Determined to make sense of it all, Mansh took a deep breath and unlocked his phone. His fingers trembled slightly as he tapped on the WBNovel app. The screen flickered for a moment before loading.
The latest chapter appeared before his eyes.
He hesitated. His thumb hovered over the text, his mind battling between fear and the desperate need for answers.
Finally, he forced himself to read.
Line by line, he absorbed the words, his stomach twisting with every sentence.
The more he read, the more the dread inside him deepened.
The chapter… it described everything.
The truck.
The accident.
The unconscious body on the pavement.
Mansh's breathing became uneven. His vision blurred at the edges. He could barely process what he was seeing.
His thoughts spiraled. This… this is real. It actually happened. It's not just a coincidence. The novel is predicting our lives…
Then, a realization struck him like a slap to the face.
"If I had known this earlier… I could have saved him."
A sickening guilt settled in his chest, pressing down like a weight too heavy to bear. He clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to scream.
His mind was a storm of confusion, regret, and something far worse—fear.
But then… another thought surfaced.
A terrifying one.
What if this is all part of the novel?
Mansh tried to steady his breathing. He forced himself to think logically, to analyze every detail.
It's not exactly the same…
He swallowed hard. His thoughts ran in a loop, trying to make sense of the differences.
"About 60 to 80% of it matches. But in real life, Ankhush saved me and his mother…"
He paused.
"In the novel, it was Nezumi's mom who saved Kokoro and herself."
His grip on the phone tightened.
If the events weren't exactly the same… did that mean he still had a chance?
Did that mean… he could change what was coming next?
The thought sent a shiver down his spine.
He had to find out.
And he had to do it before the next chapter was published.
Mansh sat frozen, staring at the screen. His eyes skimmed over the words, but his mind refused to process them. His breathing felt shallow, his fingers tightening around his phone.
"Ankhush or Mansh—one of them was destined to be in an accident, no matter what."
The sentence echoed in his head like a warning bell. A cold, sinking feeling settled in his chest. Destined? His thoughts spiraled. No matter what they did, no matter how much they tried to change things… one of them was always meant to get hurt?
His pulse pounded in his ears. But I know the future now.
That changed everything.
"I can save them." The words left his lips in a whisper, as if saying them out loud would make them real. But how? He needed to understand. He needed more information.
His mind reeled back to the novel—the eerie similarities between its events and reality. He knew now that Ankhush's counterpart in the story was a character named Nezumi. That meant his own counterpart was Kokoro.
The novel… I have to figure out more about the novel.
Before he could dive deeper into the text, a voice suddenly shattered his focus.
"Mansh! Dinner is ready!"
It was his mother, calling from downstairs.
For a moment, he didn't react. The contrast between the mundane call for dinner and the chaos inside his head was almost jarring. He sat there, gripping his phone, as if holding onto it would somehow give him more time to think.
He exhaled slowly, pressing his fingers against his temples.
I need to act normal. He couldn't let anyone notice his distress. He had to gather his thoughts, put the pieces together—figure out what this novel was trying to tell him.
Pushing himself up from the bed, he cast one last glance at his phone before locking the screen.
This isn't over. Not yet.
Then, without another word, he stepped out of his room and headed downstairs.
Descending the stairs, he forced his expression into something neutral. The familiar aroma of home-cooked food filled the air, but it did little to ease the unease swirling in his chest.
He took his usual seat at the dinner table, picking up his spoon. But before he could take a bite, his mother's voice interrupted him.
She placed a bowl of curry in front of him and asked casually, "What happened to Ankhush today? And his mother yesterday? The neighbors were talking about them."
Mansh's hand stilled.
For a moment, he considered lying—brushing it off with a vague excuse. But his mother's gaze was expectant, waiting for an answer. He swallowed, then forced himself to speak.
"His mom was kidnapped after she met you at school," he said, his voice quieter than he intended. "And Ankhush… he got into an accident today."
His mother's eyes widened in shock. "What?"
"He's okay now," Mansh quickly added, trying to keep his tone even. "But he has fractures in his arms and legs. The doctors said he'll be fine soon, but… he won't be coming to school for a while."
As he spoke, the reality of everything hit him again. The novel. The warnings. The accident. If only he had understood sooner…
His grip on his spoon tightened.
His mother, still processing the news, set her spoon down gently. "That's terrible…" she murmured, concern evident in her voice. "How is his mother holding up?"
Mansh hesitated, images of Ankhush's mother breaking down in the hospital flashing through his mind. He had no answer to give.
