Dj Kynuh (2025)

26/07/2025

Episode 27 – Page 27: A Flicker of Light

The city outside buzzed with indifferent lights, but inside, time slowed.

Cayden traced the rim of his coffee cup, words catching in his throat.

“Do you remember when you helped me print that CV?” he asked, voice raw.

Tito chuckled softly. “I do. You were nervous, excited. Full of dreams.”

A silence stretched between them—heavy, yet warm.

Cayden felt the first flicker of something long buried: hope.

Maybe, just maybe, this was the start—not of climbing back, but of walking forward.

26/07/2025

Episode 26 – Page 26: The Meeting

The café smelled of strong coffee and nostalgia. Wooden tables scarred with years of stories.

Cayden spotted Tito immediately—older now, lines around his eyes telling tales of struggle and survival. Tito’s smile was cautious but warm.

“Cayden,” he said, voice steady. “I’ve missed you.”

No judgment. No anger. Just an open door.

Cayden’s throat tightened. The weight of pride, shame, and hope collided.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For everything.”

Tito nodded. “We all fall. But it’s how we rise that defines us.”

They sat, two old friends reunited—not just by past, but by the fragile promise of healing.

24/07/2025

Episode 25 – Page 25: The First Step Back

Morning light seeped through the cracked blinds, casting long shadows across Cayden’s cluttered apartment. His phone vibrated—a message from an unknown number.

He hesitated, then opened it.

“Hey, it’s Tito. I heard about everything. Meet me at the old café?”

His heart pounded. The walls he’d built felt like they might crumble.

Memories rushed—late-night talks, shared dreams, promises made under dim streetlights.

Could he face Tito? Could he admit how far he’d fallen?

He stood, dressed quickly, palms sweaty but determined.

Kindness, he realized, wasn’t just about giving—it was about showing up.

Cayden stepped into the morning, the first step of many toward the people he’d left behind.

24/07/2025

Episode 24 – Page 24: The Weight of Silent Voices

That night, Cayden lay awake, the ceiling above a vast black canvas peppered with distant stars. His chest felt tight, heavy like the night air before a storm.

Voices whispered in the dark—soft, fragmented echoes of the past.

Mama Ruth’s gentle scolding. Tito’s rough laughter. The cries of the boy he once was, begging for a second chance.

He reached for his phone, fingers hovering over a name he hadn’t dialed in years.

“Why now?” he wondered.

Because the ghosts weren’t gone. They lived inside him, filling every hollow space he’d tried to ignore.

He closed his eyes and saw them all — faces he’d passed by, forgotten, or pushed away.

He realized kindness wasn’t a favor you gave. It was a thread that bound lives — fragile but unbreakable.

Tomorrow, he thought, would be the day he started weaving those threads back.

But tonight... tonight was for listening.

For hearing the silence and the stories it held.

And for feeling the weight of every step he’d ever taken—up and down.

The journey was far from over.

But maybe, just maybe, redemption whispered in the quiet moments between regrets.

22/07/2025

Episode 23 – Page 23: Salt in the Soup

The door clicked shut behind Cayden, and silence filled the narrow hallway like mist. The faint scent of lentils simmering on the stove drifted through the air—humble, warm, and almost holy in its familiarity.

He followed Mama Ruth into the kitchen. The walls were aged with time: photos fading in cheap frames, a crucifix leaning slightly above the sink, and shelves cluttered with chipped mugs that probably remembered every visitor better than he did.

She stirred the pot slowly, rhythmically. Not once glancing back at him.

Cayden sat, knees close, back hunched. Not the posture of the man who once stood beside CEOs and swirled whiskey in glass towers. He looked like a boy again—small, unsure.

“I used to think you were gone,” she said softly. “Not just from this street… but from yourself.”

The soup hissed.

“I told Tito you’d come back one day. He said I had too much hope in ghosts.”

Cayden blinked. Tito’s name sliced through the quiet like a sharp wind. “How… is he?”

