The whisper didn't echo.
It didn't fade.
It stayed - right where her breath had stopped.
Anika froze, her hand still wrapped around the door knob, fingers numb, mind screaming louder than her silence. The darkness felt thick, like it had weight, like it was pressing against her eyes.
"No," she breathed. "No, no, no..."
Her phone was dead. Not low battery. Not dim. Dead - as if it had never existed. She shook it once, twice, as if motion could bring the light back into the world.
Nothing.
The whisper came again, closer this time.
"Don't think."
Her knees nearly gave out.
That voice wasn't loud. It wasn't cruel.
It sounded... familiar.
Too familiar.
"Who are you?" Anika whispered immediately hating herself for asking.
Silence answered.
But it wasn't empty silence.
It was the kind that listens.
She forced herself to move. One step backward. Then another. Her foot hit the edge of the bed, grounding her just enough to keep from falling.
This is stress, her mind tried to reason. You imagined it. You're alone. You always are.
Yet her heart didn't believe it.
Her heart knew fear.
And this fear felt...precise.
Anika reached out blindly, her fingers brushing the wall. The familiar roughness of paint steadied her breathing just a little.
"Lights come back," she whispered, like a prayer.
Nothing happened.
Instead, something shifted.
Not in the room.
Inside her.
A thought surfaced - clear,calm and completely uninvited.
You always panic first.
Anika clutched her head.
"Stop," she said aloud. "Just stop."
The voice didn't respond.
But the thought remained, lingering like a smirk she couldn't see.
She suddenly remembered all the times people had told her she overthinks.
Teachers. Friends. Even strangers who barely knew her.
They laughed when they said it.
She laughed too.
But none of them knew what it felt like when her thoughts didn't feel like hers.
The lights snapped back on.
Anika screamed.
She spun around, scanning the room wildly.
Everything was normal again. Too normal. Her bed. Her desk. Her half open notebook. The clock on the wall ticking softly, pretending nothing had happened.
Her phone buzzed in her hand.
She flinched and almost dropped it.
One new notification.
No sender.
Just text.
Why do you pretend you don't hear me?
Her throat closed.
This wasn't possible.
This couldn't be happening.
She typed back before she could stop herself.
Who are you?
Three dots appeared instantly.
Then vanished.
Then the reply came.
I'm the part of you that tells the truth.
Anika started at the screen until the words blurred.
"That's not funny," she whispered, though no one had laughed.
Her phone went dark again.
She didn't sleep that night.
Every time she closed her eyes, she felt like something inside her opened them wider.
Thoughts lined up neatly in her head, sharper than usual. Observations she normally drowned in noise now stood out clearly - too clearly.
The ticking clock.
The hum of electricity.
Her own breathing.
You notice everything, the voice murmured inside her mind, gentle now. That's why they misunderstand you.
Anika pressed her pillow over her ears.
"Leave me alone."
I can't, the voice replied calmly. I live here.
Morning came without relief.
Sunlight poured into her room, warm and golden, mocking the terror of the night before.
Anika sat on her bed, exhausted, unsure whether she should be grateful or suspicious.
Had it all been a nightmare?
She checked her phone.
No messages. No unknown texts. Battery full.
Her room looked untouched.
Except -
Her notebook lay open on the desk.
She didn't remember opening it.
Slowly, she stood and walked over, every step heavy with hesitation. Her handwriting stared back at her from the page.
Neat. Careful.
Not rushed.
You asked who I am.
Her breath hitched.
I'm the voice you silenced when you learned people prefer quiet girls.
Anika slammed the notebook shut.
Her hands were shaking now. Not violently - steadily. As if her body had accepted fear as a new normal.
"This isn't real," she whispered.
Isn't it?the voice asked softly.
She backed away from the desk, her mind racing. If this was over thinking, then it was different from anything she had known before. This wasn't anxiety spiraling out of control.
This was focus.
Direction.
Purpose.
And that terrified her more than chaos ever had.
At college, Anika felt detached from everyone else, like she was observing life from behind glass. Conversations sounded scripted. Smiles felt rehearsed.
She caught herself predicting what people would say before they said it.
And being right.
See? the voice whispered. You were never weak. You were just listening too hard.
Anika squeezed her eyes shut.
"What do you want from me?" she asked silently.
The answer came immediately.
To stop doubting yourself.
She opened her eyes slowly.
That wasn't threatening.
That wasn't cruel.
If anything... it sounded protective.
And that was the most frightening part of all.
Because for the first time in her life, Anika wondered :
What if her mind wasn't lying?
And what if ignoring it had been the real mistake?