Instead, he lowered his gaze and muttered, "She's… struggling."
A heavy silence settled between them. The clinking of utensils and quiet hum of the fan were the only sounds in the room.
Mansh forced himself to take a bite, even though the food tasted like nothing. His mother didn't press further, but he could tell she was worried.
As he chewed slowly, his thoughts drifted back to the novel.
If the story had already predicted this much… what would happen next?
Suddenly, his mother spoke, her voice filled with concern.
"What happened to Ankhush today? And his mom yesterday? The neighbors were talking about them."
Mansh froze. His fingers tightened around his spoon, his appetite vanishing instantly. He hadn't expected this question—not so soon, not while he was still trying to process everything himself.
His throat felt dry. He swallowed hard before speaking, his voice quieter than usual.
"His mom was kidnapped..." he said, the words feeling heavy as they left his mouth. He hesitated, stealing a quick glance at his mother's face. Her expression shifted—her brows furrowed, her lips slightly parted in shock.
He looked down at his plate, tracing patterns on the edge with his fingers. "It happened after she met you at school."
Silence filled the room. The ticking of the clock suddenly seemed louder, each second stretching unnaturally long.
His mother blinked, taking a slow breath. "Kidnapped?" she repeated, as if trying to process the word itself.
Mansh gave a small nod. His grip on the spoon tightened further. He hadn't even told her about Ankhush yet.
"And Ankhush..." he started, his voice barely above a whisper. "He... got into an accident today."
The spoon in his mother's hand slipped, clattering against the plate. She stared at him, her lips slightly trembling.
"An accident?" she echoed, her voice weak.
Mansh nodded again, staring at the untouched food in front of him. "He's okay now, but..." His voice faltered for a second. "He has fractures in his arms and legs."
His mother inhaled sharply. The silence between them thickened, pressing down on the room like an invisible weight.
"The doctors said he'll be fine soon," Mansh added, trying to reassure her, though the words felt hollow. "But... he won't be coming to school for a while."
His mother placed her spoon down, her hands resting in her lap. Her eyes, once filled with mild curiosity, were now clouded with deep worry.
The clock continued ticking, the sound echoing in the tense, suffocating stillness. Neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke.
But the next day, he couldn't wait any longer.
Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, Mansh felt frustration bubbling inside him. The previous night's conversation with his mother had only made things worse—reminding him how helpless he felt.
His fingers curled into fists against the blanket. His mind wouldn't stop racing.
"I can't just wait and do nothing," he thought, the words pressing down on his chest like a heavy weight. "It's a waste of time."
He turned his head toward the bedside table, eyes landing on his phone. Reaching for it, he unlocked the screen with a quick swipe. The faint glow illuminated the dark room, casting eerie shadows on the walls.
With steady fingers, he navigated to the alarm settings. His thumb hovered over the time for a second before he set it—7:30 AM.
"I need to wake up early. I need to figure things out."
Placing the phone back on the table, he exhaled slowly, his gaze shifting across the dimly lit room. His eyes landed on his bookshelf, where a familiar title caught his attention—The Path to Prosperity.
His heartbeat slowed just a little.
Carefully, he sat up, reached out, and pulled the book from its place. The pages felt smooth beneath his fingertips, the faint scent of old paper filling his senses.
Taking a deep breath, he leaned back against the headboard, flipping the book open. The world around him faded, his mind momentarily focusing on something other than fear.
Even if just for a little while.
At 7:30 AM, a loud, shrill ring shattered the quiet of the room.
Mansh jolted upright, his heart skipping a beat. In his sudden movement, The Path to Prosperity slipped from his grasp, landing on the floor with a soft thud.
For a moment, he just sat there, pulse racing, his mind caught between the remnants of sleep and the urgent reality before him. Then, shaking off the lingering haze, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up.
Crossing the room quickly, he reached his desk and grabbed his phone. His thumb pressed down on the screen, silencing the alarm.
The room fell into silence once more.
Mansh exhaled, rubbing his temple. His exhaustion hadn't faded, but he knew—he couldn't afford to waste time.
His eyes flickered toward his phone screen, the WBNovel app still open.
"I have to know what happens next."
He tapped on the latest chapter, his fingers tightening around the device as the text loaded. Each word, each sentence, pulled him deeper, feeding the growing urgency inside him.
"This novel… it's not just a story. It's my reality. If I understand it, I might be able to change things."
He swallowed, his throat dry.
Save my friends. My family. Myself.
With that thought hammering in his mind, he took a deep breath and continued reading.