“He’s alive,” she said, placing a bowl in front of him. “But not the same.”

A pause.

“Some wounds don’t heal. They just grow around the scar.”

He nodded, swallowing shame instead of soup. “I should’ve called him.”

“You didn’t need a phone, Cayden,” she said gently. “You needed a memory.”

He picked up the spoon, his hand trembling slightly. The first sip made his eyes sting—not because it was hot, but because it tasted exactly like it had ten years ago. Exactly.

She sat across from him, her elbows on the table, fingers laced.

“Do you remember when you came to me barefoot in the rain?” she asked.

“Yes,” he whispered.

“You said, ‘I’ll never forget this.’”

Her words landed harder than any slap could have.

Cayden looked up. “I didn’t mean to forget.”

“No one ever does,” she said, eyes still kind. “But it’s not forgetting that breaks people. It’s choosing not to remember when it matters most.”

He set the spoon down. The room was quiet again.

This time, it wasn’t empty silence—it was full of everything unsaid.

She stood and began clearing the dishes.

“I’m not asking you to fix everything,” she said. “Just don’t pretend you never broke it.”

Cayden watched her move, graceful in grief and forgiveness.

And for the first time in years, he didn’t feel powerful.

He felt human.

21/07/2025

Episode 22 – Page 22: The One Who Waited

The sun had long slipped beneath the horizon by the time Cayden stepped out of the bakery. The air was cool now, tinged with the scent of rain that hadn’t yet fallen. He carried nothing but the memory of that bite, the taste of grace—and a name repeating in his mind like an old hymn: Mama Ruth.

He walked. Slowly. As if each step peeled away layers of arrogance he’d once worn like a crown. The streets had changed—billboards brighter, buildings taller—but in their shadows, he noticed something he hadn’t seen in years: the faces.

Unimportant faces, he used to think. The street cleaner. The vendor by the alley. The boy who used to shine his shoes when the cameras weren’t watching.

They looked different now. Not because they had changed—but because he had forgotten how to see.

He turned into a quieter street. Familiar, though time had scraped its edges. Houses hunched in silence. The pavement cracked like memories trying to break free.

Then he saw her porch.

Faded blue paint. A broken swing still creaking in the wind. The flower pots—plastic, dented—still arranged in a crooked row like they had been all those years ago.

He froze.

The curtains shifted.

And then she opened the door.

Mama Ruth.

Older, yes. Wrinkles deeper. Hair wrapped in a worn scarf. But her eyes—those gentle, stern eyes—still held the same weight that once silenced his hunger.

She looked at him for a long moment.

Not with surprise.

Not with anger.

But with something far worse.

Disappointment wrapped in quiet grace.

“I wondered how high you had to climb,” she said, voice even, “to forget the hand that steadied your first step.”

Cayden tried to speak. But shame pressed hard against his throat.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

She didn’t nod. Didn’t cry. Just opened the door a little wider.

“Come in, child,” she said. “You look like someone who forgot what being fed feels like.”

And with that, he stepped over a threshold he’d left behind—not just into a house, but into reckoning.

20/07/2025

Episode 21 – Page 21: Leftovers of Grace

The air was heavy with flour and forgotten warmth. Cayden leaned against the pantry door, chest rising in shallow gasps, the echo of shattered glass still humming in his bones. His hands trembled—not from fear, but from something deeper. Guilt. Recognition. That bitter ache of remembering too late.

He looked down at his palms. Soft now. Manicured. No longer the cracked, calloused hands that once begged to scrub dishes for a plate of food.

The bakery wasn’t his. He didn’t even know whose it was. He’d wandered in earlier that morning, desperate for stillness. The bell above the entrance hadn’t chimed. No one had greeted him. It was as if the place had opened just for him—an unspoken invitation from the universe to sit with what he’d become.

And here he was, seated on a dusty flour sack in a stranger’s pantry, haunted not by ghosts—but by himself.

