I have a twin, and he's a weirdo. There's no other way to put it. Zarif never engages with people, and not in the way some shy or introverted individuals do. It's something deeper, something more complex and difficult to understand. Over the years, I've observed people like him, people who avoid others, and I've come to a realization: there are two types of people who don't engage with society.
The first type is easy to recognize. They are those who are afraid of society, those who know they are different, and this knowledge makes them shrink from others. They fear rejection. They fear judgment. People like Rafi belong to this group. They overthink every action, every word, every glance from someone else. They know how fragile they are, and that fragility keeps them locked in their own bubble. They think that the world will crush them if they let it in.
But then there's the second type—the ones who don't avoid people because they're afraid of them. No, these people avoid society because they understand it too well, and they know that people should be afraid of them. They revel in their own isolation because it gives them power. Power over others, over themselves. They see the weakness in humanity and want no part of it. They know they can destroy someone's life, not because they have to, but simply because they can. And that's where their danger lies.
I don't want to admit it, but my brother, Zarif, falls into that second category.He's not afraid of society. In fact, it seems like he enjoys watching people from a distance, calculating them, understanding them, but never bothering to join them. He doesn't engage because he knows he doesn't need to. It's not that he's scared of being rejected—it's that he knows he can reject the world on his own terms. He looks at people the way a cat looks at a mouse. Not with fear, but with a quiet, patient knowledge that if he ever wanted to, he could pounce, and it wouldn't even be a struggle.
Zarif once said something to me that's stuck in my mind ever since: **"If you can, you should. If you should, you might. If you might, you will."** At the time, I didn't know what he meant, and to be honest, I'm not sure I understand it fully even now. But I know there was something in his voice, something that gave me chills. I think, sometimes, Zarif knows more about the world than the rest of us. Or maybe he's just detached in a way that most people aren't.
I don't understand Zarif. I've spent twenty years with him, shared everything with him, but there's a part of him that I can't reach. Sometimes, I wonder if he's crazy—or worse, maybe he's the opposite of crazy. Maybe he's so logical, so detached, that even craziness wouldn't touch him. He's on a level of his own, a place where emotions and connections don't matter. A place where he's untouchable.
As these thoughts swirl in my head, I feel hands on my shoulders, shaking me. The grip is firm but not harsh, and I blink, coming back to reality. It's Rafi. He's standing in front of me, shaking me, concern etched on his face. **When did I start drifting off?** I had been so lost in my thoughts that I forgot I was a living, breathing person. I forgot where I was. How long had I been standing here, staring into nothing?
I glance around, and everything rushes back to me. I'm in the police station. All of my friends from my birthday party are here. The ones who came to celebrate with me. The ones who are now sitting, standing, pacing in quiet horror. Hanifa's body is inside the morgue. Some of my classmates had gone in to identify her remains, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. The mere thought of stepping inside, of seeing her like that, was enough to make me feel like I would collapse.
Hanifa's body had been cut into six pieces. Six. The killer had severed her head, her two hands, her two legs, and her torso with almost surgical precision. Her eyes had been gouged out, leaving her face disfigured beyond recognition. **How could someone do something so grotesque?** Just thinking about it made me feel nauseous, like I was going to vomit right there in the police station.
But why am I thinking about Zarif? Why is my mind wandering to him, of all people, at a time like this? **Why is Rafi shaking me?** Why can't I seem to stay focused? I look at Rafi, confusion flooding my senses. He looks back at me, his face pale but determined, like he knows something I don't. **What happened?** I try to remember why I feel so disoriented, and then it hits me like a brick to the face.
A few moments ago, Rafi had come up to me. He had said something—something so outrageous, so horrifying, that I had slapped him and fainted. What was it that had made me react so violently? What had he said that had triggered such a strong response in me? I close my eyes, trying to piece together the memory, and then it comes rushing back.
"Navilla," Rafi had said, his voice serious, "at both the school party and your birthday party, there were two people who should have been there but weren't.""What are you talking about?" I had asked, not understanding where he was going with this."Your brother Zarif and Hanifa," Rafi continued. "They were the only two who weren't there, despite being invited."
At that moment, my heart had started pounding. I didn't like where this conversation was headed. I didn't like the connection he seemed to be drawing.
"What do you mean by that?" I had asked, my voice trembling."Maybe Zarif is her boyfriend," Rafi had said quietly. "Maybe Zarif is her killer."That's when I had slapped him, hard, across the face. And then, before I even had time to process what I had done, I fainted, my body shutting down from the shock of the accusation.But now, as I stand here in the police station, my mind racing, I can't help but wonder: **Is it possible?** Could Zarif—my twin brother, my other half—really be involved in something so horrific? Could he have killed Hanifa? The thought sends a shiver down my spine, and I feel a cold sweat forming on my forehead.
