Jay didn't sleep after the dream.
He tried.
He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, counting the faint cracks in the plaster like they were constellations waiting to form meaning.
But every time he closed his eyes, he saw the Clock Tree's glow again — roots of gold, branches ticking softly, and Parikshit's eyes reflecting truths Jay wasn't ready to accept.
By the time morning arrived, he was still awake.
His alarm rang, slicing through the silence. Jay let it ring twice before he shut it off.
He whispered to himself, voice hoarse,
"Normal day. Just get through a normal day."
He didn't know who he was trying to convince.
---
The air outside felt strangely heavier, as if the world itself had woken up in a bad mood. The sky was clouded with a thin grey veil, giving the city a muted glow.
Jay walked slower than usual, hands deep in his pockets, eyelids half-lowered in exhaustion. The people around him flowed forward with their usual rhythm — laughter, chatter, holoscreens glowing on their wrists as they walked.
But Jay kept catching glimpses of… oddness.
A boy tossing a ball in a park — the ball froze mid-air for half a second, then continued.
A woman walking her dog — both paused mid-stride, blinked in sync, then resumed.
A street monitor glitched, showing the date as January 1, 2030, before correcting itself to October 12, 2081.
Jay stopped and stared.
His breath left him in a shaky exhale.
"…It's starting again."
He forced himself to keep walking.
One step at a time.
One breath at a time.
One lie at a time, telling himself it was nothing.
---
At school, Reina waved at him enthusiastically.
He didn't have the energy to fake a smile, so he just lifted a hand faintly in return.
She frowned as he reached her.
"You look like you haven't slept in a decade," she said. "Nightmares?"
Jay hesitated.
If he told her the truth — that he saw an ancient tree built from time and memory, and a man who may or may not be himself from another life… she'd probably recommend psychiatric counseling.
So he went with, "Just… thinking too much."
Reina narrowed her eyes. "About Parikshit again?"
Jay almost flinched.
"Not exactly."
She leaned in slightly. "You know… sometimes it feels like you're remembering something I'm not supposed to understand."
He blinked at her.
She looked genuinely concerned.
"I'm fine," he said softly. "Really."
Reina studied him for a moment longer — eyes sharp, like she could see the cracks forming around him — then nodded.
"You're a terrible liar," she muttered.
"But fine. I'll pretend to believe you."
He managed a small smile. "Thanks."
---
The first half of the day passed without disaster.
Mostly.
Jay zoned out in every class. Lines of text blurred, numbers wavered, and maps of the new world order looked like they were shifting on their own.
He blinked repeatedly, trying to focus.
But every time he glanced at the classroom clock, the second hand seemed to move wrong.
Too slow.
Too fast.
Skipping.
Repeating.
Each tick felt like it was tapping directly against his ribs.
By lunch break, he felt like he was barely held together.
Reina noticed.
"Jay. Seriously. Talk to me."
"I'm just tired," he muttered.
"Tired people don't look like they're trying to solve the laws of the universe in their heads," she shot back.
He sighed and leaned against the table.
"How do you even know what that looks like?"
"Because you keep staring at the clocks like they're about to bite you."
Jay froze.
She wasn't wrong.
He'd been doing that all morning — tracking clocks with his eyes, expecting them to stop or explode or whisper.
He swallowed.
Reina softened. "Look… if something's bothering you, you can tell me. I won't judge."
He opened his mouth.
He almost told her everything.
Almost.
But before he could speak—
the world fractured.
---
It happened with no warning.
One moment, Reina was sitting across from him in the courtyard under the solar trees. Students were chatting. Birds chirped. Lunch trays clinked.
And then—
the sky cracked.
Not physically.
Not visibly.
Not like a mirror shattering.
It was sound.
A sharp, ringing chime — pure and cold, like a temple bell struck underwater.
Jay snapped upright.
Reina froze mid-blink.
The students down the walkway stood still, their movements suspended in place like figures carved from wax.
A leaf fell from a branch — then stopped mid-air, hanging motionless.
The world had stopped breathing.
Jay's heart slammed hard.
"No, no, no— not again—"
He stood so quickly his chair fell backward.
"Jay?" Reina whispered.
He froze.
She moved.
Reina moved.
Her eyes were wide, terrified.
"Wh… why is everyone—?"
She waved her hand in front of a frozen student.
No response.
Her breathing quickened. "Jay… what's happening—?"
Another chime rang.
The air warped.
Colors bled into each other like watercolor soaking paper.
Jay grabbed her hand instinctively.
"Reina. Stay close."
"I— What— Jay—?!"
The courtyard dissolved around them.
The school.
The students.
The trees.
Everything melted into white noise, like ink draining from the edges of reality.
Only the ticking remained.
Soft.
Slow.
Inevitable.
Tick.
Jay clenched his jaw.
His voice shook.
"…It's the clock."
Reina stared at him, breath trembling.
"Clock? What clock?"
He didn't answer.
Because he wasn't sure anymore if the ticking was coming from the world—
or from inside him.
---
The light shifted.
A faint outline appeared in the white void — the silhouette of an ancient tree, distorted and incomplete.
Reina clutched his arm.
"Jay… tell me I'm dreaming."
Jay swallowed hard.
"I wish you were."
The silhouette brightened, just enough to show gears flickering inside its branches — fading in and out like a glitch in time.
Reina's eyes widened. "What… what is that…?"
Jay's voice barely left his throat.
"…Something that should've stayed asleep."
---
And then—
time snapped back.
A burst of color.
A gasp of air.
A rush of noise.
Students moved again.
Birds chirped normally.
Lunch trays clinked.
The leaf hit the ground.
Everything resumed as if nothing had happened.
Everything except Reina.
She stared at Jay with raw fear and disbelief.
"Jay…" Her voice trembled. "I saw it. I saw everything."
She grabbed his wrist.
Hard.
Desperate.
"What are you?" she whispered.
Jay didn't answer.
Because for the first time since he arrived in this world—
he genuinely didn't know.