I've always been the best-at least, that's how it was supposed to be. An engineer, fresh out of college, headhunted by the most prestigious firms. Highest placement? That was me. Perfect physique? All mine. Women whispered when I walked by, my colleagues admired me-envied me. I was the star. I was untouchable.
But then... he appeared.
He was nobody, just a shadow in the corners of my college, blending in with the walls, unnoticed by everyone-including me. I never even saw him during class. I would have remembered someone so... insignificant. But somehow, we both ended up at the same company, sharing the same department.
I first noticed him staring.
It wasn't a casual glance, not a passing look. It was a fixed, hollow stare, like he was watching me through me. The intensity of it sent a cold ripple through my spine. At first, I thought I was imagining it, but no. He was there again the next day. Watching. Watching me work. Watching me breathe.
So, I decided to approach him. Maybe I could knock the creepiness out of him. Show him who I was.
"Hey," I said, trying to keep my voice light, but there was a weight to it. "We were in the same college, right? I saw you during placements."
His response wasn't what I expected. His eyes didn't blink. His lips barely moved. "I hate you," he said, his voice flat and emotionless. "I'll become just like you. Take your place. Soon."
I laughed. I had to. What else could I do? A weird, bitter guy who had issues with me, sure, but nothing to worry about, right?
That was the moment it all started. The feeling that something wasn't right.
I saw him follow me on Instagram. No likes, no comments-just silent, lurking in the shadows. It was unsettling, but I shrugged it off. Social media was full of people like him, right?
But then, it went from strange to wrong.
One morning, I came home to find him moving into the apartment across the hall. My hall. His eyes met mine as I stood there, frozen in disbelief. He didn't even smile. Just... watched. He was my neighbor!!
That was when the paranoia started. He took the same route to work, at the exact same time as me. He joined the gym I went to. Same workouts, same machines. Always behind me. I could feel his eyes on me even when I couldn't see him.
My office incharge praised him in front of me and said - He's becoming me.. And he was proud of him
I was confused and thought of seeing him
He wasn't just imitating my actions; he was becoming me.
It was subtle at first, the way he changed. His walk. The way he talked. Even his smile started to look familiar-too familiar. I couldn't shake the sensation that every time I looked at him, I was looking at myself, only... twisted. A grotesque parody.
And then, the rumors started.
Someone claimed I'd molested a woman-taken her dignity. It was a lie, a horrific lie. But the investigation was swift, and soon I was trapped. My colleagues turned on me like wolves, my friends vanished, my girlfriend left me without a word. Even my parents-they turned their backs on me.
But it didn't stop there.
I began to lose myself. Sleep-deprived, stressed to the point of madness, I couldn't focus. I couldn't think. I couldn't even breathe without feeling like he was right behind me, mocking my every move. I was fired. Left with nothing but the suffocating weight of my failures.
The debt piled up. My credit cards, my bills-they all bled me dry. I was drowning in it, with no way out. No way to escape him.
And then, the court case. The witnesses described a man with my height, my physique, my walk. They said he looked like me. They said he was the one who had committed the crime.
But I knew it wasn't me. I knew it. It was him. It had always been him. He had stolen my life, piece by piece, and left me with nothing but a mirror to reflect the twisted version of myself that he had become.
Now I sit in this sterile, cold cell, hours from my death sentence. The countdown has begun. Tomorrow, they will execute me.
But something's off. I've been hearing things in the shadows. Whispers. Breathing.
And then he appeared again.
He stood there, in the doorway, watching me with that same smile-too wide, too perfect.
"I've finally become you," he said.
But his voice wasn't his anymore. It was mine. It was my voice, my words-twisted and distorted, yet unmistakably mine.
And then I realized. It wasn't just his actions that were mimicking me. It was everything. The way he thought. The way he felt. He was me. Or at least, he thought he was.
And as he stepped closer, I saw it-the reflection in his eyes. I wasn't looking at him anymore. I was looking at myself.
And I knew, with terrifying clarity, that when I die tomorrow, it won't be me they're executing.
It'll be him.
The real me... is already gone.