The alarm rang at 6:03 AM on a calm Monday Morning. Aarav opened his eyes, but didn’t move. For a full minute, he lay still, staring at the dim ceiling above, feeling an odd pressure in his chest — not fear, not sadness, perhaps… a weight. Like something important had just happened, Or was about to~ His fingers twitched, before his thoughts did.
Then came a flash- a half-second image, vivid and absurd- A shattered white mug. Brown liquid dripping off a desk. The sound of a sigh. Someone saying, “You always do this when it matters.”
Aarav blinked, startled. The image disappeared as suddenly as it appeared. He sat up slowly, his palms pressed to his temples. ‘Was it a dream, even if it didn’t feel like one?’ ~Dreams blur and stretch, but this had edges. Sharp edges, too real, too placed- as if like a memory, even if it had no context.
The loud clock in the unnaturally quiet room- felt like they were trying to tell something he couldn’t understand.
In the kitchen after freshening up, as he poured water in the kettle, the images came again- fainter, but with sound: “You always do this when it matters.” -a stern, disappointed male voice, which he didn’t recognize.
The day goes on, and Aarav grabs himself with a book in the university library until- The world cracks. ‘Advanced Cognitive Phenomena’, is what the title of the book read. The corner of his sleeve caught the edge of a cup- someone had left it stupidly close to the shelf. The white ceramic mug tipped over, shattering on the floor, and the brown tea splattered across the tiles and the desk leg. He froze. Exactly like the memory, matching every detail. A chill ran through him. A second later, a student muttered in irritation- “You always do this when it matters.”
Aarav turned his head back slowly, blood pulsing in his ears. The guy wasn’t looking at him- he was talking on the phone, annoyed with someone else. Not only the words matched, but the tone, the voice.
He left the library in silence, with a mind lost in thoughts, the echo of the falling porcelain, the guy speaking- What appeared to be confusing dream, ended up being the biggest question mark in his mind.
Next day, he woke up again- 6:03 PM, his clock showed. But his mind, showed something else- An image, this time- A page of numbers. A crowd running. A wristwatch showing 3:27 PM.
Dream? Or reality? Whatever it was, had started already.
Aarav, sitting on the edge of his bed, unmoved. 6:04 AM, the digital clock told. ~3:27 PM. A page of numbers. A running crowd. That’s all he remembered. But what came first- The crowd, or the time? His restless mind asked questions faster than his thoughts could chase.
He spent the next few hours in silence, as if life itself might realign to match whatever he had seen. Later that afternoon, at his campus. Aarav, slouching in the back row of his classroom, staring lifelessly at his professor’s lectures with his dull eyes. Mehul, his friend nudged him halfway through the lecture. “You good?” Aarav nodded. Barely. The professor’s voice felt distant, muffled, like it traveled through layers of water. ~Until it was too important to be paid attention to.
“And if we think of time as not a line, but rather as a loop- ” The professor said, pausing- “Are we remembering the past, or is the past remembering us?” Aarav looked up, with his shallow breath. These weren’t just words. They were anchors to something deeper— Some oddly familiar fragments of some other place, some other moment he couldn’t reach.
His busy mind, however, was shaken soon. The professor looked directly at him. “For some, perhaps, it’s the future… remembering them from the present.” The professor with his deep stare, remarked. Aarav froze. It wasn’t the line that chilled him. It was the way it was delivered. As if the professor wasn’t guessing, he knew.
The class was over, and he headed over to the metro station, for his way back to home. He stood on the platform, feeling the grey-blue sky and the pleasant wind around him. The platform buzzed with commuters. The giant clock showed 3:27 PM. He turned instinctively, as if he already knew he had to- a girl was shouting frantically. An elderly woman stumbled, collapsed. The crowd began to surge. The comfortable breeze- didn’t seem so comfortable anymore. The environment suddenly appeared to be tensed- as if something was approaching. Something which perhaps demands his attention. ‘Is this, the moment?’
~”Know your future, know your destiny!” A hawker barked beside him, shoving astrological books in his face. Every part of his surroundings wants to tell him something- It all felt orchestrated. A message. Waiting to be understood.
“Get up brother. Class’s over. We have to leave.” Aarav blinked. “You have been sleeping the whole time-” “-Since when?”- Aarav interrupts. “After you asked sir to allow you to take some rest. You said you were feeling unwell.” But he didn’t remember that. He asks Mehul about what he had missed, trying to ignore the fact that he doesn’t remember a single thing after entering his campus anymore.
“He covered The Mughal Dynasties. Internal assessment, brother.” “….But he was teaching Memory loops from Psychology?” Mehul gave him a look- “Aarav, you definitely need more sleep.”- He doesn’t remember what he’s lived- but remembers what he hasn’t. Time, it seems, no longer moves forward for him- it waits.
And now, as he closes his eyes again, he isn’t wondering what tomorrow brings- He’s afraid it might already remember him. ……… ~Somewhere, in a city he hasn’t visited yet, a CCTV camera records him walking in— twice……
4:52 PM. Then again, 4.52 PM. Two CCTV footages of the same timestamp. Aarav- wearing the same clothes, taking the same turn. Only difference- in the second one, he was looking straight at the camera, almost- knowingly?
