[Part I – The Calm Before]
1:37 a.m.
Vihaan was asleep.
For once, the voices in his head didn't scream.
For once, the ceiling fan's hum felt like a lullaby.
His chest rose and fell in slow rhythm, and his fingers — usually clenched from invisible wars — were loose, resting peacefully.
Outside his window, the city lay still.
No honks. No conversations.
Just the soft sigh of night breathing in every shadow.
But far away, in a neighborhood that used to know Vihaan's name...
A storm had already entered through an unlocked door.
---
[Part II – Rishav's Last Night]
1:43 a.m.
Rishav's home.
Warmth still lingered in the air.
His family had just finished dinner.
Laughter echoed from the living room — real, cozy, human.
Rishav lay on the floor with a pillow under his head, scrolling through reels.
His little sister sat cross-legged beside him, eating mango candy.
Their parents chatted near the dining table, the TV still playing an old comedy show in the background.
"Dude, this video—look!" Rishav nudged his sister.
She rolled her eyes. "You're literally obsessed with these prank pages."
"I'm obsessed with happiness," he said proudly.
His mother smiled from across the room. "You better be obsessed with your math homework tomorrow."
"Mom, please," he grinned. "Don't kill my vibe."
He didn't know those would be the last light-hearted words he'd ever say.
---
1:46 a.m.
The power went out.
TV blinked off.
Ceiling fan slowed.
All lights died — except one emergency lamp in the corner.
"Must be load shedding again," his father muttered, standing up. "Let me check the meter—"
But then…
Click.
The front door opened.
Rishav looked up. "Did you forget to latch the door?"
His father frowned. "No, I locked it."
A footstep echoed on the tile.
They all froze.
Another.
Closer.
"Who's there?" his mother called out, fear already creeping into her voice.
No answer.
And then… from the darkness…
A figure stepped into the light.
Face hidden.
Hands covered.
No emotion. No sound.
Just eyes — staring at Rishav like he wasn't human anymore.
---
[Part III – The Unforgivable Night]
"Who… who are you?" Rishav stood up slowly, heart thudding.
Still, no answer.
His sister clung to his arm.
His father reached for the landline.
His mother's lips trembled.
Then suddenly—
Slash.
The figure moved like wind — silent, sure.
A blade sliced through the air.
Rishav's father fell.
Eyes wide.
Neck open.
Blood spreading like ink on the floor.
"No!" his mother screamed.
But her scream was cut short — literally.
Rishav watched her drop beside the sofa, mouth open, trying to breathe through the blood.
His sister screamed, and Rishav grabbed her.
"Run. Go! Please—run upstairs—"
But the killer was already there.
One stab.
Two.
And her small body collapsed, eyes still looking up at her brother.
Rishav froze.
The room was red now.
Walls. Floor. Hands.
His breath came out in sharp gasps.
"Please…" he whispered, turning toward the killer.
His back hit the wall.
"I don't know who you are," he said, tears mixing with sweat, "but why me?"
The blade lifted again.
And that's when he saw something.
The eyes.
So familiar.
So painfully familiar.
Rishav choked.
"V… Vihaan?"
The killer flinched.
Rishav dropped to his knees, bleeding, hands shaking.
"Vihaan… please… I don't know what I did… We used to be friends. Good friends, remember?"
The blade stopped — just for a second.
Rishav's voice cracked.
"What did I do? Why are you doing this? You've changed, man… You've really changed…"
No words came back.
Just silence.
Then — the final cut.
Quick. Cold.
Rishav collapsed beside his sister, blood pooling under both of them like a broken memory.
---
[Part IV – Back to Vihaan's Room, Present]
3:02 a.m.
Vihaan shot up in bed.
Chest heaving.
Sweat dripping down his neck.
He looked around wildly — hands trembling, mouth dry.
No sound.
No light.
No idea why his heart was pounding like a war drum in his ribs.
He stumbled to the bathroom. Threw water on his face.
His reflection stared back at him.
Eyes red.
Hair clinging to his forehead.
Face pale like a stranger's.
He looked deeper. Into the mirror.
And for a moment — a blink — he thought he saw something move.
Not his reflection.
Someone else.
He stepped back.
"...No," he whispered.
But the air around him suddenly felt heavier.
His phone buzzed.
A message.
Unknown number.
Just one image.
He opened it.
Rishav's face.
Eyes wide.
Neck slashed.
Blood... everywhere.
Vihaan dropped the phone.
His knees buckled.
He couldn't breathe.
He couldn't scream.
His name — his name — had been the last word spoken by someone who once shared half his life