Chapter 2: The Message That Shouldn’t Exist

Swara’s thumb hovered over the screen, trembling as the train rolled in with a metallic scream.

The station lights flickered once—just once—like they were blinking.

Her phone finally loaded the sender details.

And for a second, Swara didn’t understand what she was seeing.

Because the number on the screen was…

hers.

Her own number.

Her own SIM.

Her own identity.

Swara’s blood went cold so fast her fingers went numb.

“No…” she whispered, barely audible under the noise of the crowd.

She stared harder, as if the screen would correct itself out of shame.

But it didn’t.

It stayed there.

The same digits she had typed a hundred times in forms.

The same number she used for OTPs.

The same number she had memorized like her own name.

Her brain tried to arrange the situation neatly, the way it always did.

There has to be an explanation.

A glitch.

A spoofed number.

A network error.

But the messages were right there.

And she had replied.

She had replied to herself.

Her chest tightened painfully.

A thought slipped into her mind—sharp, unwanted, poisonous.

Did I really miss seeing it?

She scrolled up again, reading the thread from the beginning.

The first message: Don’t take the last train today.

The second: Someone who knows what you did.

The third: If you get on this train, you won’t come back the same.

Swara swallowed.

She had read those messages ten times.

Maybe more.

And yet…

she had never checked the sender.

Not once.

That was impossible.

Swara wasn’t careless.

Swara wasn’t lazy.

Swara checked everything.

She checked locks twice.

She checked the stove thrice.

She checked her bag four times.

She checked.

Always.

So how could she miss something this basic?

The thought made her skin crawl.

Or… did I check it… and forget?

That was worse.

Because forgetting wasn’t normal.

Forgetting was the kind of thing that happened to people who didn’t have control.

And Swara’s entire life was built around control.

---

The train doors opened with a hiss.

People began boarding like nothing had happened, their faces blank and ordinary.

Swara stood frozen at the edge of the platform.

Her mind screamed at her to leave.

To turn around.

To go home.

To lock the door.

To hide.

But her feet didn’t move.

Instead, she took one step forward.

Then another.

Her body moved as if it had already decided.

As if the message wasn’t a warning…

but an invitation.

---

Inside the train, the air was colder than expected.

Not the normal cold of an AC coach.

This cold felt wrong.

Like the inside of a hospital corridor at midnight.

Swara found her seat and sat down slowly, clutching her bag like a lifeline.

She looked around.

People were settling in, placing bags overhead, adjusting their scarves, scrolling their phones.

Normal.

Everything looked normal.

So why did her stomach feel like it was sinking?

---

Swara opened her phone again.

The thread was still there.

She stared at her own number at the top.

Then, with shaking fingers, she tapped it.

Call.

The phone rang once.

Then twice.

Then…

her own phone vibrated in her hand.

Swara stared at it in horror.

She wasn’t calling another device.

She was calling herself.

The call cut automatically.

A message appeared instantly.

Stop testing it. You’re wasting time.

Swara’s mouth went dry.

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

She didn’t type.

She didn’t breathe.

Her eyes remained fixed on the screen.

Another message came.

You always check everything, Swara. That’s why this is funny.

Swara’s fingers turned cold.

She didn’t remember giving her name anywhere.

She hadn’t saved the number.

And yet…

it knew her.

---

The train jerked slightly.

The doors shut.

The announcement played overhead, crackling.

“Train number… 128… departing…”

The voice distorted midway.

It sounded like the speaker was chewing the words.

Swara glanced up sharply.

For a moment, she thought she heard something else hidden under the announcement.

Like a whisper.

Like a laugh.

But when she looked around, no one seemed bothered.

No one reacted.

---

The train started moving.

Slow at first.

Then faster.

The station lights slid away.

The platform disappeared.

And the darkness outside swallowed everything.

Swara sat still, her hands locked around her phone.

She tried to calm herself the way she always did—counting.

One… two… three…

But the numbers didn’t help tonight.

Tonight, the numbers felt like they were counting down.

---

A man sat opposite her.

Swara noticed him only because he kept staring.

