The Vanishing Thread

Aarav clutched his head, his mind a battlefield of fading memories. His name—it was slipping, dissolving like mist in the morning sun.

The copy watched with quiet amusement, standing in front of the mirror, its reflection the only thing visible.

"Who are you?" it asked softly.

Aarav opened his mouth to answer, but no sound came out. Who was he? His throat tightened in panic.

"I am..."

The words refused to form.

The copy took a slow step forward. "You are no one. A shadow. A fragment of something that never truly existed."

No. That was a lie. He refused to believe it.

Aarav forced himself to think—something, anything that proved he was real. The warmth of his mother's hands when she held him as a child. The rough calluses of his father's fingers. The laughter of his friends on a rainy afternoon. The feeling of wind rushing past him when he ran—

But they were vanishing. One by one. Like they had never happened.

"No!" Aarav screamed, gripping his head. His knees buckled as his mind was slowly being erased.

The copy knelt beside him, whispering in his ear.

"If you disappear, who will remember you?"

Aarav gasped. There had to be a way back. There had to be something still tying him to reality.

Then, suddenly—a thread.

Thin. Fragile. But real.

A memory, untouched by the decay.

A name.

Not his own—but hers.

Aarav latched onto it with everything he had, pulling himself from the abyss. If she still remembered him, he was not lost yet.

He opened his eyes, looking past the copy, past the mirror, past the fear.

And whispered a name.

"Saira."

The copy froze.

The room shuddered.

And for the first time, the copy's expression changed.