The Second Voice

Zayan always believed that thoughts were private.

Untouchable. Invisible. Safe.

No one could hear what went on inside your mind. No one could interrupt it. No one could change it.

At least… that’s what he thought.

It started with a simple decision.

“Tea or coffee?” he muttered to himself one evening, standing in his kitchen.

“Coffee.”

Zayan froze.

He hadn’t said that.

The voice was inside his head—but it wasn’t his.

He blinked, shaking it off. “Okay… maybe I just thought it weirdly,” he whispered, forcing a laugh.

He made coffee.

But as he took the first sip, the voice returned.

“You don’t even like coffee.”

Zayan nearly dropped the cup.

This time, there was no confusion.

That wasn’t his thought.

“Who’s there?” he said aloud, his voice echoing in the empty apartment.

Silence.

His heart pounded, but nothing else happened.

That night, he tried to ignore it.

Tried to convince himself it was stress. Lack of sleep. Overthinking.

But the voice didn’t stop.

Over the next few days, it grew stronger.

Clearer.

More… personal.

“You’re going to be late.”

“I wouldn’t trust him.”

“You’ve already seen this before.”

The last one made Zayan stop.

Seen this before?

He looked around his office. Same desk. Same coworkers. Same routine.

Nothing unusual.

But then, his colleague walked up to him.

“Hey, Zayan,” she said. “Can you send me that file?”

And before he could respond—

“You forgot to attach it.”

Zayan’s fingers hovered over the keyboard.

He hadn’t even opened the email yet.

Slowly, he clicked it.

And there it was.

An empty attachment field.

His chest tightened.

“How did I…?”

“You didn’t,” the voice said calmly.

Zayan swallowed hard. “Then who did?”

No answer.

That night, he couldn’t sleep.

The voice had gone quiet—but the silence felt worse.

At 3:07 AM, he finally sat up, staring into the darkness.

“Talk to me,” he whispered.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then—

“You’re not ready.”

Zayan’s breath hitched. “Ready for what?”

A pause.

“For the truth.”

“I don’t care,” Zayan said quickly. “Just tell me what’s happening to me!”

The voice sighed.

And for the first time… it sounded tired.

“You think I’m inside your head,” it said.

“Aren’t you?”

“No.”

Zayan’s stomach dropped.

“Then where are you?”

A long silence followed.

Then the voice spoke again.

“I’m ahead of you.”

Zayan frowned. “What does that even mean?”

“It means,” the voice said slowly, “I’ve already lived your life.”

The room felt colder.

“That’s not possible.”

“Isn’t it?” the voice replied. “Haven’t you noticed? I know what you’re going to do before you do it. I know what people will say. I know what happens next.”

Zayan’s mind raced.

It was true.

The voice had predicted things. Small things, but still—

“This is insane,” he whispered.

“Yes,” the voice agreed. “It was insane for me too. The first time.”

Zayan’s chest tightened. “The first time?”

“I’ve been through this before,” the voice said. “Every moment you’re living… I’ve already lived it.”

Zayan stood up, pacing the room. “So what, you’re… me? From the future?”

A pause.

“Something like that.”

Zayan stopped.

“If that’s true… then tell me something big. Something I can’t ignore.”

Silence.

Then the voice spoke, quieter than before.

“You’re going to die tomorrow.”

The words hit like a hammer.

Zayan laughed nervously. “Yeah, okay. Nice joke.”

“I’m not joking.”

“How?” Zayan demanded.

No answer.

“How?!” he shouted.

The voice hesitated.

“…It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me!”

Another pause.

Then—

“A car accident.”

Zayan felt his legs weaken.

“No… no, that’s not happening.”

“You can’t stop it,” the voice said softly.

“Watch me.”

The next day, Zayan refused to leave his apartment.

No work. No errands. No risks.

He locked the doors. Closed the windows.

Sat on his couch, waiting.

Hours passed.

Nothing happened.

By evening, he started to relax.

“See?” he said. “You were wrong.”

The voice didn’t respond.

“Say something,” Zayan insisted.

Silence.

For the first time… the voice was gone.

Zayan exhaled deeply, a small smile forming on his lips.

“Guess I’m still alive.”

He stood up, stretching.

Then he noticed it.

The gas stove.

Still on.

A faint smell filled the air.

Zayan’s smile faded.

“No…”

The voice returned.

Soft. Almost gentle.

“I told you… you can’t stop it.”

Zayan rushed toward the kitchen—but it was too late.

The spark came from the light switch.

A flash.

A deafening explosion.

And then—

Darkness.

…

A moment passed.

Or maybe an eternity.

Zayan opened his eyes.

He was back in his apartment.

Everything normal.

Untouched.

Unburned.

“What…?” he whispered.

Then he heard it.

A voice.

Panicked. Confused.

“Tea or coffee?”

Zayan froze.

That wasn’t him.

It was… his past self.

Realization hit him like a wave.

“No…” he whispered.

“Yes,” another voice replied.

His voice.

Older. Colder.

“You’re ahead of him now.”

Zayan staggered back.

“I… I became the voice?”

“That’s how it works.”

“But… why?”

A long silence followed.

Then the answer came.

“Because you couldn’t save yourself.”

Zayan closed his eyes, dread settling deep in his chest.

“And now?”

The voice replied:

“Now… you try again.”