It was a Saturday evening, Mira walked up the dimly lit stairs to her 1BHK apartment. She had recently moved to Pune to start a new life, complete with a new job and a new hairstyle. Her day was long and she wished to crawl under her sheets and leave the world behind. As she reached the door to her house, she fumbled with the keys to find the right one. There it was, shiny and golden with a tender hue of scratches. Just as she unlocked the door she heard a low murmur. Her hands froze in place and her ears more determined to find the source. She slowly guided her hands to turn the switch on. Click. She looked around the living room. Nothing. She goes on to check the whole house just to find it as lonely as she had left it. But wait, the murmur could still be heard. Low and dim but a starky sound of someone talking. She couldn't quite catch the words but it felt like they were following her. Wherever she went, the murmur seemed to be right behind her. Maybe it's the neighbours upstairs? She thought to herself. But a lingering feeling of unease settled in her mind and she couldn't catch a wink of sleep that night. The murmers had continued like a haunting memory that refused to stop playing again and again.

The next morning was rather slow, Mira woke up grumpy and tired from the lack of sleep. The murmurs still echoed and she felt like she was going crazy. Her head pounded strangely and her heartbeat felt distant. She felt exhausted and extremely cold. The bones in her body seemed to rattle with this sudden frost and she decided to call in sick. She layed on her bed silently. The murmurs kept getting louder. No matter how she tried to drown the sounds in her background, she couldn't help but try to listen more carefully. She had noticed a pattern. It was the same person talking but without any responses. Has the neighbour upstairs gone crazy or has he been on the phone with someone for hours and hours? The voice seemed to get louder and clearer, though she still couldn't quite make out the words. As time passed she fell cradled in the warmth of her bed and stayed asleep until she heard someone speaking loud and clear. "Who is this?" She asked frantically. Though she didn't hear a response the words were clear and sounded like someone was talking about her. She searched the entire house again, but didn't find a trace of anything unusual. The words were clear now. It was someone describing her movements and thoughts in real time. "Who is this? Please leave me alone" she screamed. But the voice had continued. Mira felt weak and cornered. What was happening to her? Was she dreaming? Or was she just crazy after what had happened? The questions ran around her mind.

Days passed by, Mira had stopped going to work, wherever she was the voice went with her. The voice continued describing Mira and following her around like she was reading about herself.

One day, Mira had had enough and decided to talk back.

“Stop it,” she said aloud, her voice trembling. “I can hear you.”
The narration halted. For the first time in days, there was silence.

Then—

“…What?”

She froze. The voice was no longer distant. It was direct. Present.

“You heard me?” it asked, uncertain. “That’s not—That’s not what's supposed to happen.”

“What do you mean?” Mira snapped. “You’ve been in my head for days. Narrating my thoughts, my actions—like I’m some kind of a puppet.”

“I didn’t think you were real,” the voice whispered, shaken. “I thought you were… a character.”

They were both quiet.
Then Mira said, “Maybe you’re the character. Maybe I’m the one being told you exist.”

“That’s not possible,” the voice said, but less certain now.

“Isn’t it?” Mira challenged. “Can you prove you’re the narrator and not part of the story? Can you remember anything before this moment?”
The silence on the other end felt like static—charged and unstable.

“…I don’t know,” the voice finally admitted. “I don’t know where I am. I don’t know if I’m writing or being written.”
They both sat in their respective voids—one in a room that felt increasingly unreal, the other in a space that had never been real to begin with.
“So what happens now?” Mira asked.
“I don’t know,” the voice said. “I thought I was in control.”
Mira let out a slow breath. “Then maybe neither of us is.”

The lights flickered.

A third voice began to hum, low and unfamiliar.
The narration resumed.
But neither Mira nor the voice speaking to her recognized the tone.

Or the hand writing the words.

Then the new voice whispered,"let's begin again."

Mira blinked--

There she was, back in front of her door about to twist the keys and unlock it.

It was a Saturday evening.
She asked up the funky lit stairs to her 1BHK apartment, tired from the day, wishing to just crawl into her bed and leave the world behind.

As she reached the door, she fumbled for the keys.

And just about then, she heard a low clear voice murmuring--

"Just as she unlocked the door, she heard a low murmur...."