His eyes landed on the old wooden table across the room. A tray sat there. Six bread rolls, still warm. The smell was heavenly, like something sacred. He stood slowly, legs unsteady, and walked toward them.

He picked one up.

It was misshapen, slightly burnt on one side, but the kind of imperfect that came from love, not carelessness. He took a bite—and something in him broke.

Because it tasted like home.

Like Mama Ruth’s kitchen, where the gas stove hissed louder than her voice and the bread rose like her prayers—uneven, stubborn, alive.

Cayden sank into the nearest chair, tears rolling freely now. He didn’t wipe them. He let them fall, each one carving lines through the pride he’d worn like armor for years.

He whispered her name.

Not into the air—but into the bread. Into the act of remembering.

Because grief doesn’t always arrive with coffins. Sometimes it visits quietly, in the leftover grace of what could have been.

19/07/2025

Episode 20: The Drowning Silence

Cayden sat motionless on the cold floor of that mirror-lined hallway, his pulse echoing in his ears like distant thunder. The reflections around him shimmered—blinking between memory and nightmare. Every mirror was a doorway he had once walked through… and slammed shut behind him.

The boy in the mirror—the version of him that once knew hunger, fear, and fragile gratitude—watched silently now. He didn’t smile anymore. He simply waited, as though daring Cayden to keep running. But where?

A sudden gust of cold air swept through the corridor, flickering the lights above. They buzzed like angry insects, casting twitching shadows across the walls. And then—silence.

No more echoes. No more whispers. Just a vast, drowning silence.

Until—

Tap.
Tap.
Tap.

Cayden’s head je**ed up.

From the far end of the corridor, a figure stepped forward—slow, dragging steps. Not a mirror this time. Flesh. Fabric. Familiar.

It was Mama Ruth.

Her old shawl wrapped tight around her thin shoulders, porridge stains still clinging to the hem like dust of memory. She looked tired, not angry. Tired in a way only heartbreak knows.

Cayden tried to speak, but the words dissolved in his throat.
Mama Ruth knelt beside him, her form ethereal, like she was stitched together from sorrow and light. She reached out, touched his cheek, and whispered:
“When you forget the roots… you starve the tree.”

And then she was gone.

The lights snapped back to full glow. The mirrors cracked—one by one—shattering the corridor into a rain of glass. Cayden shielded his face, gasping.

When he opened his eyes, he was back.

Back in the bakery pantry. Back with the unopened box and the guilt that weighed more than any loaf he’d ever baked.

But something had shifted.

The storm had not passed—but the sky had opened.

18/07/2025

Episode 19 – Page 19: Reflections Don’t Lie

Cayden staggered back from the mirror, but his reflection didn’t flinch.

It stared—eyes hollow, drenched in silent blame.

The boy in the mirror wasn’t just younger—it was him, barefoot and bruised, wearing that threadbare T-shirt with the faded comic hero. He remembered that shirt. He wore it the day he was chased out of the neighborhood store for trying to buy bread with a counterfeit coin. The day his stomach ached louder than his pride.

But now that boy was smiling—a crooked, cold smile that curled like smoke.

Then it spoke.

"You climbed so high… and forgot me down here."

Cayden shook his head, breath shallow. “You’re not real.”

The mirror pulsed—like a heartbeat—and the pantry walls seemed to throb with it. Cracks spread from the edges of the mirror, spidering outward like something beneath the glass was trying to claw its way through.

"You forgot the nights we begged. The hands that fed you. The beds you borrowed. The prayers whispered in places you now mock," the boy said, voice layered with every version of Cayden he had buried along the way.

Cayden turned to flee again, but the pantry no longer opened to the bakery.

The flour-dusted hallway now stretched endlessly, lined with mirrors on both sides—each one capturing a different chapter of his life.

In one, his friend Tito handed him his first two hundred shillings to print a CV.

In another, Mama Ruth, the widow from across the street, offered him porridge when he hadn’t eaten in two days.

And in yet another… it was him. Pushing Tito away in front of a club, dressed in silk and ego. Laughing.

