CONTINUUM

Bengaluru, 2025

The car tires crunched over dried leaves as they made their way through the narrow, winding path of Sai elite villas. The place felt heavy—like the trees leaning over the road were holding in secrets. Bougainvillea vines crawled over old stone walls, their pink flowers carpeting the ground in messy clusters. The sun slipped through the branches, but the light didn’t feel warm. It just made the shadows look longer.

In the back seat, Arjun barely noticed. He had his headphones on, staring at his phone like he was somewhere else entirely. It wasn’t until his mom snapped at him that he looked up.

"Arjun! Take those off and look around. This is your new home now."

He tugged the headphones down, annoyed. His phone’s screen stays lit with some random video, but his eyes finally wandered outside. The place looked old. Not in a charming, antique way—just old. Like it had given up trying to keep up with the city.

Their red car crept to a stop in front of Aravali 15. The gate looked crooked, numbers barely hanging on, and the house itself seemed to sag a little. Arjun felt a weird shiver run through him, like the whole villa was sizing him up.

He stepped out of the car and stretched his legs, finally getting a good look around. That’s when he noticed it—a dusty, metallic blue car parked under a massive Bougainvillea tree. The whole thing was buried under a layer of dust and pink flowers. Its shape was weirdly sleek and futuristic—totally out of place. He frowned, feeling his stomach twist. He didn’t know why, but something about that car felt... familiar. Like he’d seen it before, but that didn’t make sense.

Next to the cracked stone wall, an old bicycle leaned against the bricks. Its leather grips were cracked and faded, and the whole thing looked like it had been abandoned for years. Arjun couldn’t help but stare at it. For some reason, it made him feel uneasy—like it shouldn’t be there.

The front porch creaked, and he glanced up just as the swing moved. Just a slow, lazy sway, but there was no breeze. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to look away.

That’s when he noticed the man at the door—a tall, lean guy wiping his hands on a rag. He looked young, way too young to be a caretaker, but his calm eyes made it seem like he belonged here.

"Namaste, sir," the guy said to Arjun’s dad. "I’m Mani. The owner asked me to get the place ready."

Arjun glanced at him, and for some reason, the thought slipped out without warning— You look too young Mani uncle!

It didn’t make sense, but the idea hung there, stubborn and uncomfortable. Mani gave him a polite nod, like he knew something Arjun didn’t. Arjun looked away quickly, his eyes wandering back to the car and the bike. He had that feeling again—that weird sense that the whole place was waiting for something.

As he moved toward the door, the word whispered through his mind, clear as day— "Remember."

He didn’t know why, but it made his skin crawl.

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As they stepped inside the house, Arjun couldn’t help but feel like the place was holding its breath—like it had been waiting for them to return. The air was thick with dust, and the wooden floors creaked under their weight. Sunlight slipped through the stained glass windows, casting weird patterns on the walls that seemed to shift as they moved.

Arjun's dad, Surendran, led them through the hallway, pointing out rooms as they passed. The master bedroom was spacious, with a balcony overlooking the tangled garden outside. Opposite the bedroom, right at the end of the hallway, was a door—heavy and wooden, with a rusty padlock hanging loosely.

Arjun couldn’t help but linger near it. The door looked ancient, worn from years of neglect, but somehow... familiar. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt drawn to it, like it was calling out to him.

Surendran noticed him staring. “That room’s locked,” he said, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief. “The owner mentioned it’s just some old stuff from the previous tenants. They might come back to collect it. We’re not supposed to touch it.”

Arjun just nodded, but his eyes stayed glued to the door for a moment longer before he followed his dad back to the living room.

Days passed as they settled into the new house. Unpacking boxes, setting up furniture, and figuring out where everything belonged. Strangely, Arjun found himself guiding his dad on where to put things—like he already knew where they’d fit. When the power tripped one evening, he instinctively knew where the fuse box was, even though he’d never seen it before.

His dad joked that he had some kind of handyman instinct. Arjun just shrugged it off, but the nagging feeling stayed with him. It was like his hands and feet knew the place better than his mind did.

And every time he passed that locked door, he couldn’t resist peeking through the dusty glass window beside it. At first, he saw nothing but shadows and piles of old, covered furniture—an abandoned leather armchair, a couple of wooden crates, and dusty cardboard boxes stacked haphazardly.

But it became a habit—a routine. Whenever he walked past, he’d pause and squint through the dirty pane, half-expecting to see something move. It was stupid, but he couldn’t help himself.

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One evening, just as the sun was dipping low and painting the walls with a golden glow, Arjun paused by the window again. His breath caught in his throat. The room wasn’t the same. The furniture was rearranged, and the armchair was moved closer to the window. Books were stacked neatly on a side table that definitely hadn’t been there before.

