Chapter 6: 13:13
517 Words
That damn red watch just wouldn’t budge. Seriously, Ishaan tried it all—unclipping, yanking, wriggling it over his knuckles. He even got desperate enough to grab a knife. The second the blade touched the strap? The watch went full banshee, ticking so loud it felt like a threat. Or maybe it was just mocking him. Hard to tell with cursed accessories.
He glared at the dial, like it might blink first.
No numbers.
No hands.
Just this throbbing red line, twitchy as hell—always moving, never settling. Like it was searching for something.
And then—bam, phone rings.
Unknown Number.
He picks up, heart hammering.
Silence. Then a slow, shaky breath, followed by a whisper:
> “Stop looking for Narayan. Or you’ll meet the same end.”
Click.
Yeah, like that was gonna scare him off.
Ishaan doubled down.
Back at his tiny flat, he went full detective—pictures everywhere: Narayan, Ravi, the weird lady from the watch shop, Dastoor. Red ink spiral in the middle, not some neat timeline. A whirlpool. Ravi’s kind of crazy. He was starting to get it.
Time wasn’t marching forward anymore. It was sucking him in, bit by bit.
Next morning, Ishaan headed to Dastoor’s. He knocked. Nothing. Again. Still nothing.
But the window? Wide open.
He clambered inside.
Place was a mess—papers shredded, clocks gutted, tea still steaming. Like the universe hit pause mid-chaos.
On the wall, chalk scrawled:
“13:13”
And under it:
“He is not who you think he is.”
Who the hell was “he,” anyway?
Narayan? Ravi? Or… was it him?
Suddenly, the red watch beeped. Just once. Never done that before.
Then it started shaking, dial spinning like a roulette wheel. Soft red glow, coordinates flickering up.
He scribbled them down, plugged them into his phone.
It mapped to a real spot.
Durgan Halt. Some busted old train station way out on the city’s edge. Been shut since ‘71—the year Ravi vanished.
That night, Ishaan drove out of Kolkata, the red watch rattling like it was hyped for what was coming.
Durgan Halt looked dead—tracks swallowed by weeds, platform caving in, rusted signs barely hanging on.
Except… someone had been here. Candle burning in the ticket booth, fresh paint on the wall:
“The Hour Loop cannot be escaped.”
Comforting, right?
Then, a sound—whistle, low and haunting, rolling out of the mist. Gave him chills. Reminded him of old black-and-white movies, ghost trains and all that.
He shuffled onto the platform, squinting.
Out of the fog, a train shimmered into view. Not solid—more like a half-remembered dream, flickering blue.
And right there, in the last carriage, staring straight at him—
Narayan Nath.
Alive. Unchanged. Eyes locked on Ishaan like he’d been waiting all this time.
Train kept rolling. And then it was gone. Poof.
Ishaan didn’t move. Couldn’t. The red watch was losing its mind on his wrist, lights strobing.
The spiral was tightening.
And time? Time was about to eat itself alive.
- Writer
