Sleep finally took him.
But it wasn't rest.
It was a return.
Tanvir stood in an endless void—Black, yet filled with movement.
Like something beneath reality was breathing.
"You came back," a voice echoed.
Not Tanzila's.
Not human.
"What is this place?" Tanvir asked.
"Where you were born."
"I was born in a hospital."
The void trembled.
And then—
It laughed.
"No," the voice whispered, "you were placed there."
Memories flooded in—
Not childhood.
Not life.
But something before.
He saw the world as threads.
Fragile.
Breakable.
Rewritable.
And his hands—
They weren't hands.
They were… commands.
"I don't want this," Tanvir whispered.
"You already chose it."
A figure formed in the void.
Tall.
Distorted.
Familiar.
It stepped closer.
And Tanvir realized—
It had his face.
But colder.
Older.
Dead inside.
"Who are you?" Tanvir asked.
The figure smiled.
"I'm what you become when you stop pretending."
Tanvir stepped back.
"No… I'm not you."
The figure tilted its head.
"Then why do you miss this?"
Silence.
Because deep down—
He did.
Power.
Control.
Freedom from consequence.
The figure leaned closer.
"Say it."
Tanvir clenched his fists.
"Say it," the voice demanded.
And against his will—
"I want it."
The void shattered.
He woke up—
Gasping.
Sweating.
And smiling.