u/Sachindhaka0008

When I was 15, I used to talk to one of my female friends on the school bus.

My other friends usually sat in the back, but somehow I always ended up near her.

At first, I never had feelings for her.

But slowly, my heart stopped listening to me.

Every day after entering the bus, I would go directly to her seat and keep disturbing her until my stop arrived.

The strange thing was — she never ignored me.

She always replied with the same funny energy.

One day, we exchanged numbers.

After that, she was always the one texting first.

At that time, I still didn’t think it was love.

For hours, we used to text each other.

Even now, I don’t remember what we talked about.

I would send something random.

She would reply with another random thing.

But somehow, those conversations became the best part of my day.

Then one night, while listening to songs alone, I

realized something.

I had fallen in love with her.

Maybe not suddenly.

Maybe slowly, message by message.

Sometimes I used to wonder, "Why me?"

Because honestly, I wasn’t good-looking.

I was fat.

Not the so-called attractive slim guy girls usually like.

Still, she stayed.

For one whole year, things continued like that.

Then one day, I finally proposed to her.

And she rejected me.

That day, I finally understood what everything really was.

My name is Sachin.

I studied in an English medium school.

People said it was a good education hub, but the main problem was my brain.

I never wanted to study.

I only wanted to make money...

Somehow, but from nowhere idea poped.

I tried everything possible, but never earned a single penny.

I watched every YouTube video that promises easy money.

"Complete tasks and money will be credited instantly."

What the hell.

In my mind, it sounded so easy.

After watching those videos, i already felt like a billionaire.

But the moment I entered those websites, my brain stopped working.

"Where is the money? Why is nothing happening?"

That was my first lesson.

But this Sachin didn't stop there.

I kept searching

"How to earn money as a teenager."

The funny thing was - my brain never understood where I lived.

Those videos were made in the UK and US.

They earned dollars.

I lived in india, where sometimes even one rupee feels nothing.

Slowly, I gave up on the idea of earning money online.

I forgot my original motive and escaped into games instead.

Mobile games. Laptop games.

Anything to waste time without thinking about life.

My friend were enjoying their teenage years without worrying about the future.

They didn't know what life would look like when they turned twenty- fibe or twenty-nine.

All boys wanted love from sixteen to eighteen age.

I wanted love as well.

Perhaps more than any other person.

I also dreamed of a gf to be mine and show me love.

But looks become more important.

And quite frankly....

I didn't know how to communicate with women.

Sure, I care about others.

But what is love to me?

Once again after that....

Part 2!!

The next morning, I woke up and started my routine again.

Same tired body.

Same responsibilities.

But today, the weather felt brighter than usual.

After many days, sunlight was properly falling across the streets and rooftops.

And honestly…

after taking a bath for the first time in four days, I finally felt a little fresh again.

Maybe life feels different sometimes because of very small things.

After getting ready, I collected newspapers from the factory, tied them on my old cycle, and started distributing them across the city.

Passing shops.

Crossing empty roads.

Stopping near houses one by one.

Just another normal morning.

Then near the park road, I saw her.

A girl exercising near the roadside.

Probably around my age.

But everything about her looked perfect.

Good physique.

Clean branded clothes.

White shoes.

Smart watch.

Earphones.

Confidence on her face.

The kind of confidence people get when life has never forced them to survive.

For a few seconds, I completely lost focus.

The moment my eyes met hers, it honestly felt like I forgot everything around me.

But then…

I looked at myself.

Dust on clothes.

Ink on fingers.

Old cycle.

Tired eyes.

And instantly every thought disappeared.

I quietly looked away and continued my work.

Because somewhere inside me, I had already accepted one thing:

Reaching someone like her was impossible for a person like me.

After finishing newspaper delivery, I reached the laundry around 12 PM.

Steam filled the air.

Wet clothes everywhere.

The shop smelled of detergent and hot water like always.

I was busy washing clothes silently when suddenly my boss got up and walked toward the counter.

I guessed someone had come there.

But honestly…

what did that matter to me?

In my mind, I was only thinking:

“More clothes to wash… what a life.”

I kept working without looking properly.

