It was one of those nights when everything felt… too quiet. My laptop was still on from work, the monitor casting a faint blue glow across the room. Around 2:14 a.m., my phone buzzed on the table beside me.
It was a message.
From my own number.
> “Come outside, I’m locked out.”
For a second, I thought it was some glitch — maybe a SIM cloning scam. But then another notification came through.
> “Please hurry. It’s cold.”
The weird part? The typing indicator appeared — someone was still typing.
My stomach tightened. I walked to the window, half-expecting to see someone outside the gate. Delhi nights are never this silent — but that night, not even a dog barked.
Then… three faint knocks.
> Knock… knock… knock…
From the main door.
Every hair on my arm stood up. I checked my phone again. The typing bubble vanished, replaced by a single message:
> “Thanks for coming.”
But I hadn’t moved.
Slowly, I turned toward the mirror on the wall — and froze.
My reflection… was standing closer than I was. Smiling.
The next morning, my phone wasn’t where I’d left it. In its place was an identical one — new, warm, still glowing. On the lock screen, it said:
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