I know Zarif is the second type of introvert, the type who avoids people not out of fear, but because he doesn't need them. He isolates himself because he knows he's different, and he takes pride in that difference. He's smart, maybe too smart. But would he really murder someone? Would he take a life just because he was bored or because it amused him?
I don't want to believe it. I don't want to think that my brother is capable of something like this. But doubt is creeping into my mind, slow and insidious. **What do I really know about Zarif?** I've spent twenty years with him, but he's still a mystery to me. He's unpredictable, and that scares me. Could he have done it? Could my own twin be a murderer?
I feel a knot forming in my stomach as the reality of the situation settles in. **I've never doubted Zarif before. Not once.** In all these years, I've never questioned his motives or his actions. He's always been strange, yes, but he's still my brother. I've always trusted him. But now, standing here in this police station, surrounded by the weight of Hanifa's death, I'm starting to question everything I thought I knew.
Is Zarif really a good person? Or have I been blind to who he really is all these years? Has he been hiding something darker, something more dangerous, beneath the surface?The thought sends my mind spinning, and I can't breathe. I need answers. I need to know if my brother—**my twin**—is capable of such a monstrous act. But at the same time, I'm terrified of what I might find.
Navilla sat on her bed, staring out of the window, her mind trapped in a heavy fog. Three days had passed since the police had found Zarif, and nothing felt real anymore. It was as if her life had unraveled in a series of strange, dark events, each more twisted than the last. And yet, despite everything that had happened, Zarif had been released from police custody. The librarian had vouched for his alibi, confirming he had been at the library the entire time. But the most suspicious part—the part that gnawed at Navilla's gut like a lingering shadow—was the
CCTV footage. Someone had destroyed the cameras and removed the hard drive.
**Was it just a coincidence?** she thought for the hundredth time. The police had questioned Zarif for hours, but without concrete evidence, they had no choice but to let him go. Still, the doubt lingered, and Navilla couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.Three days had gone by, and there was still no sign of Hanifa's killer. No new leads. No breakthroughs. Just a thick cloud of uncertainty and fear hanging over everyone, especially Navilla. She wanted to feel relieved that Zarif had been released, but the doubt gnawed at her, making her second-guess everything. **Who could have done it?** **Could it really have been Zarif?** The very thought made her sick, but after what Rafi had suggested, she couldn't stop her mind from wandering down that dark path.
There was, however, one small flicker of happiness in the sea of gloom: Isac, her boyfriend, had been released from the hospital just the day before. He had been injured—nothing too serious, just a leg injury from an accident—but being without him had made the last few days even more unbearable. Now that he was back, he had been trying his best to cheer her up, constantly suggesting they go out on a date to take her mind off things. But Navilla found it hard to feel joyful about anything. Everything felt so heavy and bleak, like the world had lost its color.
She sighed deeply, trying to shake off the dark thoughts. She knew she couldn't keep living like this, trapped in fear and uncertainty. Maybe Isac was right—maybe she did need a break. A date might be exactly what she needed to clear her mind, even just for a few hours.
With that thought, she opened the door to her room and stepped outside. The cool air hit her face, but it did little to lift her mood. As she walked down the hallway, she noticed Zarif sitting in the living room, reading a newspaper. He looked up as she approached, his eyes sharp and focused, as if he had been expecting her.
"Navilla," Zarif called out to her, his voice calm and measured, "what's your birthday?"Navilla blinked, caught off guard by the random question. "What? It's the same as yours," she replied, her tone tinged with sarcasm. "We're twins, remember?"
Zarif didn't seem amused. He continued flipping through the newspaper, as though searching for something specific. "So, what's mine?" he asked again, his voice eerily neutral.
Navilla scoffed. "The idiot who's so genius that he learned calculus in grade six doesn't know his
own birthday? Wow." She rolled her eyes, wondering what Zarif was up to.
But Zarif remained unfazed. "Shut up and just tell me," he said, his eyes still scanning the page."March 7th," Navilla answered, still baffled by the strange conversation.
Zarif's eyes flicked over the paper, as if he had found what he was looking for. He paused for a moment, then spoke again. "It says here... March 7th is the luckiest day for couples. If you spend some quality time together, you'll be together for the rest of your life."
Navilla's heart gave a small leap. **Was this Zarif's way of trying to cheer her up?** She had never seen him take an interest in something like horoscopes, but maybe—just maybe—he was trying to lighten the mood in his own weird way. For the first time in days, she felt a tiny flicker of excitement, something warm and hopeful in the pit of her stomach.