But then…

for some reason, my hands slowly stopped moving.

It was her.

The same girl.

She had come to give clothes for cleaning.

For a second, I completely froze.

But I stayed silent and continued working from distance.

I didn’t even try to look properly.

Because I never wanted her to feel like I was some cheap guy staring at her.

Then the whole day went into cleaning and drying clothes.

Hours passed slowly.

And honestly, my body was not in the mood to work anymore.

The fever, tiredness, and sleepless night were hitting me together.

So around 6 PM, I quietly told my boss:

“Bhaiya… I’m not able to work properly today. I think I should go home.”

Surprisingly, he looked at me calmly and said:

“Theek hai. Rest kar lena… aur medicine bhi le lena. Bas yeh last delivery kar de.”

For the first time, he spoke to me softly like that.

And honestly…

it felt strange.

I picked up the delivery bag and started delivering clothes one by one.

People opening doors.

Taking clothes.

Closing doors.

Same routine.

Same silence.

While riding through the streets, I saw boys somewhere sitting together laughing and enjoying life.

And without realizing it, I quietly thought:

“Bas ek opportunity… sirf ek chance mil jaye… phir dekhna.”

But right now, survival was more important than dreams.

So before continuing further, I stopped at a small medical shop and bought medicine.

Then I checked the last address left for delivery.

A big luxury house.

Beautiful gate.

Lights glowing outside.

I checked the address properly once again…

then slowly rang the bell.

Once.

And then…

My father died when I was eight years old.

After that, my mother became my whole world.

She worked day and night just so I could survive.

Even when she was tired, she smiled in front of

me.

But when I turned fourteen…

she died too.

And after that, life became very simple:

If I worked, I ate.

If I didn’t work, I slept hungry.

By the age of sixteen, while boys my age were enjoying life with friends, I was doing newspaper delivery in the morning and laundry work during the day.

Sometimes overtime too.

The owner never liked me leaving early.

Even if all work was finished by 8 PM, he still made me stay till 10.

And I never argued.

Because people like me are scared of losing salary more than losing time.

Sometimes while working, I saw boys my age laughing freely.

Wearing clean clothes.

Riding bikes.

Talking about girlfriends and college plans.

And honestly…

that used to hurt me deeply.

Not because I hated them.

But because I wondered:

“Why did life become so different for me?”

I never wanted luxury.

I just wanted peace.

A normal life.

Before dying, my mother once told me:

“No one stays poor forever. God hides

opportunities inside difficult situations.”

After that, I started looking at life differently.

Instead of crying about problems…

I started observing situations carefully.

Maybe somewhere, an opportunity was waiting for me too.

That night around 10 PM, I was returning after another late delivery.

I was tired, hungry, and frustrated.

While riding my old cycle slowly through the empty road, I kept thinking:

“Will my life always stay like this?”

And honestly…

I had no idea that the very next morning was going to change something inside me completely.

“Last night, I came to my village.

As soon as I arrived, I found out that an old man living nearby was in very serious condition.

Everyone around the house looked worried.

But I didn’t think much of it.

I just thought, ‘He’ll probably get better.’

My aunt called me for dinner, so I ate and went to sleep.

That night, I wasn’t feeling completely normal…

And sometime before morning, I had a very strange dream.

In the dream, the same old man had died…

And I was walking toward his house while people were crying outside.

I woke up feeling uneasy.

But then I ignored it and told myself, ‘Dreams like this happen all the time.’

I got up, got ready, and went jogging like I normally do.

One of my friends was with me.

We stopped at our usual spot near the road, and casually I told him about the dream.

I said,

‘Bro… I saw something weird. I dreamed that the old man from the nearby house died.’

My friend laughed and replied,

‘What are you talking about? He’s still alive.’

After that, we both forgot about it and started walking back home.

But then…

We suddenly heard loud crying coming from the exact same house.

Both of us stopped walking.

My friend slowly looked at me.

A few seconds later, someone from the house came outside and said,

‘Dada ji is gone…’

At that moment, my friend’s face completely changed.

Because just minutes before hearing the news…

I had already told him the exact same thing from my dream.