Aarav returns home, followed by a hectic morning at the college. Sipping from a cup of coffee in his Verandah, looking at the quiet evening- ~As if he does not have the ears to listen to something that the mysteriously quiet evening is trying to tell him.
The faint chirpings of the birds, the floating sound of the ceiling fan from inside his room- He’s dreaming again. Or was he?
He left his chair, went to wash his face. Looked at himself in the mirror. His reflection blinked a second too late- As if, the Aarav behind the mirror was anyone but him.
He stared. No glitch. But the seed of doubt was enough.
After dinner, he started scrolling on his phone. Until a news clip catches his attention. A footage was being explained- “The campus metro station disrupted today due to a sudden medical emergency and a stampede-like crowd surge at 3:27 PM…”
He paused the video- It was him, standing stiff in the background, with his eyes wide. But he doesn’t remember being there today. Or was that yesterday?
He checks his phone gallery. There’s a photo. Timestamp: 3.28 PM. His shoes, the blurry tiles. A blurry shape in the background- someone falling? ~Everything else other than Aarav, seemingly remembered what he didn’t.
The doorbell rings. Aarav opens it to Mehul. ‘Bro, see this-‘ Pulling a folded printed paper out, he says- ‘I found this in my bag.’ A CCTV snapshot- two identical Aaravs in one frame.
‘What- is this?’- Aarav in terror yelled. ‘I don’t know, but what’s even stranger is this. Look at the corridor.’ A digital multi-information wall clock, displaying a date two years ahead: June 28th, 2027.
‘But that’s-‘ ‘Two years from now.’ Aarav doesn’t have the answer to his spiraled mind. He doesn’t make a comment. He doesn’t remember the past. He remembers the timeline his body hasn’t lived yet.
But the photo burned Aarav’s eyes. Two years from now, and yet- his feet were on that floor already. The place’s is familiar to him. The camera saw it. ~But did time?
He sat down on his desk. His trembling hands opened a blank page in his notebook. ‘Glitch?’- was the heading he wrote on the top. He listed all those moments below. 3:27 PM — the collapse. The platform. The repeating CCTV frame. June 28th, 2027 The unfamiliar reflection that blinked late.
There had to be a pattern. Every mystery seemed to return to him, like a planet returning to its sun. As if, time wasn’t unravelling- but orbiting him.
His busy mind was looking and looking for answers. ~Until, Something happened. The digital clock suddenly captured his attention, without any reason. It was 12:01 AM. and then- 12:00 AM.
A second later, it jumped to 12:02 AM. Aarav’s breath was caught in his throat. The lights flickered, and they went off.
His laptop, out of nowhere, restarted. For a second, the screen turned on without booting. Everything was black and static. Then, a single line appeared in the top right corner of his screen, in the terminal window- ‘You are not supposed to be looking for answers.’ -and it vanished.
Aarav stood up sharply. Every corner and part of his room felt unfamiliar. The posters. The books. Even the air he breathed.
The light breeze moved the curtains a bit. Aarav headed towards the window, hoping to clear his head. But he paused- A six feet five man, wrapped in black top to bottom, with a pair of shining sunglasses- stared at him, with no movement or expression, standing in the alley below.
Aarav shut the curtain quickly. His phone vibrated. A text from an unknown number. ‘If you stop now, it resets.’ He stared at the mysterious 17-digit phone number instead of some 10-digit one.
Another ping, before he could process- “If you continue, it begins.”
He wakes up to his alarm. It was 6 AM. ‘Was it all a dream then?’ He checked his phone. His WhatsApp was open. But no such unknown number in his chats.
But his inbox was flooded with messages from his friends. ‘Happy Birthday? What? It’s not my birthday today. Must be some joke they are playing.’ ~But the phone’s calendar didn’t joke. June 28th, 2027.
The sound of his toothbrush. The running water. Maybe, the normal world again? Or at least, pretending to be.
Aarav stood in front of the mirror, towel on his shoulder, eyes dull from disturbed sleep. ‘Was it a dream again? Yes it was- but was it? The man in sunglasses. The texts. His laptop. His WhatsApp texts-‘ …before he could convince himself enough for it being only a dream, he rushes towards his bedroom to check his phone for the texts.
No texts. No birthday wishes. It was not 28th June either. He was convinced it was a dream again. He closed WhatsApp- but was shivered from top to bottom when he saw the home screen wallpaper. His automatically changing wallpapers had presented him the exact man in black. Exact view. Exact angle. The man in black from his…..dream?
He locked his phone immediately. Then unlocked it again- This time, the lock screen wallpaper. Solid black background. A small white text in the center- ‘Sometimes, convincing to unsee what’s already seen is dangerous-‘
He throws his phone on the bed in panic. He rushes to the dressing table, to look at himself in the mirror. It wasn’t the mirror this time, which made him freeze- but rather the black sunglasses, which were there on the table.
