The first message came at 8:15 AM.
"Are you there?"
Mansh froze. His breath hitched. A strange unease settled in his chest as he read the next one.
The second message, sent at 8:17 AM:
"Your life is in danger."
His grip tightened around the phone. His pulse quickened. He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry.
Then, the third message.
Sent at 8:20 AM.
"Go home or you'll get hit by a truck."
A shiver crawled down his spine. His entire body tensed.
Mansh stared at the screen, his mind racing. His heart pounded in his chest like a war drum.
Was this why Ankhush had called him so frantically? Was this the reason behind his desperation?
His hands trembled slightly.
And then, realization struck him like a bolt of lightning.
The novel.
The eerie similarities.
The warnings.
His stomach churned. Cold sweat formed on his brow. He suddenly felt lightheaded.
Ankhush had been trying to warn me... but I ignored him.
The weight of that thought pressed down on him, suffocating.
And now, the pieces of a horrifying truth were falling into place.
Mansh's breath hitched. His mind reeled.
"Wait… he got hit by a truck? Was this a warning? Was I supposed to avoid something?"
A cold dread crept over him. His pulse pounded in his ears as his fingers hovered over the screen. Then—
The fourth message. Sent at 8:30 AM.
"The novel is reality. It is not a normal novel."
His stomach twisted. A strange chill prickled at the back of his neck.
The novel…?
His fingers tightened around the phone.
He immediately recalled the conversation he'd had with Ankhush—their discussions about that novel.
His thoughts swirled in a storm of confusion and anxiety.
Then—another message.
Sent at 8:31 AM.
The moment his eyes landed on it, his breath caught in his throat.
The fifth message.
Sent at 8:31 AM.
"It is our future."
Mansh's breath faltered. His fingers went numb, the phone feeling heavier in his grasp.
He sank onto the edge of his bed, his mind unraveling with the weight of the words.
Our future…?
His pulse thundered in his ears. The realization hit him like a crashing wave—this wasn't just some strange coincidence. The novel… somehow, impossibly, had come true.
And Ankhush had known.
A sharp pang of anger twisted in his chest.
If I had just checked my messages earlier… If I had just listened…
His hands clenched into fists.
Maybe—just maybe—he could have prevented the tragedy.
The thought gnawed at him, relentless and unforgiving.
But now… it was too late.