Since that day…

Whenever I see a strange dream…

I don’t get scared of the dream itself anymore.

I get scared that it might become real.”

“Kal raat main gaon aaya tha…

Tab pata chala ki paas wale ghar ke dada ji ki tabiyat bahut zyada kharab hai.

Sab log tension mein the.

Lekin maine socha, ‘Thik ho jayenge…’

Mami ne khana lagaya aur main baat ko ignore karke khana kha kar so gaya.

Us raat meri tabiyat bhi thodi ajeeb lag rahi thi…

Aur pata nahi kab neend aa gayi.

Subah ek bahut ajeeb sapna dekh kar meri aankh khuli.

Sapne mein maine dekha…

Paas wale wahi dada ji mar chuke hain…

Aur main unke ghar ja raha hoon.

Main thoda disturbed tha…

Lekin maine khud ko samjhaya, ‘Aise sapne toh aate rehte hain.’

Main utha…

Bathroom gaya…

Phir jogging ke liye nikal gaya.

Mera dost bhi saath tha.

Hum dono roz ki tarah apni usual jagah par ruk gaye.

Tab maine usse pura sapna bataya.

Maine bola,

‘Bhai ajeeb sapna tha… maine dekha dada ji ki death ho gayi.’

Mera dost hasta hua bola,

‘Pagal hai kya? Wo toh abhi zinda hain.’

Hum dono baat karke wapas ghar ki taraf chalne lage.

Lekin tabhi—

Usi ghar ki taraf se zor zor se rone ki awaaz aane lagi.

Hum dono ruk gaye.

Mera dost seedha meri taraf dekhne laga.

Phir kisi ne bahar aakar kaha…

‘Dada ji nahi rahe…’

Us moment par mere dost ka face literally utar gaya.

Kyuki sirf kuch minute pehle hi…

main usse wahi exact baat bata raha tha.

Us din ke baad…

jab bhi mujhe koi ajeeb sapna aata hai…

Mujhe neend se zyada darr us baat ka lagta hai…

Kahin wo sach na ho jaye.”

Last summer, my brother was returning home from a friend’s house in our village…

It was around 10:50 at night.

There was a power cut in the entire village.

No street lights… nothing.

Only the sound of insects and the wind.

After eating sweets at his friend’s house, he started walking home slowly through the empty road near the temple.

As he reached near my uncle’s house…

he heard the soft sound of ghungroo behind him.

Chan… chan… chan…

At first, he didn’t panic.

He thought it was my cousin Kavya trying to scare him.

So without turning back, he smiled and said,

‘Stop it Kavya… I can hear you.’

For two seconds…

the sound stopped.

Then suddenly—

CHAN CHAN CHAN CHAN CHAN

The ghungroo started rushing toward him.

Fast.

Too fast.

My brother froze for a second… then started walking faster toward home without looking back.

When he finally reached home, he tried convincing himself it was just someone from the village…

But deep down…

he knew one thing.

Whatever was behind him…

was not walking like a human.

I caught a sleeper train out of New Delhi late at night, the air thick with winter fog. The platform felt deserted.

My coach was way down at the end, away from whatever crowd there was. Inside, everyone seemed to be asleep already. There was a family across the aisle. Two college kids leaned against the window. And then there was this old man, perched up on the opposite upper berth, just sitting quietly.

The second I walked in, he stared at me. Not the normal, distracted glance you catch on the train—a direct look, like he actually knew me. I quickly glanced away and shoved in my earphones, trying to ignore it.

Sometime after midnight, I jerked awake. The train wasn’t moving. Out the window, nothing. No lights, not even the usual chai wallahs. No announcements. Just dead silence.

I checked my phone—zero signal.

That’s when I realized the old man was now sitting on my berth. Just watching me. I damn near jumped out of my skin.

“Uncle, what happened?” I blurted. He didn’t say anything at first. Then, very softly, he asked, “What year is this?”

I laughed—it just came out nervous. “2026.”

His face kind of crumpled. Color drained out. He whispered, almost like he was talking to himself, “No… not again.”

