The Forgotten Name

Aarav's pulse pounded in his ears as he turned back to face the copy.

"This isn't real," he muttered, shaking his head. "This can't be real."

The copy smirked. "Then why are you still here?"

Aarav wanted to scream. His fingers passed through everything—the walls, the furniture, the floor. Like he was made of mist. Like he was...

"A shadow."

The realization clawed at his mind. Had he been replaced? Had the world already forgotten him?

He spun toward the mirror. His reflection wasn't there anymore—only the copy, standing on the other side, watching him.

"You took too long, Aarav," the copy said, stepping closer. "Now, you are nothing."

Aarav shook his head violently. No. He was real. He had to be.

"You can fight all you want," the copy continued, voice calm, patient. "But the world has already moved on."

Aarav gritted his teeth. No. He wasn't going to disappear.

But then—his name.

It slipped from his mind like smoke. He tried to hold onto it, tried to force it to stay, but—what was it?

Aarav?

No. That wasn't it.

He struggled to breathe, his own name slipping further and further away. The copy's grin widened.

"You're fading," it whispered.

Aarav staggered back. No. He had to remember. If he forgot, he would be lost forever.

He clenched his fists. He wouldn't give in. He had to fight back.

But how do you fight when you don't even remember who you are?