When the Clock Strikes Two-3

Brand New World

The control room smelled of stale coffee and disinfectant, the kind of sour, clinging odor that settled into the air after an overnight shift and refused to leave. Across the wall of monitors, platform feeds showed cleaners rolling their carts toward storage bays while the first office-goers drifted in beneath a thin, colourless weekday dawn.

Just a few minutes more, he thought, approving the manual override as if exhaustion were something that could be negotiated with logic and goodwill.

When the signal paths shimmered and crossed on his screen, the unease he had been suppressing finally tightened around his chest. By the time the collision alarms tore through the control room—sharp, relentless, impossible to ignore—Bengaluru’s first morning announcements were already echoing across the stations.

The screens bloomed red as two train icons slid together and merged into one. In that instant, he understood that the delay he had bargained for had already transformed into impact, irreversible and final.

Pitch black.

Wait a minute… why am I running behind this guy?

I became aware of my own movement, my legs pounding the ground as if driven by instinct rather than choice. I looked to my right and froze mid-stride. My hands were raised—fists clenched tightly around the handle of a knife, the blade flashing as it caught the light.

Is he running away from me? I’ve seen this guy somewhere before. Am I about to kill him? No. No. This isn’t right. I need to wake up. Right now. Someone—anyone—wake me up.

I jerked upright with a sharp gasp and found myself sitting on a bed, lungs burning as though I had surfaced too quickly from deep water. My breathing stayed heavy for several minutes while I scanned the room, my eyes darting from wall to wall.

This is not my room. What happened?

The last clear memory I had was of stepping out of an elevator, dizziness washing over me, and then collapsing as the world folded in on itself.

“Nikitha!” I shouted, my voice raw with panic.

“What?” came a muffled reply from beneath the covers beside me.

I jolted and pulled them back. It was her—undeniably, unmistakably her.

Tears spilled down my face before I could stop them. I wrapped my arms around her, held her as if she might disappear again, and kissed her cheek. “You have no idea how much I missed you, my dear,” I whispered into her ear.

She responded in a rough, half-asleep tone, her irritation cutting cleanly through my relief. “Did you fall on your head or something, you imbecile? It’s two o’clock in the morning. Go to bed. And don’t make sleeping on this bed a habit. Just go to your room next time after sex.”

She turned away from me and disappeared beneath the covers, already retreating back into sleep.

What the—

I lay perfectly still, staring at the ceiling as my thoughts scrambled to catch up with what had just happened.

What the hell just happened? Is this really Niki? Or am I still dreaming?

I slapped my face once. Then again. And again.

Nothing changed.

I sank back into the bed and closed my eyes, breathing hard as panic tightened its grip around my chest and refused to loosen.

“Wake up!” Nikitha shouted.

I slowly opened my eyes, my body feeling heavy, as though I had been pulled under and dragged back to the surface.

“Sorry, Niki. I overslept. What time is it?” I asked, pushing the covers aside.

She shot me an annoyed look. “Look for it yourself. And who the hell is Niki? I’m going for work.”

She turned sharply and left the apartment, the door closing behind her with finality.

Shock spread through me in a cold wave.

This is definitely not my house.

Nikitha’s behaviour was wrong—too distant, too harsh—and as I sat there, memories flooded back in fragments: collapsing outside the elevator, waking at two in the morning, the way she had looked at me as if I were a stranger.

This isn’t a dream. And if it is, it’s a nightmare I can’t wake up from.

I reached for the phone on the table beside the bed and checked the date on the lock screen.

December 12, 2025.

The next day…

I unlocked the phone with my fingerprint. The wallpaper was completely black.

What the hell? When did I change it from our photo in front of Big Ben?

I scrolled through the installed applications, dread pooling in my stomach with each swipe.

No WhatsApp.

No Facebook.

No Instagram.

No X.

I opened the call app and searched for my mother’s number.

It wasn’t there.

I dialled it from memory, my hands trembling.

The number does not exist.

My breathing grew uneven as I continued scrolling. I found my office mail application and opened it. It prompted me for a password. I entered it carefully.

Incorrect.

I stood up and walked through the apartment, every step reinforcing how unfamiliar the place felt. In the living room, a framed photo of our wedding hung on a beige-painted wall—but it was wrong. We weren’t smiling. We wore different clothes. Even the background felt alien, as though it belonged to another version of our lives.

Panic escalated as I noticed the dirty kitchen, my separate bedroom, my personal belongings—and the absence of every shared memento that should have been there.

The dining table was bare.

I stepped out into the corridor, only to find that it too felt unfamiliar. When I returned inside, my shoulders sagged and my head hung low.

Then I stopped, drew in a slow breath, and forced myself to straighten.

I need to get myself together. I need to understand what’s happening.

In my bedroom, I searched through drawers and shelves until I found my office ID. The moment I read it, a chill ran through my body.

Sharon Kumar
Junior Sales Engineer
BASIL Consultancy

I sank onto the bed and covered my face, elbows resting on my knees.

What should I do? How will I get back? Whose life am I living? Is this really happening?

The questions piled up faster than I could answer them.

After freshening up and getting dressed in clothes that didn’t feel like mine, I went to the front door and searched for the keys in a white plastic bowl on a wooden stand. I found a single car key with a Hyundai logo.

Is this mine?

There was no other car key.

I locked the door behind me and stepped out, only to pause mid-motion.

Am I even in Bangalore? And where is my office?

I unlocked my phone, opened Maps, and let out a small breath of relief when I saw the familiar outline of the city. I searched for BASIL Consultancy. Only one location appeared.

At the elevator entrance, my steps slowed as memory surged back—dizziness, the sudden collapse. My breathing grew heavier.

Stairs, I decided, turning away.

In the basement parking lot, I clicked the unlock button repeatedly, following the distant beep until I located the car. I slid into the driver’s seat and fastened my seatbelt as a security guard nearby watched me with open suspicion.

I offered him an awkward smile. “The key wasn’t working properly yesterday. Just checking.”

He turned away, unimpressed.

As I drove through Bangalore, the city felt like a familiar place seen through a warped mirror. The roads, buildings, and metro tracks were where they should be, yet the name boards, colour schemes, and small details were wrong. More unsettling were the people—their faces blank, edged with quiet unhappiness.

And some of them looked disturbingly familiar.

I’ve seen them before… but where?

At the office gate, a security guard stared at me until I raised my ID. He waved me through.

Inside the campus, confusion returned.

Which campus is this?

I followed the signs to the parking lot, checked the time—10:30 AM—and hurried toward the building. When I asked a guard for BASIL Consultancy, he pointed silently. Inside the lobby, the receptionist told me, “Fifth floor,” without looking up.

As I waited for the elevator, a tall, middle-aged man approached with a friendly smile. “Hey! Back from leave, huh? How was the ceremony? Everything go well?”

I stared at him for a second too long, then forced a smile. “Yeah. It went well.”

Inside the elevator, I glanced at his ID. It looked exactly like mine.

Then it hit me.

A flash of recognition.

His face.

All the faces I had found familiar that morning—on the road, in the building.

They were from the news.

People falling into comas.

I pulled out my phone and searched frantically—web, YouTube, every platform I could think of.

There was nothing. The news is gone.

(To be continued)

(On a Break)