Rehan stared at the message:
[Unknown: We're not done yet.]
The screen glowed in the fading sunlight like it carried a secret only he wasn't ready for. His heart pounded, fingers tightening around the phone. For a moment, the noise of the campus faded—the laughter near the chai stall, the clatter of dishes from the canteen, the constant honk of traffic drifting over the walls. Everything blurred except those five words.
He had just started to accept that somehow, impossibly, he had been sent back in time. Back into his nineteen-year-old body, on a day that changed everything. But this?
Someone else remembered too.
"Hey," Kabir said, nudging his arm. "You're completely spaced out today. You sure you're okay?"
Rehan forced a nod. "Yeah. Just tired."
"You look like you've seen a ghost. Or turned into one. What's going on in that oversized brain of yours?"
He wanted to say it. He wanted to dump it all—the time reversal, the future mistakes, the funerals he had attended, the regrets he carried. He wanted to ask Kabir what it felt like to be alive again, to feel his voice and his warmth, knowing he had died in a cramped Mumbai apartment six years from now.
But who would believe that?
"Nothing," Rehan said. "Let's skip class."
Kabir raised both eyebrows. "You? Mr. Never-Miss-a-Lecture? Did someone hit you on the head?"
"I just feel like doing something different today."
Kabir looked at him a beat longer, then shrugged. "You're buying the tea, then."
They found a quiet spot on the campus terrace. It overlooked the west side of the city, where the skyline was littered with buildings in various stages of construction, antennas poking through smog like metal trees. From up there, the sounds of the campus felt distant. Safe.
Rehan leaned on the warm concrete wall, feeling the roughness under his palm. Everything looked exactly the same as it had years ago. The slight rusting on the railing, the faint graffiti someone had scrawled in red ink, the cigarette burns in the corner from guys who thought they were rebels.
"Tell me something," Rehan said, breaking the silence. "If you could go back in time—to this exact day, right now—what would you do differently?"
Kabir looked amused. "Is this one of those 'deep' questions you get before exams? Like, 'I regret not studying enough, I would become a topper'?"
"No," Rehan said seriously. "Really. What would you change?"
Kabir went quiet for a moment. He leaned against the wall beside him. "I guess... I'd take things slower. Stop trying to prove stuff to people who never cared. Maybe call my sister more often. She's always on my case, but she cares, y'know?"
Rehan smiled faintly. "She really does."
"Why are you asking? You sound like you have a list ready."
"Maybe I do," Rehan said. "A long one."
Kabir shook his head. "Man, you need a nap. Or therapy. Or both."
They both laughed. It felt good—strange and heartbreaking at the same time. Rehan was laughing with a ghost, sitting beside someone whose funeral he'd attended, whose death he'd blamed himself for.
Later, Rehan sat alone on the steps outside the amphitheater, staring at the message again. The sender hadn't replied. No typing dots. No follow-up. Just that one, chilling line.
[Unknown: We're not done yet.]
He tried calling the number. It rang once, then disconnected.
Who else could know? Was it someone he'd told in his past life? No. He had kept his pain to himself. Even when things started to fall apart—his job, his relationships, his mental health—he had shut everyone out. No one had known the full story.
Then why did this message feel personal?
A sound broke his thoughts. Footsteps.
He looked up. Aanya was walking toward him.
Her presence hit him like a punch to the chest. She looked exactly as he remembered: black jeans, loose kurta, dark brown hair tied into a messy ponytail. Her eyes were sharp, like they always saw more than you wanted to reveal.
"You're early," she said, folding her arms.
"So are you."
She sat beside him, leaving a careful distance. "I almost didn't text you. I wasn't sure it was worth it."
Rehan felt the weight of those words. In his old timeline, this conversation had ended in anger. He hadn't listened. He hadn't cared to understand.
Now, he wanted to.
"I'm glad you did," he said softly.
She seemed surprised, just a flicker across her face. "Look, I don't want to fight. But I also don't want things to stay the way they are. We used to be... close. Then everything got weird. You changed."
You have no idea, Rehan thought.
"I know," he said. "I wasn't fair to you."
Aanya blinked. "That's not what I expected you to say."
"Maybe I'm trying to grow up."
She tilted her head, studying him. "What happened to you in the last twenty-four hours?"
Everything, Rehan thought. Everything you can't imagine.
They sat in silence for a few moments. The sun had dipped behind the buildings, casting orange light over the grass. Students passed nearby in pairs, their laughter floating on the wind. It was a perfect moment, small and fragile.
Then his phone buzzed again.
He hesitated.
Aanya noticed. "You can take it."
Rehan checked the screen.
[Unknown: You shouldn't be alive, Rehan.]
His breath caught.
This wasn't a coincidence. This wasn't just someone messing with him.
Whoever it was—they knew the truth.
He slowly looked around the amphitheater. Students chatted in groups, couples sat on the steps, friends argued over snacks. Everything looked normal.
But someone was watching.
And they remembered, too.
******