Vicky woke with a start.
For a few seconds he didn't know where he was. Then the ceiling fan came into focus. Sunlight streamed through the curtains. A pan clattered in the kitchen. The TV droned with morning news. And Ankit, naturally, was already complaining about his uniform being "too itchy."
The world was intact.
He lay still, breathing slowly. The cotton of his bedsheet. The slight dip of his mattress. The warm light on his face. All real. All normal.
Good.
He sat up, stretched, and walked to the bathroom. Cold water splashed onto his face, icy enough to snap the last fragments of dread loose. He looked into the mirror.
Human. Not a block in sight.
The bone-deep hum had vanished completely. His reflection didn't stutter. His edges didn't flicker. He exhaled, long and slow.
At breakfast, he barely spoke.
"Tension mat le, beta," his father said, reaching for the newspaper. "Computer course ke starting mein thoda mushkil hota hai."(Don't stress, son. In the beginning, computer classes feel difficult.)
"Hmm," Vicky murmured, biting into his paratha. Let them think it was academics. It was simpler for everyone.
After eating, he forced himself to pick up his phone. His hands trembled slightly—but the screen stayed just a screen. He opened his gallery. Family pictures. Group selfies with Rahul and Akash. A blurry photo of a stray cat they once fed.
Stable. Normal. Safe.
He didn't open a game.
The day moved on quietly. At his actual class, he typed half-heartedly through the lesson, grateful for how aggressively boring it was. He returned home, helped Reena adjust her project formatting, and nodded through the usual evening noise.
Small victories.
That evening, Rahul and Akash hauled him to the gola stand.
"Ab theek hai na?" Rahul asked, poking him with his elbow. "Kal tu lag raha tha ventilator pe jaayega."(You're fine now? Yesterday you looked one step from the ICU.)
"Just a nightmare," Vicky said.
"A nightmare?" Akash scoffed, licking his spoon. "Kis baare mein? Belan?"(About what? Rolling pins?)
"Close enough."
Their chatter washed over him—stupid jokes, arguments about game strategies, complaints about homework. It was the old rhythm, familiar enough to settle into without thinking.
Later, he sat on the roof, watching Jaipur's uneven skyline—water tanks, crisscrossing wires, peeling paint. Imperfect. Alive.
He replayed the incident in his mind. The silence. The blocky textures. The way the world had folded in on itself. But now, with distance, it felt… unreal. A glitch, yes, but maybe not a cosmic one. Maybe his mind, overloaded by the power's stress, had snapped. A hallucination born from exhaustion, fear, and stupidity.
It was easier to believe that than the alternative.
He could still sense the power somewhere inside him—not humming through his bones, but sitting quietly at the back of his thoughts. Waiting. Watching.
He ignored it.
He wasn't ready for it. Not mentally. Not physically. Not at all.
He didn't need to build an empire or save the world. He didn't need diamonds or potions or shortcuts.
He just needed to breathe. And live. And stay sane.
The brick in the wall would stay untouched. The notebook was gone. The dangerous curiosity had burned itself out.
For the first time in days, he went downstairs without feeling like the ground would glitch beneath him.
The nightmare had ended.And for now—just for now—being Vicky was enough.