Ankhush continued, his voice more insistent now, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Now, tell me exactly what you mean by 'where did you go yesterday'? I was in the hospital the whole day. I just came back from there."
Mansh's body stiffened, the words like ice shattering the fragile shell of his reality. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat quickening as though it were trying to escape the mounting pressure in his mind. His breath hitched as the weight of Ankhush's words sank in, but even as he heard them, something deep within him recoiled, refusing to accept the possibility. The panic returned, spreading like wildfire in his veins, turning his limbs to lead.
"No... you weren't in the hospital yesterday," Mansh whispered, his voice trembling with disbelief. "Everyone was looking for you! No one knew where you went, Ankhush! You disappeared! You weren't there!"
The last words barely escaped his lips before he faltered, his chest tight with an overwhelming wave of anxiety. His mind was a storm of confusion, all the thoughts colliding, the pieces of the day before scattering like broken glass. How could Ankhush be standing here, alive, and well, when Mansh had seen the empty hospital room? He had seen it with his own eyes Ankhush's dead body.
And then, like a sudden, sharp jolt to his consciousness, it hit him.
"The novel."
'The Novel of Reality.'
Mansh's eyes widened in disbelief, and he could feel the ground beneath him tremble, as if the world had tilted ever so slightly. His heart stuttered, and for a moment, he struggled to breathe. The realization came to him with the force of a lightning strike, bright and disorienting, illuminating everything at once.
It's the day when Kokoro and Nezumi spent time together in the novel. The day Kokoro cried when she saw Nezumi.
He could hear the words echoing in his mind, the haunting repetition of the novel's events bleeding into his reality.
'did It all happened to make me cry?'
He blinked, trying to steady himself, trying to process the connection that was forming in his mind, but the pieces were still too scattered, too fragmented. His pulse raced, the cold grip of fear tightening around his chest as he glanced at Ankhush, trying to make sense of the surreal turn his life had taken.
"The Novel," he muttered aloud, barely hearing the words as they left his mouth. The thought had come to him so suddenly, so unexpectedly. But it made a strange kind of sense, didn't it? Wasn't the entire world, the entire fabric of his life, being twisted and bent by the events in that novel? The connection seemed almost too impossible to believe, yet it clung to him with an unshakable force.
Ankhush's voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. "Mansh?" he asked again, softer now, a hint of concern in his eyes. "What's going on? What are you talking about?"
But Mansh couldn't answer. Not yet. Not with the storm of realization and confusion raging inside him. The novel... The Novel of Reality. Could it be? Was it really happening? Was everything that had been happening to him, everything he had witnessed, somehow tied to the events of the story in that novel?
He wanted to scream, wanted to yell at Ankhush for answers, but his throat felt tight, strangled by the weight of the truth that was beginning to seep in. He clutched at his head, feeling as though his mind was spinning out of control. The walls of his reality, the boundaries between the novel and his life, were crumbling before him.
It was too much. He didn't know how to hold onto it all. How to separate the lines anymore.
"I... I don't know what's happening," Mansh whispered, his voice broken, his gaze distant. "This... This doesn't make sense. It feels like that book--The Novel of Reality--and everything is twisted around me."
His breath was shaky now, and his hands trembled at his sides. He could feel his pulse pounding in his ears, the sensation almost overwhelming, the weight of the connection too much to fully process.
But Mansh couldn't explain it. Not yet. The pieces of the puzzle were still too scattered, and all he could feel now was the crushing weight of his thoughts pressing against him, the heavy, suffocating sensation that he wasn't sure how to escape from.
***
A/N: all that happand to make him cry?
save this book.
vote this book.
pls comment.