For the first time in his life, Piyush didn't recognize the sound of his own breathing.
It was quieter. Measured. Not rushed, not anxious. Not his.
He stood frozen in front of the mirror, staring at the stranger staring back. The room was silent except for the steady whir of the ceiling fan and the faint ticking of a wall clock. A neat bed, a clean desk, clothes folded in a closet. Everything screamed order—something Piyush had never known.
He raised his hand. The reflection did the same.
He turned left. So did the reflection.
> "This is real…"
His voice was lower, smoother. No stammer. No hesitation.
He touched his face again, tracing the cheekbones, the sharp nose, the lean jawline. It wasn't a dream. It wasn't a hallucination. He could feel everything—the floor beneath his bare feet, the slight chill in the air, the dull ache in his right wrist.
But whose body was this?
The door creaked open.
Piyush flinched, stepping back instinctively.
A man in a white coat walked in, holding a clipboard.
"You're awake," he said, surprised but calm.
Piyush didn't respond.
The man walked over, checking the pulse on his wrist.
"How are you feeling, Ishaan?"
The name landed like a rock in Piyush's stomach.
> Ishaan?
"I… I'm fine," he said, carefully. His voice still didn't sound like his own.
The man smiled. "You gave us a scare. Been out for five days. Your father said you'd wake up when you were ready."
Five days?
"What happened to me?" Piyush asked.
"Bike accident. Don't you remember?"
Piyush shook his head slowly. The doctor nodded, making a note on the clipboard.
"Memory loss isn't uncommon after trauma. Don't worry, it'll come back."
> Bike accident? Ishaan? This is real. This isn't just a dream or a prank or a weird fantasy. I'm in someone else's body… and everyone thinks I'm him.
Piyush's thoughts raced. But outside, he stayed calm. That was new. His real body would've been trembling by now.
"Can I go home?" he asked.
The doctor hesitated. "You should be under observation a bit longer. But knowing your family, I'm sure they'll insist. Your father's downstairs. He's making calls."
> His father. That means I'll have to… pretend?
Piyush swallowed hard. This wasn't just a new face. It was a life. A history. A family.
And he knew nothing about it.
---
Half an hour later, dressed in black joggers and a hoodie far better than anything he'd ever owned, Piyush stepped out of the hospital room.
He walked like a stranger in his own skin—every movement fluid, every step confident. He hated how natural it felt.
A black SUV waited outside.
A tall man with greying hair and a sharp mustache stood beside it, wearing a crisp kurta and speaking rapidly on the phone. His eyes flicked toward Piyush—and for a brief second, Piyush saw something in them. Not concern.
Expectation.
"Get in," the man said, cutting the call.
Piyush obeyed silently.
The man didn't say a word during the drive. Neither did Piyush.
But he noticed things. The way the man's phone kept buzzing. The way the driver avoided looking in the rearview mirror. The air in the car felt thick—not with emotion, but with tension.
After thirty minutes of winding through Delhi traffic, they entered a gated colony.
Their house was a two-storey bungalow with guards at the gate. Real guards.
As they stepped inside, the man finally spoke.
"I don't know what game you're playing," he said coldly, turning to him. "But keep your mouth shut about what happened. To anyone."
Piyush blinked. "I… don't understand."
The man narrowed his eyes.
"You will. Soon."
And just like that, he walked away.
Piyush stood in the middle of the hall—confused, anxious, and alone. Again.
But now in a body that didn't belong to him.
---
That night, as he lay on the soft mattress in a room far too perfect, his mind couldn't rest.
> How did I get here?
> Where's my real body?
> Why does this Ishaan have a father like that… and a house like this… and a secret that makes even a father look afraid?
But the worst question of all was the one he was too afraid to ask:
> What if Ishaan's not gone? What if he's coming back?
---
To be continued…