Saturday Night — Deepak's Room
"You're telling me… every Sunday, you swap bodies? No—rooms? Realities?"
Deepak blinked rapidly. "You wake up in some other Earth, and some girl wakes up in yours?"
Saharsh sat on the edge of Deepak's bed, hoodie half-zipped and nerves barely contained. "Not bodies. We stay ourselves. But yeah — we literally swap places every Sunday morning. Me into her world, her into mine."
Deepak's jaw moved without sound. "That's… insane."
"It started like a dream," Saharsh continued, voice lower now. "Then we found each other's notes. Started communicating. We thought the swap only worked if we were in our own rooms, asleep."
"And tonight?" Deepak asked.
"We're breaking that rule," Saharsh said. "I'm here with you. She's at her friend's place. If we still swap — it means it's not about the rooms. It's about us."
Deepak was silent for a beat, then muttered, "Dude. You better not disappear from my bed in the middle of the night. That's some horror film sh—"
Saharsh cut him off. "If I do, just... don't panic. She might wake up here. She's cool."
Deepak squinted. "So I might wake up with your parallel girlfriend in my house?"
Saharsh rolled his eyes. "She's not my girlfriend."
Deepak smirked. "Sure. That's why you've been scribbling like a K-drama poet for weeks."
Saharsh tossed a pillow at him.
They both laughed — but under it all, tension lingered. Neither of them truly knew what would happen when midnight passed.
Saturday Night — Anaya's Room
Rakshita clutched a warm mug of hot chocolate as Anaya sat opposite her, face masked with a cucumber peel on one side and disbelief on the other.
"So let me get this right," Anaya said, slowly. "You've been swapping into another Earth. Not metaphorically. Literally."
"Yes," Rakshita said, hugging the mug tighter. "And every time, I wake up in a guy's room. His name's Saharsh. We've been leaving each other notes. We cook, explore, joke… and last week, we saw each other in the mist — like, physically. Almost."
Anaya stared.
Rakshita waited.
"I slapped him once," Anaya said finally.
Rakshita blinked. "Yes. You did."
Anaya nodded, processing. "This is the most sci-fi, slow-burn romance I've ever heard of. I hate how invested I am."
Rakshita cracked a small smile. "Tonight, we're testing something. I'm here. He's not at his place either. If the swap still happens—"
"It means you're soul-linked across realities?" Anaya said, wide-eyed.
"Or cursed," Rakshita said.
"Or both."
They fell into silence. The soft hum of the city outside buzzed like a nervous heartbeat.
Anaya leaned forward. "If I wake up to some boy in my room tomorrow, I will freak. But I'll also feed him."
Rakshita rolled her eyes. "No feeding. He's already cocky enough."
Anaya grinned. "Too late. I'm calling him Chef Universe."
Rakshita groaned. "Why do I tell you things?"
"Because no one else would believe you."
They both laughed — and it helped.
Because under all the jokes, the fear was real. The next few hours could change everything.
And they knew it.
Early Sunday Morning — 5:57 AM
The city was still dark. The world hadn't woken up yet.
But two rooms — in two very different realities — had.
Anaya's Room
At first, it was a dull ache in Rakshita's chest. A weight, like someone was pressing down on her sternum. She clutched her blanket tighter, trying to adjust, thinking maybe she'd slept wrong.
But then the pain deepened.
Her fingers trembled.
Her breath caught.
And then —
She screamed.
Loud, raw, guttural.
Like her ribs were being cracked open from the inside.
Anaya jolted awake and nearly fell off her bed.
"RAKSHITA?!"
She ran to her best friend's side — Rakshita was curled up, eyes wide and wet, one hand clutching her heart, the other scratching at the air like she was drowning.
"I can't — It hurts — I — " she gasped between screams.
Her body shivered violently.
Anaya didn't know what to do. She grabbed her phone with one hand and Rakshita's freezing fingers with the other.
"What is happening?! What's happening to you?!"
"I'm… not… in the room," Rakshita choked out.
"What room?!"
"My room. Our swap… it's… it's breaking."
Rakshita screamed again, louder this time — the kind of scream that tore from her throat like it didn't belong to her.
Anaya was by her side in an instant, holding her shoulders, eyes wild with panic.
"What's happening? What is this?!" she cried.
"I don't know!" Rakshita sobbed, clawing at her chest. "It hurts — it's inside — it's pulling me — "
Anaya grabbed her phone. "I'm calling someone. I swear — "
"No!" Rakshita gasped. "It's not… it's not medical. It's not a panic attack, not my heart. It's… him."
Anaya blinked. "Him?! Who?"
"Saharsh," she whimpered. "He's… he's not in his room. I'm not in mine. We're breaking the rule."
She curled tighter into herself. "We broke the swap. And this pain… it's like the universe is trying to punish us."
Tears streamed down her cheeks, not just from pain — but from fear. Not for herself.
For him.
