Chapter 1
Chapter 1
The house stood like an unspoken memory—grand in structure, hollow in soul. A sprawling mansion built on old wealth, its halls were lined with antique chandeliers that had long since lost their lustre. Dust clung to the velvet curtains, and silence wove itself into every corner. It was not the silence of peace, but of absence. The kind that lingers in the wake of something irreversibly lost.
Arin sat on the living room couch, his eyes tracing the cracks on the ceiling. How long had it been since he last spoke to someone? Really spoke, without pleasantries, without obligation. He could not remember. His world had shrunk to the size of a phone screen, flickering with stories that were not his own.
On the mantelpiece, framed photographs stood in a solemn row. His mother. Forever frozen in her prime, her gentle eyes capturing a warmth he had never known. She had died soon after he was born. To him, she was an image, a name spoken in hushed voices, a presence he had to convince himself once existed. He would sit before her photograph for hours, searching her face for familiarity, for some proof that a mother’s love had once touched his life.
And then there was his father—a man whose presence loomed over his childhood like a shadow cast by a dimming flame. Once a sharp-witted businessman, he had fallen into the abyss of alcohol, his mind fracturing under its weight. Arin remembered the distant scent of whiskey, the hollow laughter that never quite reached his father’s eyes, the slow unravelling that led to the asylum gates swallowing him whole.
Arin barely remembered his touch, his voice. Only the silence he left behind.
Outside, the world moved without him. The neighbours whispered, their voices slipping through the cracks in the walls.
“He just sits there all day, watching movies. Doesn’t even step out to work.”
“Rich people and their madness. Spoilt child he is!”
“Did you hear? His father died in an asylum. Maybe it runs in the blood.”
He had heard it all before. Pity laced with curiosity, fear disguised as concern. But he never responded. They didn’t understand. How could they?
Movies weren’t just an escape. They were his oxygen.
For those three hours, the weight of his existence lifted. He could be someone else, somewhere else. He could feel things he wasn’t sure he was capable of feeling anymore. He could fall in love, he could chase dreams, he could lose, he could win—things that reality had never granted him.
The house groaned with the wind as night stretched its arms over the city. Arin unlocked his phone, the glow illuminating his face in the dim room. Another film. Another escape.
Somewhere in the depths of his mind, a voice whispered—a voice that sounded disturbingly like his father’s.
“Reality is a cruel thing to run from, son. Sooner or later, it will catch you.”
But Arin simply pressed play.
Reality could wait.