He didn’t remember buying it. He didn’t remember wearing it. But it was familiar, not on his face, but in his eyes- which reminded him of the man, staring at him through those dense sunglasses. He flung the sunglasses out the window — not in fear, but denial.
11.30 AM. Aarav, physically present in his class. Mind wandering for questions he still didn’t have answers to. ~Until, his class’s smartboard answered.
The professor was teaching from the slide about computers. He changed to the next slide- but the next slide wasn’t about computers. It was a white, bold, italicised text which read- ‘Perhaps, the time has started.’
Aarav screams. The whole class stares at him. -‘What happened Aarav? Is everything okay?’ -‘Sir, the board…’ -‘What’s on the smart board? Computer memory. Yeah, I know it’s very complex. But it doesn’t need to be screamed at, either.’ -‘Sir, it appeared but vanished’ -‘It what? It’s okay Aarav, just go home now. Perhaps you need some rest.’
1:17 PM. He was waiting for his train at the metro station- Suddenly, his phone chimes. -‘New .mp3 file found.’ Before asking himself anything, he plays the audio. A voice message. A calm and sweet voice of a young woman- “Don’t trust the clocks, Aarav. Time is a language through which he is speaking to us- you and me.’
The voice ended. Before he could replay it, the metro arrived, and Aarav had to rush- like his heartbeat. He reached his housing society, and was walking through the calm neighbourhood to his house. But, it was too calm for his ears. As if this calmness was unfamiliar to his ears, as someone who lives in such a busy neighbourhood. Not a single person could be seen roaming around in the early yet dark and quiet winter evening. He approaches near his house.
But before he unlocks the door, ~something, as if a presence, urges him to look back….
Goosebumps running all over his hands. A cold, strong energy. The smell of a cologne which speaks more than his rushing heartbeats could take.
The Man In Black.
The key refused to turn in the lock. Aarav, with his fumbling hands, tried pushing it harder. Damp palms, veins rising with effort. But the lock- his very own lock, the one he had used for years- refused him now, as if it too, didn’t recognize him anymore.
~Or perhaps didn’t want to.
In front of him, the unwelcoming door, and in the back-
‘Where did he go?’-
he turned back to see no one. Not even a single soul, except a perfectly circular piece of white paper.
A note, lying on the ground, fluttering slightly in the cold wind, the faint streetlight’s glow making it visible.
‘You are an organised person, your things are always in order. So, I thought you might want to keep this safe.’
Aarav picked it up, his fingers trembling. The note was unsigned, but the handwriting was eerily familiar-
~perhaps his own.
He turned the paper over.
‘Keep it inside the third drawer of your closet. Beside the well smelling red perfume bottle.’
Aarav’s heart pounded. He couldn’t calm his racing mind with thousands of questions. He hurried to the door, helplessly.
Even before he wanted to give up with the lock, and leave the society premises, the key turned with a soft click. The door creaked open.
The ease with which the lock was opened, after so many failed attempts, was questionable. But he didn’t care, and buried the question under the hundreds of others.
The running water.
Maybe, the normal world again? Or at least, pretending to be.
‘Home sweet home….?’-
He answered himself a yes, even though his mind didn’t agree to his answer.
He rushed to his bedroom, opened the door. ‘What are these?’-
A messy room answered his question. Clothes, shoes, books- everything was scattered.
But what raised another question, was the locked closet door, which was wide opened.
He remembered the note. The third drawer of his closet. The red perfume bottle.
He rushed to open the third drawer. The red perfume bottle.
~and a black sunglass was sitting quietly beside the bottle.
Aarav didn’t touch it. He picked up the note again, and read it once more.
But this time, ‘The mirror is dirty, clean it.’
Aarav turned around sharply. But the mirror said something else.
‘You are not supposed to be looking for answers.’- the note on the hand of the Man In Black, who was staring at him through the mirror.
Aarav’s breath caught in his throat. The electricity goes off. The room went dark.
Dark, dark, and dark….
…until the mirror glowed faintly. Not from any external light, but from within itself.
Shapes began to bleed out from the glass, outlines of words, melting and reforming into sentences Aarav couldn’t read fast enough.
They faded before his eyes could grasp them.
The glow died down, leaving the room in silence again.
But one phrase lingered in his mind, clearer than the rest.
‘Time doesn’t stop, Aarav. It only repeats the unlearned.’
Only his own ragged breath remained, echoing too loud for the stillness of the room.
He stumbled back to the bed.
His phone lights up. On its own.
~1.17 AM.
The same time as the metro incident.
The unfamiliar notification ringtone which he never had set on his phone.
A new .mp3 file.
Aarav’s shaking hands hovered above the screen.
He didn’t want to play it. He didn’t want to hear her voice again.
But the file opened without his touch.
A whisper, softer this time.
‘He’s already in your house.’
The phone slipped from his cold hands.
As if, someone didn’t want him to hear it-
~Perhaps that someone, who was breathing along with him-
in the room that spoke something more than darkness.