Period will start."
Meera nodded, dusting her hands on her skirt. But her eyes kept flicking back to the spot where the pebble lay, as if expecting it to jump on its own.
They walked toward the rear corridor. It was narrower than the others, lined with old notice boards whose edges curled like dried leaves. Posters from previous years still clung to the walls — handwriting competitions, lost water bottles, a dance program from six months ago.
As they stepped into the corridor's shade, the air cooled instantly.
Dev felt it the moment they entered.A faint tug behind his ribs.Small. Subtle. Wrong.
He slowed down. Meera noticed immediately. "What?"
"I… don't know."
But he did know. His skin prickled. A hum built low in his ears, not sound exactly — more like pressure.
The corridor was empty except for an art-room chair someone had abandoned halfway along, its leg slightly bent. Light from the courtyard spilled in through the windows, laying long, sharp-edged shadows across the floor.
Then the world twitched.
Not a freeze.Not a slowdown.A twitch — like reality hiccupped.
The shadows on the floor doubled for a split second.Two sets.Layered on top of each other.
One real.One… earlier.
Dev stopped breathing.
Meera's voice snapped tight. "Dev? Dev— what did you see?"
He lifted a trembling hand and pointed at the floor."The shadows. They—"
Before he finished, the corridor flickered again.
A boy ran past the far end of the corridor — his silhouette stretching across the opposite wall — but Dev saw two versions of him. One half a step ahead of the other. One turning his head slightly later. One carrying his bag lower than the other.
Two frames of the same moment.Playing at once.Incorrectly.
Meera grabbed Dev's arm. "Hey—hey, look at me. What's happening?"
"I don't—" His voice cracked. "I think… I think time is showing me the wrong frame. Like… like I'm seeing something before it finishes happening."
The two silhouettes merged suddenly, snapping into one.The hum cut out.The air lightened.
Everything went back to normal.
Only Dev didn't.
His heartbeat thudded painfully. His hands shook. The walls felt closer than they had a moment ago.
Meera stepped in front of him. "Dev, breathe."
He tried. Air came in sharp, uneven gulps.
She placed her palm gently on his forearm — not holding, just anchoring."Was it like before? Like the chalk? The fall?"
"No," he whispered. "This was different. I didn't just feel the moment slip. I saw the next moment bleed into this one."
Meera swallowed. "Like a… glitch?"
"Like the world is trying to show me both versions," he said. "The real one and the one that hasn't happened yet."
The school bell rang in the distance, jolting both of them.
Meera exhaled shakily. "We can't pretend this is nothing anymore."
Dev nodded.
But he didn't say what he was thinking:
This time, the distortion didn't come from fear.Or panic.Or danger.
It came from him.