He never deleted it. But three weeks later, his roommate asked why Rohan had started sleeping with his eyes open.

Then a subtitle appeared: "Delhi. 2025. Two years from today."

He looked at his reflection in the dark window. His face was fine. Still him. But behind his reflection—in the glass—was the woman from the video, standing in his room, holding a phone that was recording him.

The first scene was a shaky-cam shot of a wedding—a baraat in full swing. But something was wrong. The groom’s face was blurred. Not pixelated— melted , like wax under a heat gun. The band played a tune that sounded like "Happy Birthday" slowed down 10x. The guests danced with their heads turned backward, their feet moving forward.

He clicked download.

The file name blinked on Rohan’s laptop screen like a dare.