Cayden sank to the floor.

The hallway began to shrink, mirrors inching inward like closing jaws. His reflection repeated one word—over and over.

“Remember.”

17/07/2025

Episode 18 – Page 18: The Echo Beneath

Cayden stumbled backward, the spectral grip loosening just enough for him to fall into a shelf of flour sacks. A cloud of white dust burst into the air like smoke from a smoldering ruin. He coughed violently, trying to steady his breath, but the chill lingered—inside him, around him—as if something had been left behind.

He blinked hard. The bakery, once warm with gentle bustle, now sat in eerie silence. No flicker of light. No sound from the street. The loaves on the counter had turned to stone. The ticking of the old wall clock had stopped. And in the flour dust that now coated the wooden floor, there were footprints—childlike, bare, and wet, as if someone had walked through a river of tears before entering.

Cayden followed them slowly, his hands trembling. The prints led behind the counter, past the ovens, and into the back pantry. The door creaked open by itself. Inside, only darkness, and something else—something breathing.

“Who’s there?” His voice cracked, barely louder than a whisper.

Silence.

Then… a lullaby. Faint, broken. Sung by a voice that sounded like it came from a well too deep to ever escape.

He recognized the tune—it was the lullaby his mother used to hum when they had nothing but hope and hunger. But she had died long before he ever saw a dollar. She never saw his fall.

The voice shifted. Now it mimicked his own—pleading, arrogant, laughing, crying. All of it at once.

He turned to run—but the doorway behind him had vanished.

All that remained was a mirror. Old. Cracked. And in its reflection, Cayden saw himself… but not the man he was now. No suit. No pride. Just a boy. A scared boy. Standing in a pantry of ghosts.

16/07/2025

Episode 17 – Page 17: The Haunting Grip

The darkness pressed in on Cayden like a suffocating shroud. His heart thundered in his chest, each beat echoing like a death knell. The cold hand remained locked on his shoulder, its icy fingers seeping into his skin, crawling deep into his bones. It was no ordinary touch—it was the weight of every forgotten face, every betrayal he had buried beneath his pride.

His breath came in ragged gasps, visible in the cold air, mixing with the silent shadows that seemed to swirl and twist around him, alive with whispered curses and broken promises. The flickering candlelight returned, weak and trembling, casting grotesque shadows that danced like wraiths across the cracked walls.

Suddenly, the shadow stretched out—a dark tendril weaving through the air toward the small bakery window, snuffing out the last glimmers of light from outside. The world outside vanished, swallowed whole by the creeping blackness.

Cayden’s legs refused to move. His eyes strained to pierce the gloom, but only the hollow void stared back. The whisper returned, now a chorus—dozens of voices layered with rage, sorrow, and regret. They spoke of names he had forgotten, of hands he had pushed away, of debts unpaid and kindnesses betrayed.

“Remember us,” they hissed. “You climbed over us, and now we rise beneath you.”

The shadowy hand tightened, and the cold deepened—no longer just on his skin, but curling inside his chest, squeezing his heart with relentless grip. His breath slowed, fear rooting him to the spot as the darkness promised that the fall was near, and this time, no one would be there to catch him.

15/07/2025

*Episode 16 – Page 16: The Shadow’s Breath*

Cayden’s breath hitched. The cold air felt like icy fingers crawling over his skin. The scrap of paper slipped from his grasp as an unnatural silence swallowed the bakery whole.

Suddenly, the candle flickered violently, then went out. Darkness engulfed him.

In the blackness, something moved—closer, slower—silent but deadly.

He could feel it before he heard it: a cold, ragged breath right behind his neck. His skin prickled, every hair standing on end.

Frozen, he dared not turn.

Then, a whisper, razor-sharp and venomous, sliced through the dark:
“You forgot... who lifts you... and who breaks you.”

A cold hand gripped his shoulder. Not flesh, but shadow—cold as death, heavier than despair.

Cayden’s scream was swallowed by the night.

Dj Kynuh

26/07/2025

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