A few days later, at the clinic...
The rain tapped lightly against the windows, a gentle yet persistent rhythm echoing through the silent halls of the psychiatric clinic. The room smelled of old paper, antiseptic, and the lingering scent of coffee. Sam sat hunched on the worn leather couch, his fingers nervously tapping against his thigh. Across from him, Ameli observed him intently, her notebook open but untouched.
"See... in the gloaming dark," Sam began, voice trembling, "he walks like a ghost. Silent. Distant. But come morning, he says he's fine like nothing happened. I don't know what's going on with him anymore. Sometimes... sometimes I catch him talking to himself. Not whispering, not mumbling talking, like he's having a conversation with someone who isn't there."
Ameli leaned forward, her voice gentle but curious. "Have you ever seen him do this before? Back when things were... normal?"
Sam shook his head quickly, almost offended. "No. Absolutely not. We've partied together, played games, hung out all the time. I've spent more time with him than his parents do. Rahul was he was normal. This isn't him."
Ameli scribbled something in her notes. "Can you tell me more about his parents?"
Sam hesitated. "His parents live in a small town. My father was good friends with his dad, that's how I met Rahul in the first place. He moved to the city to work, start fresh. At first, things were great. We shared rent, hung out... but now..." He trailed off.
"I see," Ameli murmured. "By the way, are you giving him the medicines I prescribed?"
"Yeah," Sam said, but his tone was uncertain. "I mean... I am, but I don't think it's working. Or maybe he's just hiding it well."
Ameli closed her notebook softly. "I understand. But it'll help stabilize him at least enough that we can prepare him for actual therapy. That's the goal."
Sam nodded slowly. "Now that he's on the meds, I'll talk to him more openly. Maybe... maybe I can draw him out."
At Rahul's apartment...
Today, I feel weaker than usual. My limbs are heavy, like I've been running a marathon in my sleep. Living with Sam used to feel like fun like having a brother around. Now, it feels like I'm being watched. Judged. Smothered.
The apartment is a mess. I force myself to get up, grabbing some cloth and cleaner, and start with the bathroom. The tiles are stained, the sink cluttered. I scrub harder than necessary, trying to feel normal grounded. After the bathroom, I move to the living room.
That's when I see it.
A tiny glint behind the speaker.
My heart skips a beat.
I push the speaker aside and find it: a camera. Hidden. Tiny. Wired into the wall. My hands start to tremble.
What the hell?
Someone has been spying on me.
Could it be... the Boss?
Fear creeps in like a cold wind.
"Someone is spying on you, Rahul," the voice inside me whispers.
"I know," I whisper back.
I yank the camera out and plug it into my laptop. I try to access the footage but it's empty. Wiped clean. Not even a timestamp left behind.
No way this thing was recording to a local disk. It was using Wi-Fi.
Sending data to someone.
I disconnect it immediately. This this could be proof. Maybe this could finally lead me to the Boss. Or prove that Sam isn't who he says he is.
I tuck the camera into my drawer and continue cleaning, though my mind is spiraling. I push myself into the kitchen. It's the most disgusting room in the apartment grease, old dishes, a smell I can't place but I force myself to push through it.
Eventually, I finish.
Sweating, exhausted, I head to the bathroom to take a shower.
The water hits my skin like ice. My head begins to feel heavy again. Dizzy. I close my eyes for just a moment and the floor seems to fall away beneath me.
I wake up slumped against the cold tile. My head throbs like a drumbeat. As I try to steady myself, I glance up.
Something is written on the mirror, etched in moisture with a finger.
"You cannot trust everyone. I am your only friend."
My breath catches. I blink, and the message vanishes with the steam. I leap to my feet, heart pounding, and stagger out of the bathroom.
What the hell is going on?
I dry myself, throw on some clothes, and go to grab a drink to calm my nerves. But something stops me.
There on top of the fridge is a bottle of medicine. I've never seen it before. The label is unfamiliar. It's definitely not mine... and I've never seen Sam take anything like this either.
Curious, I look closer. The name is complicated some unpronounceable medical term. I pull out my phone and look it up.
Used to suppress delusions and hallucinations in patients with severe dissociative disorders.
My blood runs cold.
This isn't his medicine.
It's mine.
I never asked for this. Ameli never told me what it was. And Sam... he's the one giving it to me, right?
I start connecting the dots.
What if Ameli's therapy is a cover?
What if Sam... what if he planted the camera?
What if they are in this together?
The rage hits like a freight train.
Later that night...
Sam walks in, tossing his keys onto the counter. "Hey, man. You cleaned up? Smells like lemon bleach in here."
I'm waiting in the living room, the camera placed on the table between us like a loaded gun.
He freezes.
"What's this?"
"You tell me," I say, voice low, dangerous.
He tries to play dumb. "Looks like some old junk. What is it?"
"It's a hidden camera," I say, rising. "Found it behind the speaker. Connected to our Wi-Fi."
Sam's face twitches, barely perceptible. "That's... weird. Maybe the last tenants?"
I laugh. It sounds dry. Hollow. "Funny. Because this model came out last year. And we moved in six months ago."
Silence.
Sam looks cornered, but then sighs and puts his hands up, like he's surrendering.
"Alright. I should've told you earlier. Yes, I installed it."
I blink. "You what?"
"It was for your safety," he blurts out. "Ameli thought we thought you might hurt yourself. Or someone else."
"Bullshit," I growl. "You didn't tell me. You watched me. You spied on me."
"I didn't watch! It was motion-triggered and stored externally Ameli only checked it if something seemed off. She's trying to help you, Rahul. We both are."
"You drugged me," I say, stepping closer. "I found the pills. You've been giving me medication I didn't agree to take."
Sam's face twists with guilt. "You weren't ready to accept help, Rahul. You were spiraling. Talking to yourself. Seeing things. We were scared."
"You were scared?" I shout. "I was scared! Of you! Of everything! You lied to me, Sam. You watched me like I was some experiment!"
He doesn't respond.
I lower my voice, shaking. "There's writing on my mirror now. Someone's in my head. And I don't even know if it's me anymore. And maybe that's the worst part you made me doubt myself."
Sam looks away.
"You were my friend," I whisper.
"I am your friend," he says, voice cracking.
"No," I say. "Friends don't install hidden cameras. Friends don't drug you behind your back. Friends trust you."
He hesitates for a long moment. Then, slowly, he walks to the door.
He turns back. "I really wanted to help you, man. I still do. But maybe I've done more harm than good."
He leaves.
The door closes behind him with a final click.
Alone now...
The silence feels different. Heavier.
I sit back down on the couch, staring at the blank TV screen. My reflection in the black surface looks back tired, haunted, uncertain.
The camera sits on the table, a dead eye that no longer sees. But its presence lingers. The damage it's done... that remains.
Was Sam right?
Am I spiraling?
Was he trying to save me or was this all manipulation?
The voices are quieter tonight. But not gone.
The writing on the mirror.
The dizziness.
The paranoia.
If I can't trust Sam... and I can't trust Ameli... and I can't even trust my own reflection
Then who can I trust?
The answer comes to me.
Only myself.
Only me.
And that might be the most terrifying thought of all.