Back home, Raj went straight to his room. "I'm tired," he murmured. Brett kissed his forehead, lingering longer than usual. Raj felt warm. Normal. Brett told himself he was overthinking. In his own room, the silence felt heavier than before. Brett sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the family photo. Jane's smile looked unreal now—too alive for the quiet apartment. "I'm doing my best," Brett whispered. His eyes burned. He wiped the tears away and lay down. Sleep came slowly. Then— CRASH. Glass shattered somewhere below. Raj screamed. Brett was already running. The new clock lay broken at the foot of the stairs, its glass scattered like ice across the floor. Brett didn't stop. He took the steps two at a time and burst into Raj's room. Raj was sitting in the corner of the bed, knees pulled to his chest, shaking violently. "Raj—hey—it's okay," Brett said, pulling him close. "What happened?" Raj lifted a trembling finger and pointed. The painting. "He was coming out," Raj whispered. "The boy." Brett turned. The painting was still. Silent. Torn. Raj's voice cracked. "He looked at me." Brett forced his breathing steady. "You had a nightmare." Raj shook his head. Tears streamed down his face. "He doesn't like you." The words felt wrong. Too specific. Brett carried Raj to his room and lay beside him until his breathing slowed. Raj clutched Brett's shirt until sleep finally took him. Later, Brett stepped back into the hallway. He cleaned the shattered glass slowly, deliberately, as if moving too fast might break something else. When he picked up the broken clock, his hands froze. The hands were stopped. 2:17. Again. Brett stared at it for a long time. "Coincidence," he whispered. The apartment didn't answer. That night, Brett dreamed of a hallway that never ended. Doors lined the walls. From behind one, a small hand reached out—waiting. In the other room, Raj slept facing the doorway, his eyes half open. Time did not move. And whatever waited inside Apartment 608 was no longer patient.
After the disturbing night when the clock once again froze at 2:17, neither Brett nor Raj slept properly. Brett lay awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, listening to the silence. Every small creak of the apartment made his muscles tighten. He kept telling himself it was exhaustion… stress… imagination. But deep down, something felt wrong. Raj, on the other hand, slept restlessly beside him, occasionally shifting, whispering faint things Brett couldn't quite understand. Still, morning came — indifferent and bright. And it was important. It was Raj's admission day.
Morning – 7:00 A.M. "Raj… wake up, champ," Brett said softly, brushing his son's hair back. Raj opened his eyes slowly. For a moment, there was confusion in them. Then he remembered. "School…" he murmured. "Yes. Big day today." Raj nodded. He didn't mention the painting. He didn't mention the clock. And Brett didn't ask. Some silences are agreed upon without words. The school building was lively and welcoming — children running, parents chatting, teachers smiling warmly. It felt normal. Safe. Raj sat for the short evaluation test for second standard admission. Brett waited outside, pacing slightly. When Raj came out, he looked calm. Too calm. "How was it?" Brett asked. "I knew everything," Raj replied quietly. Minutes later, a teacher approached them with a warm smile. "Mr. Brett? Your son has done exceptionally well. He qualifies comfortably for second standard." Brett's shoulders relaxed instantly. "That's… that's wonderful," he said, placing a hand proudly on Raj's shoulder. The teacher smiled at Raj. "You're very intelligent. Keep it up." Raj gave a small smile — polite, reserved. On the way back home, Brett couldn't hide his pride. "I told you, didn't I? You're brilliant," he said, laughing lightly. Raj looked out the car window at the passing city. "Dad… can we keep my room light on tonight?" Brett's smile faded just slightly. "Of course," he replied gently. "If that makes you comfortable." Raj nodded, still looking outside.
Back Home... To manage work and ensure Raj wasn't alone, Brett had hired a maid named Lisa. Lisa was in her early thirties, kind-faced, soft-spoken — the type of person children trusted easily. She opened the door with a warm smile. "How did it go?" "He's in," Brett said proudly. "Oh! Congratulations, Raj!" Lisa said cheerfully. "I knew you'd do well." Raj gave her a small smile. Lisa had quickly become a comforting presence in the house. She cooked, cleaned, helped Raj with reading, and sat beside him when he drew. For the first time since moving into the apartment, things felt… stable. For three consecutive days, nothing unusual happened. Raj seemed engaged in his lessons. He spent hours drawing in his notebook — mostly houses, trees… and sometimes hands. Brett noticed the hands once. "Why only hands?" he asked casually. Raj paused before answering. "I just like drawing them." That was all he said. Still, Brett felt relieved. He could focus on his office work again. Meetings, reports, deadlines — the rhythm of normal life slowly returning. One evening, he stood in the kitchen doorway and watched Lisa help Raj read. "Thank you, Lisa," Brett said sincerely. "I don't know what I'd do without your help." Lisa smiled warmly. "He's a sweet child. Very quiet… but very observant." "Observant?" Brett asked. "Yes," she replied thoughtfully. "Sometimes I feel like he's listening to something I can't hear." Brett forced a small laugh. "He's just imaginative." Lisa nodded, though something in her eyes lingered for a second too long. That night, as Brett passed by Raj's room, he noticed the painting still hanging on the wall. The torn face. The unseen eyes. The small painted hand reaching out of the frame. For a brief moment, Brett could swear the shadow beneath the painting looked… slightly longer than before. He blinked. It was normal again. Just a trick of light. He told himself that. And for three days, the apartment remained silent. Too silent.