Sunaina left the office late on Saturday, exhausted yet relieved.
The presentation was done, her inbox finally empty. All she wanted was sleep and a lazy Sunday with coffee and silence.
That night, she dreamed - or thought she did.
Sirens, footsteps, her name echoing down a corridor.
She woke to her alarm the next morning.
Sunlight streamed through the window. Her phone blinked -
Phone screen: Monday, 6:58 a.m.
She frowned. "Monday?"
She checked her calendar - no calls, no messages, no photos.
The coffee mug in the sink was stained, her shoes muddy, her favorite ring missing.
Her heart froze.
She had no memory of Sunday. None.
Panic fluttered in her chest. Had she gone out?
Her mind felt fogged, as if someone had pressed delete on the last 24 hours.
Her reflection in the mirror looked? off.
She leaned closer.
Same eyes. Same face. But the woman staring back looked too alert, too aware - like she remembered something Sunaina didn't.
At work, everything was? normal.
Her colleagues chatted about the weekend - movies, dinners, traffic jams.
Except her best friend, Isha, she hesitated before smiling,
"Rough weekend?"
"What do you mean?" Sunaina asked.
"You came by Sunday," Isha said slowly.
"What did I do yesterday?" She was shocked.
"Dropped off files. You seemed? different. You didn't recognize me at first."
Sunaina froze. "I? did?"
Sunaina laughed nervously. "I was home all day."
Isha frowned. "Then who was I talking to?"
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown number: "You switched back. Don't let anyone notice."
Her hands trembled. The message vanished before she could show it to anyone.
She checked her phone. No message sent. No history.
At lunch, she went to the washroom to breathe.
That's when she saw it - a faint cut on her wrist, a bruise near her collarbone.
she touched the bruise on her wrist and felt a sharp flash - a hospital corridor, someone calling her name, a voice whispering: "She's not the same anymore."
Her heart raced. She splashed cold water on her face, looked up -
her reflection in the mirror - watching her too long.
And the reflection smiled...
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown number: "You made it back. Keep quiet."
Her breath caught. The text vanished before she could screenshot it.
All day, her world felt slightly tilted - voices half a second behind, faces too familiar, her own handwriting looking wrong.
By evening, she forced herself to calm down. Maybe it's stress. Maybe I'm imagining it.
She went home, made tea, and stared out at the city lights - pretending she still knew who she was.
That night, she couldn't sleep. Every sound felt doubled - like someone else was breathing just behind her.
The next morning, she came to work.
People greeted her as usual. Laughed. Talked. Normal.
Except one thing.
On her desk sat an ID card - her photo, her name? but not her face.
The eyes were colder. The smile slightly off.
And the date of issue? Sunday.
She tucked it away, forced a smile.
She slipped the card into her bag and smiled at her reflection in the dark window, and whispered to herself,
"You're fine, Sunaina. You're fine."
The reflection smiled back.
Nobody ever found out what happened on that missing Sunday.
Maybe because the Sunaina who returned? wasn't the one who left.
But sometimes, when the lights flicker at
7 p.m., Sunaina wonders - which one of them came back?
