“So you mean I woke up a week earlier, after the accident, acted completely normal… and then fainted again?” Niyati’s voice sounded unfamiliar even to herself.”Yes,” her father replied calmly. “The doctors think it was some kind of mental shock. Don’t worry. Everything’s fine now.””No, it’s not.” She sat upright. “I lived an entire week, yet I don’t remember anything.”‘And I don’t think those memories were mine.’But she couldn’t say that aloud.”I just need some time alone,” she muttered instead.The moment the door shut behind her, the dreams returned. Not dreams. Memories. Everything in them looked almost identical to her life.Almost. Niyati slowly looked around her room. The walls were still blue, curtains still hung beside the window. Yet something felt misplaced. “Niyuu!” her mother called from the kitchen .Niyati paused near the door. “Mumma, why do you keep calling me Niyu? You always called me Niya.” Her mother frowned. “What are you talking about? I’ve never called you Niya.’ The door shut behind her before Niyati could respond.That evening, she sat cross-legged on her bed while Maya rambled endlessly over a phone call about Niyati’s “weird phase” during the missing week.”You even talked about parallel universes,” Maya laughed softly. “You know, the whole déjà vu theory? People think it happens when two versions of you sort of… overlap.”Niyati barely listened.. Her attention had shifted to the coffee mug resting on her bedside table. Her breath slowed. She remembered placing that mug inside her cupboard that morning. Slowly, she stood and opened the cupboard door.The mug sat exactly where she remembered leaving it. Niyati stumbled back. The bedside table was empty now. Things were getting out of hand for Niyati. They no longer felt like harmless hallucinations caused by “mental shock.” Her father’s phone cover had always been black. Now it was blue. Some of the notes in her books carried handwriting eerily similar to hers She didn’t write them. The desk lamp no longer flickered. It was never repaired. And sometimes, objects around her seemed to multiply. A pen on the desk. A coffee mug appearing where it shouldn’t be. “These things are affecting me, doctor,” Niyati whispered during her appointment. “I don’t know if any of it is real… or if I’m losing my mind.” The psychiatrist studied her silently, brows drawn together. “I need you to stay calm when I tell you this,” she said softly, gently holding Niyati’s trembling hands. “Because the last time you came here, you kept insisting this wasn’t your timeline.” Niyati froze. “You asked me whether memories could transfer between different versions of a person.” The session ended abruptly after that.Niyati practically ran home. Her hands shook as she pulled out the journal. Three weeks untouched, ever since the accident. She needed to write everything down before her thoughts consumed her completely. But the moment she opened it, her breath caught in her throat. Every single day after the accident already had an entry. And at the top of the very first page, written in her own handwriting, were the words: If you’re reading this, you crossed over again.