Without saying another word, she rushed back to her room and grabbed her phone. **Maybe Isac was right.** Maybe today was the day to finally shake off the darkness that had been haunting her. She quickly typed a message to Isac, telling him she was on her way. They could finally have that date he had been talking about.
Isac had always been a decent man. He was the kind of person who knew how to love deeply, how to care for someone in a way that made them feel safe. Navilla had fallen for him not just because of his looks or charm, but because of the way he made her feel—secure, loved, and trusted. Maybe that was why, despite everything that had been happening, Navilla still found herself gravitating toward him. Isac was her rock, her constant, the one person who could make her feel grounded even when everything else felt like it was spiraling out of control.
Later that evening, they found themselves sitting by a quiet riverside, far away from the noise and chaos of the city. Isac had a knack for finding the rarest, most secluded spots. This one used to be a park, but it had been relocated, leaving the area deserted and peaceful. The tall grass swayed gently in the evening breeze, and the soft sound of the water lapping against the shore was the only noise around them.
Navilla rested her head on Isac's shoulder, letting the peace of the moment wash over her. They talked about the future—their future. Isac was always the one to bring it up, talking about the life they could build together, the family they could have. **Marriage, children, jobs, a house.** He made it all sound so perfect, so attainable. Navilla blushed slightly at the thought, but deep down, she enjoyed every second of it.
As they sat there, wrapped up in their conversation, Isac shifted slightly, pulling something out of his pocket. "Hey," he said, his voice low and soft, "don't you want your gift?"
Navilla looked up at him, surprised. "You're here with me. What else do I need?"Isac chuckled, shaking his head. "So, you're saying I brought my gift for nothing?""You brought something?" Navilla asked, her curiosity piqued.
With a playful grin, Isac reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. **The kind used for engagement rings.** Navilla's heart skipped a beat. **Was he going to propose?**
Her mind immediately began to race, her thoughts swirling with excitement and anticipation. She imagined their future together—their wedding day, their life as a married couple, the children they would have. She pictured herself working in the banking sector, while Isac pursued his career in the government. Everything was perfect in her mind. Everything felt so right.Tears of joy welled up in her eyes as she reached out to take the box. With trembling hands, she slowly opened it, expecting to see a sparkling ring inside.
But what she saw made her stomach turn.
**It wasn't a ring.**
Inside the box was a human eye. A real, bloodied eye with a brown iris staring up at her, lifeless and cold. The blood had congealed around it, turning dark and thick. Navilla's breath caught in her throat, her heart racing with terror. **Hanifa had brown eyes.**
Her mind screamed at her to move, to run, but her body was frozen in place, paralyzed by the horror of what she was seeing. Slowly, she lifted her eyes to look at Isac, her body trembling. **This couldn't be happening.** Not to her. Not with Isac.
But Isac was smiling. **Smiling.**
In his right hand, he held a sharp knife, the blade catching the fading light as he twirled it between his fingers.
"Do you know how to kill someone twice?" Isac asked, his voice calm and conversational, as if they were discussing the weather. He took a step closer to Navilla, his smile widening. Navilla's heart raced, her mind screaming at her to run, to do something—anything—but her body wouldn't move. She was trapped, paralyzed by fear, unable to escape the nightmare unfolding in front of her.
"There's a way to do it," Isac continued, his voice low and cold. "First, you kill their soul. You give them everything they've ever wanted. You give them hope. Then, once they trust you completely, once they believe in the dream, you shatter it. You break them from the inside out, like it was your plan all along. And then, when they're already dead inside, you kill them physically. Let them bleed out. It's the best way to kill someone, in my opinion."
Navilla's whole body trembled, her mind struggling to process the words. **This wasn't Isac. This couldn't be Isac.** The man she loved, the man she trusted, would never say something like this. But as she looked into his eyes, she realized the truth. **He had never loved her.**
"I loved you," Navilla whispered, her voice shaking with fear and heartbreak.
Isac let out a cold, mocking laugh. "I never felt it," he said, taking another step closer. "I loved the idea of tearing
"I never felt it. I loved your blood, loved the thought of tearing your body apart with my own hands. Yes, you can say I loved you in that sense. Ha!"
Isac raises his knife to slit her throat in one swift motion.
"This is the end, I guess," Navilla whispers to herself. She closes her eyes.
"Thud!"
Navilla hears a noise, but it's not the sound of a knife cutting flesh. She opens her eyes. Isac looks around, confused and alarmed. His knife lies on the ground next to a large stone. Someone must have thrown the stone at him, causing him to drop the knife. Who could it be?
The tall grass behind them rustles. Someone is coming. Did someone see Isac and come to help her?
The grass parts, revealing the person's face.
"Hey, psychopath, how's your 42nd murder going? Did I disturb?" Zarif asks, standing there with a smile, a victor's grin after defeating an opponent.
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