Ankhush's face darkened as he processed what Mansh had said. His eyes--those eyes that had once been so full of youthful uncertainty--had now shifted, becoming more intense, more focused. It was almost as though a veil had been lifted from his face, and a deeper understanding was settling over him. He stared at Mansh for a long moment, the silence between them thick, pregnant with the weight of a shared realization.
"I knew I wasn't crazy," Ankhush muttered, more to himself than to Mansh, his voice low but filled with an emotion Mansh couldn't quite identify. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, his fingers trembling as they brushed against his scalp. The usual calmness that Ankhush wore like a second skin had evaporated, leaving behind something raw, vulnerable. Mansh could see it--the trembling hands, the clenched jaw, the way Ankhush's chest rose and fell more rapidly than usual. He wasn't the composed, collected friend that Mansh had known for so long.
Mansh's throat tightened, his breath catching slightly at the sight. It felt like a knife had been driven into his chest--this wasn't just about the novel anymore. It wasn't just about the strange coincidences that had been happening. It was bigger than that. The lines between reality and fiction were so blurred now that it felt like they were teetering on the edge of something they couldn't control.
Ankhush exhaled slowly, his voice growing steadier as he continued, but Mansh could still hear the tremor beneath his words. "I knew it was real," he said more forcefully this time, like a declaration, like he was trying to convince himself as much as Mansh. His eyes bore into Mansh, searching for something--maybe validation, maybe understanding.
Mansh swallowed hard, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts he couldn't organize. It was happening--what they had feared, what they had both quietly hoped wasn't true. The novel. The events. The feelings. Everything was blurring together. He wanted to speak, but the words caught in his throat. It was like he was drowning in the weight of everything, every memory of the last few days flashing before his eyes in a disorienting kaleidoscope.
Ankhush's voice broke through the fog of Mansh's thoughts. "If you're seeing the same thing I am," he said, his voice shaking slightly again, "then it's not just in my imagination. It's not just déjà vu, or some Mandela Effect, or any of that shit."
Mansh's eyes widened, his breath coming in short bursts. His heart raced, pounding so hard in his chest that he could feel it in his throat. There it was--the confirmation, the truth they had both been avoiding. Mansh took a shaky step forward, his hands trembling at his sides as he processed the enormity of what Ankhush had just admitted. Ankhush wasn't just confused. He wasn't just grasping at straws. He knew. He had known before, but hearing it out loud now... it was like hearing the universe itself give a terrible, final answer.
Mansh took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but it felt like the ground beneath him was shifting. The room seemed to spin, and for a moment, he felt like he might collapse. The truth, the reality of the situation--it was suffocating him. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to force his racing thoughts into some semblance of order. But it was no use. The puzzle pieces were scattered in his mind, and every time he tried to put them together, they slipped further away.
His voice was barely a whisper when he spoke, the words catching on his tongue. "The novel... it's happening in real life," he said, his chest tight, his breath shallow. The words felt so foreign to him, yet they made sense in a way that terrified him. "It's not just fiction. It's real. I'm Kokoro's counterpart, and you... you're Nezumi's." His words tumbled out in a rush, like a dam that had finally broken. "The novel--it's not just a coincidence anymore."
Ankhush's eyes widened, his face shifting through a series of emotions that Mansh couldn't read. He could see the realization starting to dawn on Ankhush's face, the gradual shift from disbelief to fear. Ankhush opened his mouth to speak, but the words seemed to catch in his throat.
Mansh's mind raced, spinning in the chaotic storm of their shared understanding. He could feel the weight of it now--the deep, gnawing certainty that everything that had happened, everything they had experienced, had been set into motion by forces far beyond their control. "It all makes sense now," he continued, his voice steady despite the chaos swirling inside him. "why your mother was kidnapped... why the accident happened... It's all because of the novel. It's not just a coincidence anymore." He shook his head, as if to shake off the weight of the realization. "One time, two times, even three times could be luck, but four times? No. This is real for sure."
Ankhush opened his mouth, but no sound came out at first. His eyes flicked to the floor, then back to Mansh, like he was searching for something, anything to anchor himself. His hands were still trembling, though not as noticeably as before. Mansh noticed the slight twitch of Ankhush's fingers, the way his hands clenched and unclenched as if trying to hold onto something solid. Mansh's heart broke just a little bit more at the sight. His friend was scared. They were both scared.
"What do we do now?" Ankhush's voice cracked slightly as he spoke, the weight of his words settling in the space between them. It wasn't just a question--it was a plea. A desperate plea for answers, for a way out of this nightmare that was rapidly becoming their reality.
Mansh took another breath, the tightness in his chest threatening to suffocate him. "We have to make a plan," he said, his voice firm, though he could feel the fear clinging to his every word. "We can't change the story too much. We can't alter it completely. If we do, we won't know the future anymore, and that could be even more dangerous."
Ankhush nodded quickly, as if trying to digest the gravity of what Mansh had said. "Got it," he said, his voice strained but resolute. "So... what's the plan?"
Mansh paused for a moment, the air between them thick with tension. He wasn't sure where to start--where to even begin to make sense of it all. But one thing was clear: they couldn't just stand here, paralyzed by fear. They needed to act. They needed to do something.
"We replicate the last chapter of the novel," Mansh said, his voice low and steady. "We have to recreate everything exactly as it happened in the book. Only then will we know what comes next."
Ankhush nodded eagerly, though his expression was still taut with anxiety. "Okay... okay, I can do that," he said, his voice trembling only slightly. He was scared--Mansh could hear it--but there was also something else there. Something like resolve. They were in this together, no matter how impossible it seemed.
The two of them stood there for a moment, the weight of the situation settling over them like a shroud. Mansh could feel the subtle vibrations in his body--the slight tremors that betrayed his own fear--but he also felt something else. A deep sense of connection with Ankhush. Whatever they were about to do, they would do it together. They had to.
Finally, Mansh broke the silence, his voice a little more confident than it had been moments before. "First, we go upstairs," he said, motioning toward the staircase that led to his room. "We need to think this through. We can't rush it."
Ankhush nodded silently, his steps heavy as they moved toward the stairs. The house seemed to hold its breath as they climbed. It wasn't just the weight of the past few days that hung in the air now--it was the weight of the future. What would happen if they failed? What would happen if they succeeded? Mansh didn't know. He didn't have the answers. But he had Ankhush, his best friend.
***
A/N: so they are going to make a plan to win the fight with ME, i don't think it will work.
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