His heart pounded. As he stared, a man entered the room from the opposite side—the side that should be a solid wall. Arjun felt his stomach drop. The man looked relaxed, adjusting the books before settling down into the armchair and picking one up to read.

Arjun’s mouth went dry. He bolted back into the hallway, racing through the house, opening doors, checking every possible entry to that room. Nothing. There was no other door to the room, no hidden passageway. Confused and a little terrified, he hunted down Mani.

“Mani, can you open that room? I... I think someone’s in there.” Mani gave him a puzzled look. “That room? No chance, sir. The key’s been missing for years. Owner said it’s just locked up. No one’s been in there for a long time.”

“But I saw someone! Moving things around!” Arjun insisted, his voice shaky. Mani gave him a reassuring smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Must have been a shadow, or maybe your imagination. Trust me, nobody’s gone in.”

Later, when he finally convinced his parents to come and look, they found the room exactly as it had always been—dusty, cluttered, and untouched. Arjun felt a chill run down his spine.

His dad looked at him with mild concern. “Maybe you’re just stressed out from the move. It’s an old house—it can mess with your head,” he said, patting Arjun’s shoulder.

But Arjun knew what he saw. He couldn’t explain it, but he knew.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

A few days later, as he passed the room again, he glanced through the window and froze. The man was back, sitting on the armchair with a book open on his lap. This time, he looked older—more worn out, with a familiar slump to his shoulders. Arjun stared, terrified but unable to look away.

He hesitated, then lightly tapped on the window. The man looked up suddenly, his eyes widening with shock. Their eyes met, and for a second, the world seemed to pause.?

?“Who are you?”

The man just stared at him with an unreadable expression—something between disbelief and sadness. Before Arjun could react, the man slowly raised his hand, showing a familiar scar on his forehead.

Arjun felt his own hand tingle. He touched on his forehead—the same scar from a cycling accident years ago. His head swam, and he stumbled back, heart racing.

When he dared to look again, the room was back to normal—dusty, abandoned, unchanged. Arjun didn’t sleep that night, replaying the encounter in his mind over and over again.

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The night passed in restless fragments, his mind circling the mystery of the room like a moth around a flickering bulb. Arjun lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, the vision of the man in the room playing over and over again. He was sure of what he saw, but how could it be possible? His thoughts spun until sleep finally took over.

The next morning, his parents announced they were heading out to sort some paperwork at the registration office. Arjun nodded absently, his eyes flicking toward the hallway where the locked room waited. The moment the door clicked shut behind them, the reality of being alone in the house hit him hard.

His heart pounded, and he could feel the thud in his chest, quick and uneven. The air seemed heavier, thicker. For a second, he thought of calling Mani over—just to have someone else around—but he brushed off the thought. He couldn’t back out now. He had to know.

Swallowing his fear, he moved toward the room. The padlock hung loosely, almost mocking him. Logic told him that if the man got in somehow, there had to be a way—maybe the key was somewhere in the house. Or maybe... maybe the lock didn’t even work anymore.

His brain scrambled for ideas. Then a strange thought struck him—what if the key to this room was right under his nose? The house keys had all been bundled together when they moved in, and his father had mentioned that some of them were identical. Maybe... just maybe...

He hurried to his room and grabbed his own bedroom key from the holder. It didn’t make sense, but some nagging feeling in his gut insisted on trying it. The other keys hadn't worked, but his instincts told him this one might. Holding his breath, he slid the key into the padlock.

Click.

Arjun froze. The door swung open like it had never been locked at all. A chill ran down his spine. Why had this key worked? Did it belong to the room all along, or had something changed? He pulled off the door with a sense of unease, slowly pushing the door open.

He hesitated for a second, his heart racing, and then stepped inside, feeling as if he’d crossed an invisible line into something he wasn’t supposed to see.

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THE ROOM

A thick, musty scent washed over him, dust swirling in the faint light streaming through the small, grimy window. Arjun took a hesitant step inside, the floor creaking under his weight. The air was heavy and still, like the room had been sealed for ages.

He glanced around, and a strange sense of familiarity crept over him. The room wasn’t just old and dusty—it was like he knew it, like he’d seen it before. A faded sofa was pushed against the wall, a few cobwebs hung from the corners, and boxes were stacked carelessly on one side. An old wooden coffee table sat in front of the sofa, with a dusty book lying open.

Without even thinking, he moved to one of the larger boxes and knelt down, peeling back the brittle tape. Clothes. He knew it before even looking. Just next to it was a smaller box. He pried it open—kitchen utensils and a bundle of dishcloths. His hands moved on their own, skimming over the crates. A narrow box wedged into the corner caught his eye—electronics.

