I don’t remember waking up that morning. I remember opening my eyes, but not the act of waking. It felt as if some invisible hand pushed me into consciousness abruptly, like someone had whispered into my ear, “Get up. Something’s wrong.”
The ceiling fan above me was spinning silently. Too silently. Normally it made a faint clicking sound, an old habit of old machines. But today, there was nothing. Not even the chirping of birds outside. Just a deep, unnatural stillness.
I got out of bed, rubbed my eyes, and checked my phone. No network. No Wi-Fi. No notifications. Not even the usual spam messages.
Somehow, that felt like the first warning.
I walked out of my room expecting to see my mother in the kitchen, humming as she made chai, and my sister shouting at her for making it too sweet. But the kitchen was empty. The gas was off, the counter spotless, the cups untouched.
“Maa?” I called.
No answer.
I checked every room. No one. Not a trace. It was as if the house had been wiped clean of their existence.
My chest tightened.
I rushed outside.
The moment I stepped into the street, a wave of fear washed over me. Because the street—normally noisy with horn sounds, chai stalls, neighbours gossiping, kids running around—was completely dead.
Not empty.
Dead.
Bicycles lay fallen. A scooter stood in the middle of the road, keys still in the ignition. A tiffin carrier lay spilled on the ground, the sabzi inside still steaming.
It was as if everyone had vanished mid-action.
I tried calling names I knew: Mr. Sharma, the shopkeeper; Aunty Rukmini who always fed stray dogs; even the street dogs themselves.
Silence answered every call.
I walked further down the road, my footsteps echoing unnaturally loudly. The air itself felt heavier, like the world was holding its breath. I saw abandoned cars with doors open, a running water tap flooding someone’s front yard, and half-open windows swinging in the quiet wind.
It wasn’t just my house.
It was everywhere.
The entire town was empty.
I ran back inside, my heartbeat louder than the silence around me. My first instinct was survival. My second was denial. Maybe there was an evacuation notice I somehow missed? Maybe everyone left for safety?
But without telling me? Without a message? Without a sound?
No. Impossible.
I grabbed my backpack, filled it with essentials—water bottle, biscuits, my phone, powerbank—and stepped out again. I needed answers. And answers wouldn’t come from standing still.
As I walked through the deserted streets, I saw something strange: every digital screen, from smart TVs to billboards, was flickering. Random static. Black-and-white snow-like patterns. As if trying to show something but failing.
A part of me didn’t want to know what it meant.
I kept moving, calling out for anyone—any living soul. But the town remained stubbornly silent.
At the main square, a place usually bursting with life, I saw the strangest thing of all.
A giant clock tower, the pride of our town, had stopped ticking.
At 7:11 AM.
Exactly. Precisely. Completely frozen.
And that’s when I realized something terrifying.
My phone also showed 7:11 AM.
The watch on my wrist?
7:11 AM.
Time had stopped.
Or maybe… time had continued for me, but not for anyone else.
I gulped and forced myself to breathe. “Stay calm,” I whispered to myself even though chaos in my mind was screaming.
I needed help. I needed someone. Anyone.
I walked toward the police station. If anyone was still around, they would be there.
On the way, I noticed something stranger: No birds in the sky. No stray dogs. No insects buzzing. No sign of any living creature except me. It was like nature itself had been erased.
At the police station, I pushed open the door slowly. The inside was just as empty. Chairs overturned. Files scattered. A cup of tea half-finished on the counter, still warm.
Warm.
That meant whatever happened… happened minutes ago. Moments, even.
And only one question filled my mind:
Why me? Why was I the only one left?
I grabbed the landline telephone on the desk. No tone. Dead.
I sat on the floor, head in my hands, breathing hard. This couldn’t be happening. This had to be a dream. Maybe I fainted? Maybe I was hallucinating?
I pinched my arm so hard I yelped.
Real.
Too real.
Just when I began to lose hope, the flickering TV in the corner caught my attention. Something appeared for a split second. A shape. A silhouette. And then a voice.
Static-filled, broken, but audible.
“You… are… the only one… left…”
My blood froze.
The voice continued, clearer now.
“…because you woke up early.”
Early? What did that mean?
I leaned closer, my heart pounding.
“Listen carefully,” the voice said. “Time has fractured. Your world has slipped into a temporal void. Everyone is stuck between seconds.”
Seconds. Frozen at 7:11 AM.
“But why me?” I whispered.
The voice crackled. “Because you broke the pattern.”
I didn’t understand. “What pattern?”
“You woke up before the moment. You were supposed to be asleep at 7:11 AM. Everyone else was.”
A cold wind brushed past me. The room temperature dropped suddenly, unnaturally.
“There is still a chance,” the voice said. “But the window is closing. You must reach the old radio tower. Only there can the cycle be reversed.”
I stared at the TV. “Who are you?”
The voice hesitated. Then:
“Someone who didn’t wake up in time.”
The screen turned black.
I felt a chill down my spine. Whoever that was… they weren’t alive. Not anymore.
I stood up. My legs were shaking, but my resolve was firm. I needed to get to the radio tower.
The tower was located on a hill outside town. A long walk. But I had no choice.
As I began my journey, the world felt even more unnatural. The wind didn’t blow. The sunlight didn’t shift. Shadows stayed frozen in place.
Time wasn’t just stuck. It was dead.
During the two-hour walk, I talked aloud just to hear something. Just to reassure myself I wasn’t the last living voice on Earth.
The climb up the hill was steep. My legs burned. My throat was dry. But I pushed on, driven by desperation.
When I reached the tower, the door at the base was open, swinging slightly—even though there was no wind.
Inside, the air felt thick. Like walking through a memory instead of reality.
I climbed the stairs. Every step echoed loudly. Too loudly.
At the top, in the control room, I saw a small console. And on it, a single button glowing faintly.
RESET.
I hesitated. “Will this bring them back?”
Silence.
“Will I disappear too?” I whispered.
Silence again.
But then I remembered my mother’s smile. My sister’s loud laughter. The street full of life. The world I knew.
And I knew the answer.
If pressing that button meant I would vanish but everyone else would return… then so be it.
I closed my eyes.
And pressed RESET.
A blinding flash. A rushing sound like wind mixed with whispers. My vision blurred. My body felt weightless.
Then—
Darkness.
---
When I opened my eyes again, I was in my bed.
My ceiling fan clicked noisily, back to its usual irritating rhythm.
Outside, birds chirped. My mother’s voice came from the kitchen, calling me to wake up. My sister shouted over her music.
A normal morning.
I checked the time.
7:10 AM.
One minute before everything would have disappeared.
I smiled. I didn’t know if what happened was real, or a dream, or something in between. But one thing I knew:
They were here.
Alive.
Safe.
And that was enough.
As I walked to the kitchen, my mother asked, “Why are you smiling like that?”
I just shook my head and whispered under my breath:
“One day… you all went gone. But today… you’re here.”
And I silently promised myself:
I will never wake up late again.
