Aryan had never been afraid of the dark.
Living alone in a small apartment on the edge of the city, he had grown used to silence. The kind of silence that pressed against your ears at night. The kind that made every small sound feel louder than it really was.
That night was no different.
Or at least, it wasn't supposed to be.
The digital clock beside his bed blinked softly in the darkness.
3:06 AM
Aryan turned in his bed, half-asleep, pulling the blanket closer. Outside, the world was dead quiet. No cars. No voices. Not even the usual stray dogs barking.
Then—
3:07 AM
His phone rang.
The sound cut through the silence like a knife.
Aryan groaned, annoyed. Who calls at this hour?
Without opening his eyes fully, he reached for his phone and glanced at the screen.
Unknown Number
He frowned.
For a moment, he considered ignoring it. But something about the timing… felt strange.
Still half asleep, he answered.
"Hello…?"
Silence.
Aryan sighed. "If this is some kind of joke—"
Then he heard it.
A voice.
Low. Shaky. Almost like a whisper dragged through static.
"…don't open the door."
Aryan froze.
"What?" he said, now fully awake.
The voice continued, trembling.
"Whatever happens… don't open it."
Aryan sat up in bed, his heart starting to beat faster.
"Who is this?" he demanded.
For a second, there was only static.
Then the voice spoke again.
And this time—
Aryan felt the blood drain from his face.
Because the voice sounded exactly like him.
Not similar.
Not close.
Exactly.
Same tone. Same rhythm. Same breath between words.
"I don't have much time," the voice said. "Listen carefully. In a few minutes… someone will knock on your door."
Aryan's grip tightened on the phone.
"This isn't funny," he said, trying to sound confident. "Who are you?"
The voice ignored him.
"When they knock… don't open it. No matter what you hear. No matter what they say."
A chill ran down Aryan's spine.
"How do you—"
"I made the same mistake," the voice whispered.
Silence.
Aryan's throat went dry.
"What mistake?"
But the call ended.
The screen went black.
Aryan stared at his phone.
No call duration. No number saved. Nothing.
Just… gone.
He let out a nervous laugh.
"Great," he muttered. "Some idiot prank call."
He lay back down, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling crawling under his skin.
It's nothing, he told himself.
Just a coincidence.
But sleep didn't come back.
Minutes passed.
His eyes remained fixed on the ceiling.
Then—
Knock. Knock.
Aryan's body went rigid.
The sound came from the front door.
Soft.
Slow.
But very real.
He swallowed.
"No way…" he whispered.
Another knock.
This time louder.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Aryan slowly got out of bed.
His legs felt heavy, like something was holding him back.
His mind replayed the voice:
Don't open the door.
He walked toward the living room, each step careful, almost silent.
The knocking continued.
Steady.
Patient.
Like whoever—or whatever—was outside knew he was there.
Aryan stopped a few feet away from the door.
"Who is it?" he called out.
No answer.
Just silence.
Then—
A voice from outside.
Soft.
Familiar.
"Open the door, Aryan."
His heart stopped.
Because that voice—
…was his.