When I See Myself, But It's Not Me

[POV: Arvid]

I'm not looking for proof anymore. I've found it.

What I'm looking for now is an explanation.

Not from a doctor. Not from a psychologist. But from someone who can read the invisible.

His name is Dr. Kalandra, a clinical psychiatrist who has recently become better known for his help with "non-medical" cases—things that regular science can't explain. He used to be an academic. Now he works in secret, based only on personal references.

I meet him in a small room inside an art gallery converted into a clinic. He's wearing a gray blouse and round glasses, looking more like a literature professor than someone who deals with spiritual cases.

"I need your opinion on someone," I say after I've outlined the outline.

"Reincarnation?" he asks quietly.

"Maybe. Or… worse: two souls in one body."

He doesn't laugh. Doesn't question it. Just nods slowly, then picks up a notebook.

"This person… you said she had an 'identity disorder'? But not a personality disorder, right?"

"No," I said quickly. "She was conscious. But sometimes, there was something else inside her. Like… a shadow that took over every now and then."

Dr. Kalandra stared at me sharply.

"And you're sure it wasn't trauma or suggestion?"

"She drew pictures of things she never saw. She wrote in a handwriting that wasn't her. And there were witnesses who heard her scream while in a coma: 'This isn't my body.'"

He made a note, then stood up and locked the door to his office.

"Did you bring anything that belonged to that person?"

I pulled out the scarf Adel had worn in the accident. There was still blood on the end. I had kept it for some reason.

Kalandra held it. Closed his eyes. A long pause.

Then he opened his eyes. Sharp. Locked on me.

"You're not dealing with a single entity," he said quietly.

"The body… is now owned by two souls. But they are not united. They are fighting. Slowly, silently, but surely."

My breath hitched. "Who is stronger?"

He stared at the scarf for a moment.

"The one who came later. Because she brought a new consciousness. But the old one… won't go."

I gripped the chair.

"Then what will happen?"

"If it is not resolved, one of them will be destroyed. Either the body, or the soul. Usually the loser does not disappear… but rots. Becomes permanently traumatized. Sometimes becomes mad."

I fell silent. My heart felt like it was hardening.

"And the ones who can decide who survive… are not us," he continued.

"Then who?"

He stared at me deeply.

"The woman. She must choose: to be herself, or to return the body to its original owner."

"And if she does not choose?"

Dr. Kalandra lowered his head.

"Then the body will choose for both of them."

That night, I wrote a message to Adel.

"If you feel like you're not yourself, I believe you.

But you have to know—you may not have as much time as you think."

I don't know if he'll read this now, tomorrow, or when it's too late.

But one thing is for sure:

I won't leave her alone… when the time comes.

[POV: Adel]

I don't remember how I got to the garden of this house this afternoon. Last I remember, I was reading a book in the library. But now… I'm sitting on a stone bench, my hands wet from crying.

But I don't remember crying.

I stared at the twilight sky. On my fingertips, there were watercolor scribbles. On the edge of my skirt—a little torn. As if I had just run, or fallen. But there were no wounds. No pain.

Just emptiness.

"Del, did you go to the kitchen in the middle of the night last night?"

Livia asked as she brought breakfast to my room.

I shook my head. "No."

She frowned. "But I saw you on the CCTV. You took a knife and… stood in front of the dining room mirror for fifteen minutes."

My throat tightened.

"I don't remember."

Livia paused, then said carefully, "You spoke softly that time. Like… repeating a sentence."

"What?"

"This is my body. This is my body. This is my body..."

I started writing everything down. What time I went to bed. What time I woke up. What I did. When I felt "lost". But the gaps became more frequent. More and more seconds, minutes, sometimes an hour... that I couldn't remember.

And every time I "came back"—there was always something that changed.

Once, my nails were cut. Even though I let them grow long.

Once I woke up with a paper full of pictures of eyes... with small writing underneath:

"You can't close my eyes."

I tried to talk to Nathan.

"Nathan... have you ever felt that I... have changed?"

He stared at me sharply, as if he knew too much, but chose to remain silent.

"You're tired, Del. All of this could be due to trauma. Wounds that haven't healed."

"That's not it," I said. "Sometimes I feel like I'm not me. Like there's a part of me... that doesn't belong to me."

He stood up. Taking a deep breath.

"I know. And I'm still here. Because whoever you are… I still choose you."

But I wasn't sure who Nathan was choosing anymore.

Me… or her?

That night I wrote in my journal. But my hand felt heavy. Like it was reluctant to obey.

I forced myself to write:

"I don't want to lose control. But I also don't want to take someone else's life."

But on the next page—one I was sure I'd never written before—there was something else written. The writing was sharp. Rushed.

"Thank you for taking care of my body. But now it's my turn."

I closed my journal with shaking hands.

When I looked in the mirror that night, for the first time I really saw her.

She wasn't smiling. She wasn't angry.

But she was… patient. Waiting. Bit by bit… eroding the boundaries between me and her.

And I wasn't sure anymore… who would be left behind when it all fell apart.

Me or her.

Or neither.