The classroom was quiet as the history teacher finished the final lesson.
"And that concludes today's topic—the history of the Dhuman–Parth Alliance," the teacher said.
Students slowly began packing their books. Most of them left chatting and laughing, but one boy remained seated for a moment.
His name was John.
After a few seconds, he stood, slung his bag over his shoulder, and walked out with the others. Outside, the afternoon sky was gray and still, like the world itself was holding its breath. John didn't stop to talk with anyone. He simply walked toward home, head down, lost in thought.
After some time, he reached a small, old house at the edge of the street. The building looked worn and fragile—walls riddled with holes, paint faded and peeling. Inside, the air smelled of damp wood and dust, and the floor was littered with old papers and broken furniture.
John dropped his bag onto the table and let out a long sigh.
"Man… I need to work now," he muttered.
Life was not easy. While the world still whispered tales of timeline travelers, the Dhuman–Parth Alliance, and the mysteries of the universe, John was just trying to survive, day by day.
As he looked at the crumbling walls and the dusty floor, a strange feeling tugged at him—an unexplainable sense that his life was connected to the history he had just learned. Something in the shadows of the room, or perhaps in the weight of time itself, hinted that his ordinary life was about to change.
He had no idea just how deep that connection ran.
To be continued…