This wasn't about sleeplessness—I had grown used to that.
The problem was that I no longer knew whether I had truly awakened… from whatever I had become.
The light seeping through the gray curtain was faint, sickly, fragmented—nothing like the morning light I used to dream of.
As though the day itself hesitated to enter this room that had learned the language of misery.
I opened my eyes slowly.
The ceiling was the same.
The walls were the same.
But I… was not.
Something had changed.
Not in the room—
in me.
I rose. My steps felt heavier than they should have been, as if the ground itself resisted me.
I looked at the table. The shards of glass were still scattered.
The glass… it had truly shattered.
So it hadn't all been an illusion.
My eyes searched for the paper.
There—near one of the fragments.
As though it hadn't moved since last night.
I stepped closer, bent down, picked it up.
The same words. The same warning.
*Don't look behind the curtain.*
But I had looked.
No… I had done far more than that.
My grip tightened around the paper.
"You're late…"
I whispered.
I didn't know why I said it.
Or to whom.
But her name was always there.
Sarah.ط
I turned toward the curtain. It was still.
But I no longer trusted stillness.
I turned my face away.
No.
Not now.
I moved toward the wardrobe and opened it.
I began searching—without a clear purpose. Or perhaps I was searching for something I knew… but refused to admit.
Old books. Files. Forgotten papers.
Things I hadn't touched in months—years.
Then…
I stopped.
A book. Dark brown cover. Its title faded.
I knew it.
It had belonged to Sarah.
I reached out, hesitated for a moment—
then opened it.
Something fell from between its pages.
An envelope.
My heart stopped.
I bent down and picked it up.
My name was written on it—
in her handwriting.
"Simon."
I froze.
I didn't open it immediately. I just stared at it.
As if I were afraid to ruin a moment…
or to open a door that would never close again.
Then I tore the seal.
Inside—one sheet of paper. Written quickly, clearly.
But the handwriting trembled.
"Simon…
If you're reading this, it means I can no longer explain.
Don't trust any report.
Don't trust the lab.
And if you feel like you're being watched…
you're right.
I'm sorry… for not telling you.
I was trying to protect you.
But I think… I only delayed what was coming for you.
—Sarah"
My hands began to tremble as I read the words in her voice—her tone, carrying that deep, familiar sadness.
"Protect me…? From what?"
I lifted my head.
The room felt smaller.
"From what, Sarah…?"
Silence.
But this time, it wasn't empty.
It was waiting.
The ringing.
The phone rang—I jumped.
The sound tore through the room like a blade.
The landline in the corner.
It rang once. Twice. Three times.
I looked at it. I didn't move.
"No…"
But it didn't stop.
I stepped closer, slowly. Reached out my hand.
Paused.
Then lifted the receiver.
"…Hello?"
Silence.
But not ordinary silence—there was breathing. Slow. Heavy.
"Who is this?"
No answer.
Just that breathing.
"If this is a joke—"
The line cut.
A sound.
A whisper.
"Why did you open the letter…?"
I froze.
The voice… was mine.
I dropped the receiver.
It hit the floor, swung—but the voice didn't stop.
Still whispering.
"You should have left it…"
I stepped back.
"This isn't real…"
But I knew.
Everything had become far too real.
I didn't stay.
I threw on my coat, grabbed the letter, and left.
The stairs. The street. The air—everything was harsher.
But this time, I didn't stop. I didn't run.
I was heading somewhere.
The archives.
The building was old—stone façade, tall, timeworn windows.
I went to the local press archives.
Entered.
The smell of old paper was suffocating.
A man sat behind the desk as though time had passed him by without permission.
"I want access to death records."
He looked at me.
"Which year?"
I hesitated.
"Last year… and up to five years before that."
He pointed.
"Over there."
I sat. Began flipping through pages—names, dates.
Then I stopped.
A girl. 23 years old.
Cause of death: sudden cardiac arrest.
Next page.
Another. 25. Same cause.
Another.
The same.
"No…"
I searched faster.
Names repeated. Ages close.
And always the same sentence.
Something else.
Place of work.
The same place.
"The lab."
Then…
I found her.
Sarah.
Her photo.
I looked at it—but this time she wasn't alone.
It was a group photo.
Someone stood behind her.
A blurred shadow.
The posture…
"Me…?"
Dizziness hit me. I leaned closer.
No.
This…
was me.
The fracture.
The newspaper slipped from my hand.
"This is impossible…"
But a voice inside me whispered:
*Are you sure?*
"You were there."
I lifted my head. No one.
But I heard it clearly.
"You saw everything."
"No…"
"And you stayed silent."
"Enough…"
"Just like you did with her."
"ENOUGH!!!"
People looked at me—but they saw nothing.
I stepped back, breath breaking apart.
"I… didn't…"
But I wasn't sure.
I left.
The sun stood high in the sky.
Yet I felt buried in darkness.
I looked at the letter.
At the street.
At myself.
"If I'm right…"
I stopped.
"Then I'm not the victim."
"I'm… part of this."
And somewhere—
behind another curtain—
something was smiling.
I didn't move.
I stood in the middle of the street, the letter in my hand as though it weighed down the air around me.
"I'm… part of this."
The words didn't just leave me—
they returned.
Like an echo that didn't belong to walls…
but to something inside.
People passed around me.
Ordinary faces.
Ordinary footsteps.
But something was off.
Or… too much.
Everything moved as if governed by a system I couldn't see—yet it surrounded me.
As if I had stepped out of the scene…
and remained the only one aware of it.
