Days Remaining: 16Bank Account: ₹600
The bass didn't just play; it punched.
Elian stood at the edge of the dance floor at The Void (ironically named club Lyra picked), clutching a plastic cup of something neon blue. The music was deafening. The lights were blinding stroboscopes of pink and green.
He felt like an astronaut on a hostile planet.
"I hate this," Elian shouted over the music.
"What?!" Lyra shouted back. She was floating directly above the crowd, surfing on the sound waves.
"I SAID I HATE THIS!" Elian screamed. "IT'S TOO LOUD! AND IT SMELLS LIKE SWEAT!"
"THAT'S THE POINT!" Lyra did a nose-dive, landing next to him. She was wearing a pair of stolen sunglasses she had swiped from a bouncer. "Stop standing there like a lamp! Move!"
"I don't know how to dance!"
"Nobody here knows how to dance!" Lyra pointed at a guy who was just jumping up and down like a pogo stick. "Look at him! He looks like an idiot! And he's having the time of his life!"
Elian took a sip of the blue drink. It tasted like battery acid and sugar. It burned all the way down. He felt a buzz.
He looked at the crowd. They were a writhing mass of humanity, sweaty and alive. For 18 years, Elian had watched crowds from the outside. He was the observer. The wallflower.
I have three days left, Elian thought. Three days until I'm actually a ghost.
"Screw it," Elian muttered.
He downed the rest of the drink in one gulp. He slammed the cup into a trash can. He walked into the middle of the floor.
"That's it!" Lyra cheered, floating behind him. "Make space! Coming through!"
She blew a gust of cold, spectral wind. The crowd parted slightly, shivering, giving Elian a pocket of space.
The DJ dropped the beat. Elian closed his eyes. He didn't try to look cool. He didn't try to look rhythmic. He just moved. He jerked his arms. He bounced his knees. He shook his head until his vision blurred.
It was terrible dancing. It was chaotic. It was freedom.
"YEAH!" Lyra screamed, spinning around him in circles. "GO ELIAN! GO ELIAN!"
Elian started laughing. He couldn't hear his own laugh over the music, but he could feel it vibrating in his chest. He grabbed the hands of strangers and spun them around. He jumped until his legs burned.
For four hours, he wasn't Elian the Quiet Kid. He wasn't Elian the Burden. He was just a body in motion. He was electricity.
3:00 AMOutside the Club
The silence of the street felt heavier than the music.
Elian and Lyra sat on the curb outside the club. Elian was drenched in sweat, his ears ringing, his voice gone. He was holding a half-eaten kebab he bought from a street cart.
"That..." Elian rasped, taking a bite, "was... insane."
"You were a maniac," Lyra grinned, looking pleased. She was trying to catch the steam rising from his kebab. "I think you dislocated your shoulder doing that one move."
"Worth it," Elian grinned. He leaned his head back against a lamppost, looking up at the night sky. The stars were faint, drowned out by the city lights.
He felt buzzing, exhausted, and happy. And then, the feeling hit him.
It started in his stomach, a cold, sinking stone. It wasn't nausea from the drink. It was Dread.
He looked at Lyra. She was humming the song they just danced to, looking vibrant and eternal. Then he looked at his hand. It was shaking.
Three days, his brain whispered.
The happiness evaporated instantly. It was replaced by a hollow ache so deep it made him gasp.
"Lyra," Elian said. His voice sounded small.
"Hmm?" She looked at him, still smiling. "Ready for round two?"
"I don't want to go," Elian whispered.
Lyra's smile faltered. She floated down until she was sitting on the curb next to him. "Go home? We can stay out longer."
"No," Elian shook his head. Tears pricked his eyes, hot and sudden. "I mean... I don't want to go."
He gestured to the sky, to the street, to the kebab in his hand.
"I don't want to die."
The silence stretched between them. A taxi drove by, its headlights sweeping over them.
"I finally figured it out," Elian said, his voice trembling. "I finally figured out how to do it. How to talk to my parents. How to dance. How to eat a damn kebab without feeling guilty."
He wiped his eyes furiously.
"I just started living," Elian choked out. "And now the timer is up. It's not fair."
Lyra looked at him. Her ancient eyes were sad. She didn't make a joke. She didn't float or spin. She just sat there, looking solid and heavy.
"It's never fair," Lyra said softly.
"Can't you stop it?" Elian begged, looking at her. "You're a Reaper. You have magic. Can't you just... delete my name? Give me another year? Another month?"
Lyra looked away. She looked at the pavement. "I can't," she whispered.
"Why?!"
"Because rules are rules," her voice cracked.
Elian put his head in his hands. The neon lights of the club reflected in the puddles on the street. It looked like a party he wasn't invited to anymore.
"I'm scared," Elian admitted. "I wasn't scared on the bridge. But I'm scared now."
Lyra reached out. She placed her hand on his head. It was cold, but it felt grounding.
"Let's go home, Elian," she said gently. "You need sleep."
Elian nodded. He stood up, his legs heavy. He threw the rest of the kebab in the trash. He walked home in the silence, the ringing in his ears fading into the quiet terror of the end.