Arvin slammed the door behind him and dropped face-first onto his bed. His bag slid off his shoulder and thudded against the floor, but he didn't care. His body was heavy with exhaustion, but his mind wouldn't rest.
Bhagya's words still echoed like a curse.
"Protect Anaya… she can die anytime."
Arvin turned on his side, staring at the ceiling fan as it spun lazily, blades cutting through the silence. The more he thought about it, the more wrong it felt. It hadn't sounded like one of Bhagya's anxious rants, not like his usual overthinking. No—there had been a sharp edge of certainty in his voice, like he knew something was coming.
He sat up abruptly, his breath catching.
"How the hell would he even know?" Arvin muttered to himself. "Why so suddenly, after lectures…?"
It gnawed at him. Bhagya's warning hadn't been random. It was too precise, too desperate. Almost as if… someone had told him about Anaya's death.
Arvin's stomach turned cold. The thought crept in before he could stop it—
The man in the mirror.
His jaw tightened. He tried to push it away, but the image of Bhagya whispering with that unseen figure, the way his eyes sometimes looked… hollow… it made his skin crawl.
The next day, Arvin found himself watching Anaya more closely than he wanted to admit. Every laugh she gave, every step she took, every careless turn of her head—he observed them all with a nervous tension. It wasn't like him to act this way, but Bhagya's words had carved themselves deep into his thoughts.
By the evening, when he finally caught up with her again, he couldn't keep the weight inside any longer.
"Anaya," he said, his voice lower than usual, almost urgent.
She blinked at him, curious. "Hmm? What is it?"
Arvin hesitated, then leaned closer, his tone sharpening.
"You need to stay away from Bhagya."
Her smile faltered. "…What?"
He pressed on, each word heavy.
"He has… something wrong with him. A split personality disorder, I think. He's a ticking time bomb. One second he's fine, the next—" Arvin snapped his fingers sharply. "—he could snap. He could harm you, or worse, drag you into his mess. I'm telling you this because… it's better to stay away before it's too late."
The color drained from Anaya's face. She stood frozen, eyes wide, as if her mind refused to process the words. But then her gaze shifted—not at him, but behind him.
Her lips parted, trembling.
"Arvin…" she whispered, her voice breaking. "Behind you…"
Cold ran down his spine. Slowly, against his will, Arvin turned.
Bhagya stood there.
Not just stood—loomed. His figure was calm, too calm, and his face carried a faint smile that didn't belong to the Bhagya Arvin knew. It was crooked, stretched slightly, as if mocking the idea of comfort. His eyes gleamed with a strange light, and as Arvin stared, he saw a single drop of water trace down Bhagya's cheek.
A tear.
But it didn't look like sadness. It looked like something else.
Then Bhagya spoke, voice low and heavy, yet disturbingly clear.
"Run."
Arvin's mouth went dry. He forced a laugh that cracked in the middle.
"It was only a joke… j-joke…"
But the smile on Bhagya's face didn't falter. It only deepened.
Anaya didn't wait. She grabbed Arvin's wrist with shaking hands and pulled him.
"Run!" she shouted, this time for both of them.
Arvin stumbled, but his legs moved, carrying him away. His heart pounded, not from the running, but from the weight of Bhagya's stare that seemed to burn into the back of his skull.
Bhagya remained where he was, unmoving. The expressions faded as he sank slowly to his knees. His hands pressed against the floor, shoulders trembling as if carrying a storm within.
Then, in a heartbeat, his expression shifted.
The softness was gone. His breathing slowed, his lips parted in something between a smile and a snarl. His eyes darkened, no longer wet but sharp, cold, alive with something far more dangerous than grief.
The other self had arrived.
And the menace had only just begun.