The timestamp read: Now.

He looked over at Surya’s bed to tell him about the nightmare. The sheet was flat. The lump was gone. But Surya’s phone was still there on the pillow, screen glowing. Arjun leaned closer.

The last thing he saw was the subtitle, winking off the screen like a satisfied smirk.

Arjun leaned back, gasping. He had beaten it. He had shared the curse.

When he turned back, the movie had advanced. Now it showed the PG’s common kitchen. The time stamp in the corner read 10 minutes from now . In the video, Arjun watched himself walk in, pick up the kettle, and pour himself a cup of water. Only, the water was black. And as he drank, his reflection in the stainless steel sink didn’t mimic him. It smiled.

And on the screen, a new live feed appeared. A different time. A different place. This one was a top-down view of a narrow bed in a cramped PG room in Bangalore. A young man in a grey t-shirt, sitting at a laptop, just as a shadow detached itself from the wall behind him.