I folded the letter slowly.
Slipped it into my coat.
But its presence… didn't fade.
"If I'm part of this…"
I whispered.
"Then where does my role begin?"
No answer came.
But…
something else did.
A feeling.
That old sensation.
That someone was watching me.
I raised my head.
Looked around.
The street… unchanged.
But my eyes stopped.
At a distant corner.
A man.
Standing.
Still.
Looking at nothing…
except me.
I froze.
I didn't know why—
but I was certain.
He wasn't just passing by.
I stepped forward.
He didn't move.
Another step.
Still nothing.
Then—
he turned.
And walked away.
"Wait!"
I shouted.
But my feet were already moving.
I followed him.
The alley.
He entered a narrow passage.
I followed.
The light there was weaker.
The air heavier.
"Stop!"
No answer.
My pace quickened.
Then—
he vanished.
I stopped.
"No…"
I looked around.
Walls closing in.
Silence suffocating.
Then—
a voice.
Behind me.
"Why are you following him?"
I turned sharply.
A woman.
Her.
From the lab.
The same tired eyes.
But this time—
she wasn't just afraid.
She was cautious.
"You…"
"Don't raise your voice."
She said it quickly.
She stepped closer.
"Do you want them to see you?"
"Who?!"
She looked straight at me.
"The ones who started all this."
My breath tightened.
"Tell me."
"I can't."
"Sarah is dead."
She froze.
"And you know why."
She looked away.
Then whispered:
"Because she didn't stay silent."
Silence.
"About what?"
She moved closer.
"About them."
"Who are they?!"
She lifted her eyes to mine.
"They're not people… not the way you think."
"What does that mean?"
"They're… a system."
I faltered.
"What system?"
"A system you can't see… but it's in everything."
I took a deep breath.
"The lab… was just a front."
"For what?"
"Experiments."
Cold spread through my body.
"What kind of experiments?"
She hesitated.
Then said:
"On consciousness."
I froze.
"Consciousness…?"
"What you see… what you remember… what you believe is real."
The ground seemed to shift beneath me.
"You're starting to feel it, aren't you?"
I didn't answer.
But my silence—
was enough.
"Sarah was part of the team."
"I know."
"But… she didn't know everything."
"Then?"
"She found out."
Silence.
"What did she discover?"
She glanced around. Then stepped closer.
"That they weren't just studying consciousness…"
She paused.
"They were reshaping it."
Silence.
Heavy.
"How…?"
"With substances."
"Drugs?"
"Not ordinary ones."
I began to understand.
Or…
to fear understanding.
"And these substances?"
"They're administered in small doses."
"Why?"
"So they won't be detected."
"And what do they do?"
She looked straight at me.
"They open the curtain."
I froze.
"The curtain…"
"Between what you remember… and what actually happened."
A chill ran down my spine.
"And this kills people?"
"Sometimes."
"And Sarah?"
"She didn't die because of the substance alone."
She paused.
"But because of what she saw afterward."
Silence.
"What did she see?"
She looked at me.
For a long moment.
"You."
I stepped back.
"No…"
"She was writing everything."
"Where?!"
"A notebook."
"Where is it?!"
"They took it."
"Who?!"
"Them."
"Enough!"
I shouted.
"I want names!"
"There are no names."
"Faces?!"
"They change."
"Then what?!"
She moved closer.
So close I felt her breath.
"Voices."
I froze.
"The same voice you heard… isn't it?"
I didn't answer.
But she knew.
"That means…"
She stopped.
"What?"
"That you're no longer outside the experiment."
Silence.
Then—
she smiled.
But it wasn't comforting.
"You're inside it now."
The break.
A distant sound rang out.
Not a phone this time—
a sharp, short whistle.
Her face changed instantly.
"They've found us."
"Who?!"
"Run."
"And you?!"
She stepped back.
"I'm… too late."
"What does that—"
But she didn't wait.
She turned—
and ran.
"Wait!"
I followed her.
But—
at the first turn—
she vanished.
As if she had never been there.
The trace.
I stopped.
Breathing hard.
Looked around.
No one.
But—
something was there.
On the ground.
Near the wall.
A notebook.
Old.
Black.
I froze.
Stepped closer slowly.
Bent down.
Didn't touch it immediately.
As if I knew it.
Or…
feared it.
Then—
I opened it.
The pages—
filled.
In Sarah's handwriting.
"Day 12…
I started noticing the change.
Not in others…
in myself."
My heart began to race.
I turned the page.
"Day 18…
Simon has started acting differently.
Forgetting things… he never used to forget."
I froze.
"Day 23…
I think… they're using him without him knowing."
My breath stopped.
"Day 27…
If he reads this…
it means I failed."
My hands trembled.
"Day 29…
He doesn't look at me the same way anymore…
He looks… like he's observing."
"No…"
I whispered.
"Day 31…
I'm afraid of him."
The notebook slipped from my hands.
"No… this isn't true…"
But the voice returned.
Closer.
Deeper.
"Are you sure…?"
I closed my eyes.
"I… didn't do anything…"
But this time—
I didn't believe myself.
The point of no return.
I opened my eyes. Looked at my hands—they trembled, not from fear… but from proximity.
"If I'm inside the experiment…"
I whispered.
"Then I… am the key."
Silence.
Then I lifted my head.
The street was no longer the same.
Or perhaps—
I wasn't.
And somewhere…
behind a curtain yet to be opened—
something was waiting.
Not to watch me this time…
but to remember with me.