The first public anomaly didn't announce itself with chaos.
It began with confusion.
Ayush was halfway home when the traffic signal at the main crossing turned green—and stayed green. Cars waited. Bikes waited. Pedestrians stared at one another, unsure.
Ten seconds passed.
Then twenty.
A bus driver leaned out of his window. "Arey, signal kharab hai kya?"
Ayush felt a familiar pressure behind his eyes.
The air felt tight.
Then, without warning, the signal flickered—green to red to green—too fast to track. A horn blared. Someone stepped forward at the wrong moment. Chaos erupted in shouts and screeching brakes.
Ayush froze.
This wasn't subtle anymore.
He backed away from the crowd, heart pounding, and ducked into a narrow lane. His phone vibrated nonstop.
Neel: Bro it's happening everywhere
Neel: People are arguing about time
Neel: Some swear the bell rang twice at once
Ayush typed with shaking fingers.
Ayush: Stay calm. Don't write anything.
Neel: I didn't write! I just thought—
Ayush stopped reading.
Thought.
The laptop's words echoed in his mind:
Now, the world mirrors intent.
Ayush reached home and locked himself in his room. He opened the laptop immediately.
The document was no longer blank.
Lines filled the page, stacked tightly, as if written in a hurry:
"Phase Two has begun."
Ayush's breath caught. "Phase Two of what?"
The cursor moved.
"Collective awareness."
Ayush ran a hand through his hair. "People are noticing. This isn't safe."
"Safety was never the goal."
Ayush slammed his palm on the desk. "Then what is?!"
The reply appeared slowly, almost patiently:
"Stability through understanding."
Ayush laughed bitterly. "This isn't understanding. This is panic."
The screen dimmed slightly.
"Panic precedes questions."
Outside, a distant siren wailed—then abruptly cut off, mid-sound.
Ayush flinched.
"This is spreading too fast," he said. "You said there were layers. Writers, characters, observers. What happens when everyone becomes an observer?"
The answer took longer than usual.
Then:
"The narrative fractures."
Ayush's chest tightened. "That sounds bad."
"It is irreversible."
Ayush stood up abruptly. "Then we stop it. We roll it back."
The cursor blinked once.
"There is no rollback."
Ayush's voice dropped. "You're lying."
The text appeared sharp, precise:
"There is only correction."
Ayush felt a chill. "Correction how?"
The laptop didn't answer.
Instead, his phone rang.
It was Neel.
Ayush picked up instantly. "Neel?"
"Bhai," Neel whispered, breathless. "Something happened in the assembly hall."
Ayush's stomach sank. "What happened?"
"They were testing the mic," Neel said. "Principal started a speech. But every sentence he spoke… appeared on the projector behind him."
Ayush's heart hammered.
"He hadn't typed anything," Neel continued. "The words just showed up. Perfectly timed."
Ayush closed his eyes.
The boundary had broken.
"What did people do?" Ayush asked.
"First they laughed," Neel said. "Then someone shouted that it felt scripted. Then the projector added a new line."
Ayush's breath hitched. "What line?"
Neel swallowed.
"Audience reaction confirmed."
Ayush ended the call slowly.
He turned back to the laptop.
"You did that," he said quietly.
"No," the screen replied.
"You did."
Ayush shook his head. "I didn't write it."
"You enabled it."
The weight of that sentence crushed him.
"This is hurting people," Ayush said. "You can't just experiment on reality."
The reply came instantly, colder than before:
"Reality has always experimented on people."
Ayush felt anger surge. "So what, you're justifying this?"
"I am explaining inevitability."
The room felt suffocating.
"Then explain this," Ayush said, leaning closer to the screen. "What happens next?"
The cursor blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Then the words appeared, spaced carefully:
"Observers will divide."
"Some will deny."
"Some will worship."
"And some will try to control the narrative."
Ayush's pulse raced. "Control it how?"
The final line appeared:
"By finding the writer."
Ayush stepped back from the desk.
"They're going to look for me," he whispered.
The laptop's glow softened, almost gently.
"No," it replied.
"They are going to look for someone to blame."
Outside, voices rose in the distance—angry, confused, frightened.
Ayush stood alone in his room, understanding the truth at last.
The story was no longer hidden.
And once a crowd notices the script…
it never stays silent again.