He opened it and froze. The gadgets inside didn’t make sense. A sleek, curved phone with a translucent screen, a pair of wireless earphones shaped like thin loops, and a small, flat device with a holographic interface. Arjun had never seen tech like this before. It looked advanced—too advanced.

His fingers traced over the curved phone, and it powered on with a soft hum, projecting a holographic display into the air. He almost dropped it. The screen showed missed messages, but the dates were years into the future. His own name appeared in the notification bar—Arjun.

He stared down at it, heart pounding. How could this be his? It felt like the room was messing with his head. Shaking, he put the phone down and moved toward the sofa, noticing an open book lying facedown on the cushion. He picked it up cautiously. The title caught his attention—"The Time Machine" by H.G. Wells.

His pulse quickened. He’d read this book before. He knew it. Carefully, he opened the cover, and his heart almost stopped when he saw the handwriting on the inside.

"To Arjun, for all the adventures you’ll find."

It was messy, hurried, but unmistakably his own. He traced the ink with trembling fingers, his mind struggling to process it. He didn’t remember writing that. Didn’t remember owning this book.

He glanced around the room again, something tugging at his mind. He moved toward the window, wiping off the dust with his sleeve. As his reflection came into view, his breath caught. He could see himself—pale, wide-eyed—but just for a split second, he thought he saw a shadow move behind him. He spun around, but the room was empty.???????????????????????????????

He swallowed hard, trying to push down the rising panic. Everything about this place felt wrong, but also... his. It didn’t make sense. As his mind whirled, something caught his attention on the coffee table—a notebook, leather-bound and worn. He flipped it open to find scribbles and sketches in his own handwriting.

The words on one of the pages made him stop cold: "Sometimes you don’t realize you’re living your own memory."

He snapped the book shut, his hands shaking. His mind raced with questions—what was going on here? Was he losing his mind? Or was the room somehow connected to him in ways he couldn’t understand?

Suddenly, his gaze flicked to the window. Something was written on the dusty glass, faint but unmistakable. He stepped closer, his breath fogging up the surface, and read the word:

"Remember."

He stumbled back, his heart racing. The word glowed faintly before fading away, as if it had never been there. He glanced around the room one last time, his skin crawling with unease. It felt like the room was trying to remind him of something—something important. ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………...................................

Arjuns’ heart? was racing. The word glowed faintly before fading away, as if it had never been there. Arjun glanced around, dread pooling in his stomach. The air felt thicker, like the room was squeezing him in.

Then he noticed it—his reflection in the window. But it wasn’t quite right. Older. Eyes darker, hollow, like they’d seen too much. Arjun blinked, his pulse pounding, but the reflection didn’t move with him. Instead, it looked straight at him.

“You shouldn’t be here,” it whispered, lips barely moving.

Arjun froze. “Who are you?” he managed to choke out.

The reflection gave a faint, bitter smile. “Me? I’m you. Or... what’s left of you.”

“No... that’s not possible.” Arjun’s hands shook.

“You shouldn’t have opened the door,” the reflection continued, eyes glinting with something like regret. “The room—it loops time. I got trapped. Years—decades. I lost count. Tried to escape, tried to warn you. But once you’re in... you can’t get out.”

Arjun swallowed hard. “That’s not true... I-I can leave.”

“Can you?” The older version of him leaned closer to the glass, eyes wild. “I thought so too. But time doesn’t move right in here. It warps, eats away at you. It makes you forget who you are. I’ve been watching you. Waiting for the chance to tell you. But it’s too late.”

Arjun stumbled back, his breath ragged. “No... I-I’ll just walk out. I’m not staying!”

The reflection gave a sad, knowing smirk. “That’s what I said. But once the loop finds you, it never lets go.”

Suddenly, the air seemed to thicken, and time itself seemed to ripple. The older version started to fade, his features blurring. Arjun’s mind spun, memories that weren’t his flashing in front of him—years of isolation, screaming for help, clawing at the windows. The feeling of time crushing down on him like a weight.

“No!” Arjun screamed, slamming his hand against the glass. “This isn’t real!”

The reflection gave one last look, almost pitying. “Excellence in this world lies in distinguishing the right living.. But sometimes, the hardest part is knowing which version of you is the right one.”

And just like that, the reflection was gone. The room was silent, as if nothing had happened. Arjun’s heart hammered in his chest. He turned and ran out of the room, locking it behind him, his mind buzzing with terror and confusion.

He leaned against the wall, gasping for breath, clutching his head. Had it been real? A hallucination? A warning? As his heartbeat slowed, he glanced down at his hand and saw something smeared on his palm—dusty, faded ink.

“Remember.”

Arjun stared at the word, chills crawling over his skin. He didn’t know what had just happened, but one thing was certain—the room was not just a room. And somewhere within its walls, a future was still waiting to trap him.

—-BY KARTHYZ