Aryan didn't move.
His hand hovered inches away from the door handle, frozen in place.
His breathing grew shallow.
"Open the door, Aryan…"
The voice came again.
Soft. Calm. Patient.
And identical to his own.
A cold wave of fear spread through his body.
"This… this isn't real," he whispered to himself.
But it was.
The voice didn't sound like a recording. It didn't sound like someone mimicking him.
It sounded alive.
Like him.
Aryan forced himself to speak.
"Who are you?" he asked, his voice trembling despite his effort to stay calm.
A pause.
Then—
"You already know."
Aryan's heart pounded harder.
"No, I don't," he snapped. "If this is some kind of prank—"
"It's not a prank."
The tone changed.
Sharper. Urgent.
"Listen to me carefully. You don't have much time."
Aryan stepped back from the door.
That sentence.
It was the same thing the caller had said.
Same words.
Same tone.
A terrible realization began forming in his mind.
"Were you… the one who called me?" Aryan asked slowly.
Silence.
Then—
"Yes."
Aryan's throat tightened.
"How is that possible?" he said. "You're outside. Then who—"
"I told you," the voice interrupted. "There isn't time to explain everything."
The knocking stopped.
Now there was only that voice… standing just inches away on the other side of the door.
"I made a mistake," it continued. "And now I'm trying to stop you from making the same one."
Aryan's eyes narrowed.
"What mistake?"
A long pause followed.
So long that Aryan thought the person had left.
Then, in a low whisper—
"Opening the door."
Aryan's breath hitched.
The hallway felt colder.
Darker.
Almost as if the walls themselves were listening.
"No," Aryan said, shaking his head. "This doesn't make any sense. If you're me… then prove it."
Another pause.
Then the voice spoke again—calm, precise.
"You keep your wallet under the second drawer, not the first… because you don't trust easy access."
Aryan's eyes widened.
"You have a scar on your left shoulder from when you fell off your bike at age twelve."
His chest tightened.
"And every night… before sleeping… you check your phone twice, even if there are no notifications."
Aryan stumbled back.
No one knew that.
No one.
"Stop…" he whispered.
The voice softened.
"I'm not here to hurt you."
"Then why are you here?" Aryan demanded.
"To save you."
A deep silence followed.
Aryan stared at the door.
His mind raced.
If this was a prank, it was too perfect.
Too personal.
Too real.
"From what?" he finally asked.
The answer came immediately.
"From what's coming next."
A sudden chill ran down his spine.
"What's coming?" Aryan asked.
But the voice didn't reply.
Instead—
Knock.
A single, slow knock.
But this time—
It didn't come from outside.
It came from inside the apartment.
Aryan froze.
His eyes slowly shifted toward the hallway behind him.
Dark.
Empty.
Silent.
Then—
Knock. Knock.
From inside.
Closer now.
Aryan's breathing stopped.
"What… is that?" he whispered.
The voice outside the door spoke again.
But now—
It sounded terrified.
"That's why I told you not to open the door."
Aryan's heart slammed against his chest.
"If I'm outside…" the voice continued, shaking—
"Then tell me, Aryan…"
A long pause.
And then the words that shattered everything:
"…who is inside with you?"