Aarav woke up because his chest hurt.
Not the sharp pain of illness, not the suffocating grip of fear—but a deep, unfamiliar pressure, as if something inside him was trying to remember how to beat.
The room was dark.The ceiling fan hummed unevenly.Outside, a stray dog barked once and then fell silent.
He placed his palm over his heart.
It beat.
Then—it beat again.
Not faster.Not slower.
Just… separately.
Aarav sat up abruptly, breath shallow, skin cold with sweat. His fingers trembled as he pressed harder against his chest, as if trying to locate the mistake.
"That's not possible," he whispered.
His heart had always been boring. Predictable. Loyal. It had never betrayed him before.
Yet now—
thump… thumpthump… thump
Two rhythms. Slightly out of sync.
He swung his legs off the bed, stood up, and staggered to the mirror. The man staring back at him looked the same—tired eyes, unshaved jaw, hair flattened on one side from sleep. No cracks. No glowing veins. No sign of possession.
"You're imagining this," he told his reflection.
That's what lonely people did. They imagined things. Voices. Meaning. Importance.
He turned away.
That's when he heard it.
You're late.
The voice did not echo.It did not come from the walls or the ceiling.
It came from inside him.
Aarav froze.
His body locked into stillness the way animals do before impact. His mind searched desperately for logic—sleep paralysis, stress, hallucination, a dream leaking into waking life.
"Who… who said that?" he asked, his throat dry.
There was a pause.
Then, carefully—
I didn't mean to scare you.
The voice was male. Calm. Exhausted. Older than Aarav, maybe. It carried no threat, only a strange familiarity—as if it had been speaking to him for years and he had only just started listening.
"You're in my head," Aarav said, more statement than question.
No, the voice replied.I'm dying somewhere else.
Aarav's knees gave way. He collapsed onto the edge of the bed, heart—or hearts—pounding wildly now.
"This isn't real," he muttered. "I need sleep. I need a doctor."
You already sleep too much, the voice said gently.And doctors don't listen to men like us.
That sentence hit him harder than fear.
Men like us.
"How do you know me?" Aarav asked.
Another pause. Longer this time.
Because I can feel what you feel, the voice said.And right now, you're terrified—but not surprised.
Aarav swallowed.
He wasn't surprised.
Some part of him—buried under years of silence—had been waiting for something to break the monotony. He just hadn't expected it to be his own existence.
"What's your name?" he asked quietly.
Ishaan.
The name arrived with weight.
With it came a sudden rush of images that were not Aarav's: white hospital lights, the sharp smell of antiseptic, a woman crying behind a glass wall, hands pressing against a chest that refused to move.
Aarav gasped, clutching his head.
"Stop," he whispered. "Please."
The images faded immediately.
Sorry, Ishaan said.That happens when I'm tired.
"Tired of what?" Aarav asked.
Of staying alive.
Silence filled the room—not empty silence, but the kind that carries unspoken truths.
"Why can I hear you?" Aarav finally asked.
Ishaan didn't answer right away.
When he did, his voice was quieter.
Because for forty-seven seconds… I wasn't alive.
Aarav closed his eyes.
My heart stopped during surgery, Ishaan continued. Not long enough to die properly. Not short enough to come back unchanged.
"And me?" Aarav asked. "What does that have to do with me?"
Another pause.
In those forty-seven seconds, Ishaan said, time slipped. And you were nearby.
"Nearby?" Aarav laughed weakly. "I don't even know where you are."
That's not how time works, Ishaan replied. It doesn't care about distance. Only availability.
The words settled slowly, like dust after a collapse.
"You mean…" Aarav's voice cracked. "You took something from me."
No, Ishaan said.I spilled something.
Aarav leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
He thought of the station clock.6:17 PM.Frozen.
He thought of the strange heaviness in his chest that day. The feeling that something had started without his permission.
"How long will this last?" he asked.
Ishaan hesitated.
That depends, he said, on how much time you're willing to lose.
A chill ran through Aarav.
"And if I don't want to?" he asked.
The voice softened.
Then one of us will disappear.
The fan continued humming.The world outside continued sleeping.
Inside Aarav Malhotra, two heartbeats argued silently over the same fragile future.
And for the first time in his life—
time noticed him.