Before I could react, he grabbed my wrist. His hand was ice-cold. “You shouldn’t be on this train,” he said.

Then, slowly, he pointed out the window. And there, through the fog, was another train stopped right next to ours. Same color. Same coach number, everything.

And then I saw it: Through one of the windows on that other train, I spotted myself, asleep. Just sitting there, completely unaware.

I couldn’t breathe. When I turned back, the old man was already gone. Crawled back to his upper berth.

Forget going back to sleep. I just stared at the ceiling until daylight leaked in.

When the train reached the next station and people started climbing off, I looked up—his berth was empty. Blanket folded neatly. No bag. No sign he’d ever been there.

I asked the family across from me when the old man left. They looked at me like I’d gone mad. “What old man?”

“The one on the upper berth,” I insisted.

The woman frowned. “Nobody’s been there since Delhi.”

I went cold inside.

I found the TT and tried to explain everything. At first, he just chuckled, but when I showed him the berth number, his face shut down completely.

He spoke, barely above a whisper: “Sir, this coach number was discontinued years ago.”

I tried to laugh it off. “What do you mean?”

He swallowed. “There was an accident near Kanpur in 2021. The whole coach burned.”

Then he looked up at me, eyes searching, and asked, “When exactly did you board?”

I pulled out my phone to find my ticket—and the PNR was gone. Under journey status, there were only two words:

Passenger Not Found

Three weeks ago, I started babysitting for the Harpers.

Honestly, it felt like a breeze. One kid, cushy pay, huge house.

But their son, Oliver... something was off.

He was six, barely talked, spent a weird amount of time eyeing himself in mirrors. Not the usual kid thing, either. He’d just stand there, staring, almost like he expected something—or someone—to answer him.

First time I noticed, he was brushing his teeth and grinning way too big at the bathroom mirror.

I teased him, “What, you got a buddy in there?”

Suddenly he got real straight-faced. “She doesn’t like it when people talk about her.”

I tried to laugh, chalked it up to kids being creepy. Right? But after that, weird stuff kept piling up.

More than once, I caught my own reflection lagging when I walked past a mirror—like it was watching me, not copying me. Oliver would wave at empty spaces, whisper to the mirrors every night. He never said goodnight to me. Just right at the hallway mirror.

One Friday, his parents were going to be late. Storm was raging outside, power flickered all night. Felt like the setup for every cheesy horror movie.

Around 11, Oliver looked up and asked, “Can you close all the mirrors?”

I tried to joke. “Why?”

He stared at me, then whispered, “She walks around more when it rains.”

That stuck with me all night.

I draped a towel over the bathroom mirror, hoping it’d make me feel less on edge. Ten minutes later, I found the towel on the floor.

I checked every window. No breeze. Nothing out of place.

Suddenly, I found myself barely able to breathe.

By midnight, the power went out for good. No sound except for the storm and the house itself.

Then Oliver laughed upstairs.

My stomach dropped. I grabbed my phone, flashlight on, and headed for his room. Every step felt colder and colder.

His door was cracked open, but the room was empty.

I heard him whispering nearby. I followed the sound to the hallway mirror.

He stood in front of it, staring at his reflection, grinning.

“Oliver?” My voice barely made it out.

He turned and put his finger to his lips. “Shhh... you'll scare her.”

My flashlight shook in my hand. “Scare who?”

He pointed straight at the mirror.

At first, just us. Then I saw it. Oliver’s reflection moved like normal. Mine didn’t.

The me in the mirror was smiling. I wasn’t.

I stumbled back, pulse thudding in my ears.

The mirror-me lifted a hand to the glass. When I touched it, it was warm.

Oliver whispered, “She wants to switch tonight.”

Suddenly, all the lights came back on. The other me vanished.

I grabbed Oliver, locked us both in his room, clutching my phone, praying for his parents to get home.

I never went back.

Two days later, Oliver’s mom texted: “Did you stop by our house last night?”

I told her no.

She sent a security cam photo.

Someone wearing my clothes stood right outside Oliver’s bedroom door at 2:13 a.m., grinning straight into the camera.

And the worst part? The face wasn't mine anymore.