"Is he okay?" she whispered between gasps. "Oh god… is he feeling this too?"
Her nails dug into her palm.
Anaya couldn't understand it, but she could feel it.
This wasn't a normal kind of suffering.
This was soul-deep.
And Rakshita, even in agony, was only crying for one person.
Deepak's Room
It began as a tight pull in Saharsh's chest. Like gravity, but wrong — not downward, inward. A slow pressure winding around his ribcage, then threading itself through every nerve like barbed wire.
He sat up. Slowly. Silently.
Sweat beaded on his forehead instantly. His jaw clenched. Eyes narrowed.
He didn't scream. He wouldn't.
His hands gripped the bedsheet, knuckles white. Muscles tense, as if bracing for a wave — and it came. A sharp surge of pain tore through his core like something inside was trying to yank him from reality. Like a string pulled too tight from two directions.
But he didn't scream.
He closed his eyes. Breathed hard. Fast.
Sweat poured down his neck.
His hoodie stuck to him like a second skin.
Each breath was heavier, louder.
That was what woke Deepak.
He stirred, groggy, and rubbed his eyes. "Bro… what's that sound?"
No reply.
He sat up and looked across the room — and froze.
Saharsh was hunched forward on the bed, back arched, fists clenched on his knees. His entire body trembled with restraint. His skin was slick with sweat, and his face was ghost-pale — but he didn't make a sound.
"Saharsh?!"
No answer. Just deep, ragged breathing.
Deepak leapt from the beanbag. "What the hell's going on?! You okay?"
Saharsh raised a hand — barely — as if to say don't panic.
But his voice, when it came, was rough.
"Something's… wrong."
"With what? Your chest? Bro, is this a heart attack? I swear — "
"It's not that," Saharsh ground out, forcing the words through clenched teeth. "It's the swap. It's trying to happen… but I'm not where I'm supposed to be."
Deepak blinked. "What do you mean — ?"
"I broke the rule," Saharsh whispered. "We both did."
He sucked in a breath, sharp and dry. "It's not just us… it's the room, too. Our rooms. The swap needs both."
The pressure clawed deeper into his chest like invisible fingers.
Deepak hovered nearby, helpless. "What do I do?! You want water? I'll call someone!"
"No!" Saharsh hissed. "Just… wait. It'll pass."
Saharsh sat perfectly still.
His hands trembled in his lap. His back was tense like coiled iron. The pain that had surged in his chest hadn't eased — it only changed form, pressing deeper, closer, sharper. Not physical. Not medical.
But primal.
Wrong.
Like the universe itself was trying to correct his position.
He gritted his teeth, sweat rolling down his temples, soaking through his shirt. Every inhale scraped like sandpaper against his lungs.
And still, he didn't scream.
Across the room, Deepak stood frozen. "Saharsh… what the hell is this?"
"I told you…" Saharsh whispered, his voice barely audible. "It's the swap."
Deepak crouched beside him, panicked. "This doesn't look like a 'swap'. You're shaking, you can't breathe. How do you know it's not something else? A heart attack?"
Saharsh didn't answer at first. He stared at the floor like it was trying to tear him away.
Then, quietly —
"I just know."
He clenched his jaw harder. "This pain… it's not just mine. It's hers too."
Deepak blinked. "Hers…?"
"Rakshita," Saharsh said, eyes full of something far more intense than fear. "If I'm feeling this… she is too."
That thought — more than the pain — nearly broke him.
His hands curled into fists. He cursed himself for suggesting this experiment now.
Deepak stared at his friend, stunned. "You're literally falling apart and you're thinking about her?"
Saharsh just smiled.
6:00 AM — Across Two Worlds
And then — silence.
The pain evaporated like smoke.
Both Saharsh and Rakshita collapsed, soaked in sweat, hearts hammering but intact.
Their bodies stopped shaking.
The force trying to tear them apart… let go.
Deepak's Room — Moments Later
Saharsh slumped against the wall, eyes half-closed, breath finally beginning to steady.
Deepak handed him a towel, still staring like he'd seen a ghost.
"You scared the hell out of me, man."
Saharsh didn't speak for a long while.
Then, finally:
"We are connected… not just to each other, but to the place where this began. The rooms. Our spaces."
He wiped his face, expression more tired than broken.
"It's like… the phenomenon only works when both of us honor the origin. The moment we leave that thread behind — it punishes us for trying."
Deepak sat beside him. "This isn't just some sci-fi glitch, is it?"
Saharsh shook his head.
"No."
"It's something we don't understand."
Anaya's Room — Moments Later
Rakshita lay on the floor, Anaya fanning her with a folder and muttering every prayer she remembered from school.
Eventually, Rakshita opened her eyes. Her voice came out cracked, barely a whisper.
"I saw nothing… but I felt him."
Anaya leaned in. "What?"
"The pain. The fear. It wasn't mine alone."
She turned her head weakly.
"I know he felt it too."