******
Ariyan stayed still, struggling to understand where he was. The emptiness was oppressive, a vast nothingness that felt both suffocating and strangely breathable. A voice echoed through the void, faint at first, then growing louder. He couldn't tell where it came from or how far away it was.
The sound warped, its distance shifting unnervingly, until it was no longer echoing in the space around him. It was inside his mind.
No, no…! The voice reverberated, glitching like static, each echo vibrating through his skull. His thoughts felt like they were unraveling. The sensation was unbearable.
"Stop!" he shouted, his frustration bursting forth.
Silence fell. Absolute silence.
And then, just like that, he was back.
***
Ariyan stood on the bridge, the same bridge where he'd disappeared. His body was tense, his breaths shallow. He scanned his surroundings, his eyes wide and shaken.
"What… what happened?" he whispered.
The world looked the same—the same evening light, the same distant hum of traffic. Nothing felt out of place, yet everything was wrong. His mind churned, desperate to make sense of the experience. He shook his head, forcing the thoughts away.
"Just… just go home," he muttered.
With that, he resumed his walk, his legs heavy and his mind racing. Was that all just a dream? he wondered. It had to be. But why did it feel so real?
***
From college to home, the journey was always exhausting. He had to walk five or six miles to the train station, endure three hours of travel, and then trek through the city to reach college. In total, it was four and a half hours of traveling every day.
"I live alone," he thought as he walked. His voice didn't carry the loneliness one might expect. Instead, it was matter-of-fact, almost detached.
His house sat apart from the rest of the village, nestled in a silent corner surrounded by fields. The isolation didn't bother him. It was a choice. When his parents had died, they'd left him something that ensured his solitude: money. Enough to live comfortably. Enough to keep him free from worry.
****
The Past
Nine or ten years ago, when he was just seven, Ariyan woke up in a hospital bed. The first thing he noticed was the sterile white ceiling above him, its starkness amplifying the emptiness in his chest. His small hands gripped the rough texture of the hospital blanket, and a wave of confusion washed over him.
Why was he here? Who is he? What is his name? He didn't remember anything.
The room felt vast and unfamiliar, its silence oppressive. He felt tiny and insignificant, a speck in a world that had suddenly become unrecognizable. His heart pounded as he struggled to piece together what had happened, but his memory was a blank slate. Panic gave way to a deep, aching loneliness. For the first time in his life, he felt truly alone, and the weight of it was suffocating.
The room was unfamiliar, sterile yet luxurious. His vision was hazy as a woman—a doctor—approached. Her voice was calm but firm.
"Ariyan? Can you hear me?" she asked.
He nodded faintly, the words reaching him through the fog in his mind. For some reason, he could understand her language, though it felt foreign.
"Do you remember your name?"
He hesitated. He didn't know what to say. Then, as if prompted by some unseen force, he blurted out, "Ariyan. My name is Ariyan." The words surprised even him.
The doctor smiled, relieved. "Good. Can you see me? How many fingers am I holding up?"
"Two," he replied softly.
The doctor sighed with relief. "Thank goodness. Your condition was critical. We didn't think you'd wake up."
Her words left him uneasy. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice trembling. Fear gripped him, a cold weight in his chest. His mind raced with questions he didn't know how to ask. Was he hurt? Alone? The unfamiliarity of his surroundings magnified the void left by his blank memories.
"There's a lot to explain," she said, "but not now. Rest for now. We'll talk later." She nodded to the nurses, who adjusted his IV and checked his vitals before leaving him alone.
***
The room was too grand for a standard hospital. Fancy furniture, an ornate photo frame on the bedside table. He squinted at it. A family photo: a young boy, a man, and a woman. The boy looked like him. The adults… his parents, perhaps?
Over the next few days, visitors came—people he didn't recognize but who seemed to know him. They spoke kindly, offering help and sympathy, but their words felt hollow. He could sense their ulterior motives.
The truth came from Dr. Elisa Wells, a composed but empathetic woman who became his confidante. She broke the news: his parents had died in an accident, leaving him as the sole heir to their wealth.
Ariyan's father had been Owner and the chairman of Zen-X, a multinational corporation with branches in every major country. At just seven years old, Ariyan inherited not just their fortune but also the power of attorney over the company. The realization hit hard. Those "sympathetic" visitors hadn't cared for him; they wanted his favor.
In time, Ariyan struck a deal with the board of directors: he'd step away from the company in exchange for 4% of its annual income. He relocated to his mother's birthplace—this quiet village—to live a simpler life, away from the manipulative world of wealth and power.
***
Present Day
Reaching his home, Ariyan pulled out his gate key and stepped inside. The house was modest, but it suited him. Quiet, surrounded by farmland, and far from the chaos of the city.
Flicking on the lights, he looked around. "You must be thinking it's lonely to live alone," he said aloud, addressing no one in particular. "But not for me."
He washed his face, took a warm bath, and prepared a cup of tea. As he sat in his favorite chair, the day's events lingered at the edges of his thoughts. Taking a sip of tea, he paused.
The taste was perfect. Too perfect. It was exactly like the tea he'd tasted in the void.
He glanced at the clock on the wall. 8:32 PM.
Frowning, he checked his wristwatch. 10:42 PM.
His heart raced.
"What?! That wasn't a dream," he whispered, his voice trembling. The tea, the void, the voices… it had all been real.
Ariyan's mind spiraled, questions flooding in. But one thought rose above the rest:
What is happening to me?