Aarav's breath stopped in his throat.
It wasn't just a resemblance.
It wasn't imagination.
It wasn't a dream.
The boy at the end of the corridor—
shorter, younger, wide-eyed—
was undeniably him at twelve.
Same messy hair.
Same nervous posture.
Same school shirt pattern he hadn't worn in years.
Soren reacted instantly.
He grabbed Aarav's arm. "Don't move. Don't speak. Don't even breathe too loudly."
Aarav whispered, "That's… me."
"I know," Soren said softly, eyes sharp. "And that is very, very bad."
The younger Aarav didn't look confused or scared.
He looked… like he was expecting them.
His small fingers tightened around something he held in his hand—
a rusty old key.
Aarav recognized that too.
It was the key to his childhood home's attic.
A place he'd avoided for years after something terrible happened there.
A lump formed in his throat.
"Why is he here?" Aarav whispered.
"He shouldn't be," Soren said. "He's a displaced echo. A fragment from a broken timeline. Something is pulling him out of his original thread."
"Something?" Aarav echoed. "You mean… the watch?"
Soren hesitated.
"No. Not exactly. He's not a memory. He's not a hallucination. And he's not a full duplicate. He's a warning."
Aarav stared at his younger self—but the boy didn't move closer.
He simply pointed the old attic key at Aarav, almost pleadingly.
A faint shimmer flickered around him.
Fragile.
Fading.
"Why is he showing me that?" Aarav whispered.
"What happened in your attic?" Soren asked.
Aarav's chest squeezed.
"I… I don't want to talk about that."
"You have to. His appearance is not random. Something unresolved from that age is pulling against your present thread."
Aarav shook his head, voice tight. "It's not important right now. We need to escape."
Soren studied the boy closely. "If we ignore this, it'll follow you. It could tear open memories you're not prepared for."
"I don't care," Aarav said, even though he did. "The Timekeepers are after us. We need to run."
But the corridor suddenly flickered.
Just once.
Lights buzzing, walls blurring, a faint hum passing through the floor.
Soren's eyes widened.
"No… no, no—this is wrong. He's destabilizing your now-thread."
"What does that mean?"
"It means he's about to pull you into his moment."
Aarav froze. "Pull me where?"
But Soren didn't have a chance to answer.
The younger Aarav lifted the key and held it close to his chest.
A spark of shimmering dust rose around him—
not bright, not loud—
just soft, like old sunlight through a window.
Aarav suddenly felt the pull.
Not physical.
Not emotional.
Something deeper.
Like his chest was being tugged through time itself.
"Soren—!" Aarav staggered.
Soren grabbed him, anchoring him with both hands.
"Aarav, listen to me! Focus on this moment! Focus on the floor—your heartbeat—the sound of the ticking watch—anything!"
But the watch in Aarav's pocket began ticking louder, synchronizing with the shimmer.
Like it recognized the younger him.
The boy stepped forward one small step.
"Aarav," he whispered.
Aarav's blood froze.
He hadn't heard that voice in years—his own younger voice, softer, scared, but brave in the way only children can be.
"Aarav," the boy repeated, "come back."
Soren's grip tightened. "Don't listen. He's not real."
The boy frowned. "I am real. More real than you think."
The corridor vibrated subtly.
Soren glanced around desperately. "He's opening a thread—one straight to your past. If it pulls you in, I might not reach you."
Aarav's heart pounded.
Too fast.
Too loud.
"Then what do I do?" Aarav whispered.
Soren spoke quickly, urgently.
"You have one choice. You talk to him. Only one question—nothing more. Understand?"
Aarav nodded shakily.
Soren's voice softened. "Ask him why he's here. Ask what he wants."
Aarav inhaled and stepped forward—just enough for the boy to hear him clearly.
"…Why are you here?" Aarav asked, voice trembling.
The boy clutched the attic key tighter.
And answered with words that made Aarav's entire world tilt.
"You forgot something," twelve-year-old Aarav whispered.
"And it's waiting for you."
The shimmer thickened—pulling harder.
Aarav's breath hitched. "What did I forget?"
The boy lifted the key and said:
"Me."
The floor beneath Aarav shifted—
—
—
—
And in the next instant, he was no longer in the corridor.
He was somewhere else.
Somewhere painfully familiar.