Not in a casual way.

Not in the way strangers sometimes look.

He stared like he was trying to recognize her.

Swara’s chest tightened.

She hated this part.

Faces.

Her brain didn’t store faces properly.

She could never tell if someone was new, familiar, or dangerous.

But she could tell something else.

Intent.

And his intent felt wrong.

Swara shifted slightly, pretending to adjust her bag.

The man smiled.

A slow smile.

Then he said, softly:

“You finally came.”

Swara froze.

“What?” she asked.

He blinked, as if surprised she spoke.

Then he leaned back and said casually, “Nothing. Sorry. Thought you were someone else.”

Swara didn’t respond.

Her throat had closed.

---

Her phone buzzed again.

Don’t trust the man in front of you.

Swara’s eyes snapped to the screen.

Her heart jumped.

Then she looked up at the man again.

He was still smiling faintly, watching her.

As if he knew she had received something.

As if he knew everything.

Swara’s pulse hammered.

She typed quickly.

WHO ARE YOU?

The reply came instantly.

I am you.

Swara’s hands began shaking violently.

She typed again.

THIS IS NOT FUNNY.

The reply:

You used to say that too. Before you boarded this train the first time.

Swara’s breath caught.

The first time?

She had never boarded this train before.

She was sure.

She always remembered important things.

She always—

Swara stopped.

A memory flickered in her mind like a broken lightbulb.

A platform.

A train horn.

A hand holding a phone.

Then nothing.

Just darkness.

Swara’s eyes widened.

She couldn’t tell if the memory was real or imagined.

But it felt too familiar.

Too close.

Like a dream she had once had… and forgotten.

---

The lights inside the coach flickered.

Once.

Twice.

Then stabilized.

People didn’t react.

Swara looked around.

Everyone was normal.

Too normal.

A woman was feeding her child.

A man was reading a newspaper.

A teenager was watching reels.

Swara stared at their faces.

Blank.

Not because of her condition.

But because…

they weren’t changing expressions.

Not even once.

Not even a blink.

Swara’s throat tightened.

She forced herself to look away.

Her mind screamed: You’re imagining things.

But her instincts whispered:

No. You’re noticing.

---

Her phone buzzed again.

Next station: You.

Swara’s stomach dropped.

She looked outside.

Only darkness.

The train was moving too fast.

Too fast for the route it was supposed to take.

Swara grabbed her ticket from her bag and looked at it.

Her destination was printed clearly.

But something was wrong.

The letters looked… smudged.

Not like ink smudged.

Like the words were trying to erase themselves.

She blinked hard.

Looked again.

The destination changed.

Just slightly.

Like a typo.

Like a glitch.

Like reality was buffering.

Swara’s fingers crushed the paper.

“No…” she whispered.

---

The man opposite her spoke again.

His voice was calm.

“Swara,” he said.

Her head snapped up.

He was no longer smiling.

He was watching her like a doctor watches a patient.

Like he knew exactly what she was feeling.

Swara’s chest burned.

“How do you know my name?” she demanded.

The man sighed, as if she was exhausting him.

“Because you’re not supposed to be here,” he said quietly.

Swara’s blood ran cold.

“What do you mean?”

He leaned forward slightly.

And then he said the sentence that made the entire coach feel smaller.

“The Swara who boards this train…”

His eyes narrowed.

“…never gets off the same.”

---

Swara’s phone buzzed one last time.

A final message.

Look under your seat.

Swara’s breath stopped.

Her hands shook as she slowly leaned forward.

Her eyes lowered.

Under her seat, half hidden in shadow…

was a phone.

The same model as hers.

The same scratches on the back.

The same cracked corner.

Swara stared at it.

Her body went numb.

Because she recognized it.

Not by memory.

Not by logic.

But by the instinct of ownership.

That phone…

was hers.

And it was already there.

Waiting.

Like it had been waiting for her all along.

---

Swara lifted her head slowly.

The man opposite her smiled again.

This time, it wasn’t friendly.

It was satisfied.

And the train kept moving forward into the dark.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***