Arav woke with a gasp.
Not the slow, confused awakening of a dream ending — but the violent kind, where the body jerks as if dragged out of drowning water. His lungs burned. His vision trembled. His fingers twitched like they had been clutching something that wasn't real… or was too real.
The first thing he noticed was the silence.
Dead silence.
He lay on a cold hospital bed, the thin white sheet sticking to his skin with dried sweat. The fluorescent lights above flickered weakly, humming like dying bees. The room was empty — too empty. No machines, no nurses, not even a clipboard.
Just him.
And an IV drip that wasn't connected to anything.
He sat up slowly. His neck felt stiff, his bones heavier, as if he had slept for weeks. The window at the far end of the room had its blinds half-open, letting in a dull grey light. The weather outside was unmoving — no wind, no birds, no distant sounds of traffic. It was like the world had paused mid-breath.
Arav whispered, "Aisha?"
His own voice echoed unnaturally, like the walls were too close and too far at the same time.
Then — tap.
He froze.
Another tap — soft, deliberate — behind him.
He turned slowly.
In the polished metal cabinet door beside the bed, his reflection stared back at him. But its eyes were entirely black. No pupil. No white. Just empty night.
And when he blinked, the reflection didn't.
"Not again," he whispered. "Not here."
The reflection's lips curled upward — not in a smile, but a twitch, like a predator waking.
Then the reflection opened its mouth.
And Arav heard two heartbeats.
His own…
…and the slower one.
The deeper one.
The Pulse.
He stumbled back, knocking over the metal tray. The reflection leaned closer to the surface, pressing its forehead against the steel from inside.
"You didn't wake up," it whispered without moving its lips.
"You only changed rooms."
Arav backed toward the door. His hand shook violently as he reached for the doorknob. The cold metal made him shiver.
He twisted it.
The door didn't open.
Instead, the surface of the door rippled like liquid.
A hand printed itself from inside the door — pressing outward, struggling, fingers stretching the surface like wet clay.
The reflection spoke again, voice splitting, glitching.
"The Pulse followed you. You brought it back."
"No… no I didn't," Arav gasped.
His heart hammered in his chest.
Thump-thump.
THUMP.
Thump-thump.
THUMP.
Two rhythms colliding.
Two realities overlapping.
The reflection's face distorted violently — spiraling, stretching, tearing open from the inside. Through the tear, Arav saw something — not a face, not a creature — but an eye. A massive, single, lidless eye staring directly at him.
He pressed his back against the opposite wall. "Stop. STOP!"
The reflection stopped moving.
The heartbeat stopped too.
For a moment… everything froze.
Then a real voice shattered the silence — frantic, scared, human.
"ARAV! Arav, open the door!"
His eyes widened.
Aisha's brother — Rafi.
"Arav, are you awake? Bro, open the door! Everyone's been looking for you—"
Arav ran to the door and grabbed the handle. This time it didn't ripple. It turned normally.
The door flung open.
Rafi stood there — panting, sweating, eyes wide with shock and relief.
"You've been missing for two days," Rafi said. "Two days! We found you unconscious on the road outside your house. What the hell happened to you?"
Arav wanted to answer.
But behind Rafi… in the shadow of the corridor… something moved.
A small, soft pulse.
A shimmer.
A heartbeat that wasn't human.
It followed him.
It escaped with him.
Rafi grabbed Arav's shoulder. "Say something, man! Are you okay?"
Arav's lips trembled.
He didn't answer Rafi.
He whispered to the empty hallway behind him.
"I didn't wake up, did I?"
And for the first time, Arav saw it clearly — a faint black vein crawling under Rafi's skin.
The Pulse had already touched him.