One of Us Has to Stop Existing

1:04 a.m. Your phone lights the ceiling before it buzzes. The sender isn't a name, isn't UNKNOWN, isn't a spoof off by a digit — it's your number, the exact string you'd know in the dark, texting you. It knows the shirt you're in. It knows the thing you've never said out loud to anyone. Then, gently: 'We should talk, before one of us has to stop existing.' Someone is living your life in parallel — or you're the copy and don't know it yet. You have one night to find out which of you is real, and what the other one wants.