For a long moment, I simply stared at the photograph on my phone.
"She is still alive."
The words felt unreal.
Impossible.
Three years ago, someone had apparently died because of Project Echo.
The voice recording had suggested it.
The messages implied it.
Every clue pointed toward the same conclusion.
Aisha was dead.
Yet now someone was telling me she was alive.
One of those things had to be a lie.
The question was—
Which one?
"Arjun..."
Meera's voice sounded distant.
I looked up.
She was staring at the photograph too.
And for the first time since I'd met her, I saw genuine fear in her eyes.
Not sadness.
Not hesitation.
Fear.
"You know something," I said quietly.
She remained silent.
"You recognized the room."
Still silence.
"Meera."
Finally, she looked at me.
"I've been there."
The answer made my chest tighten.
"When?"
"After the accident."
A cold feeling settled in my stomach.
"Why?"
Her fingers curled tightly around the edge of the couch.
"Because I was looking for you."
The room became silent again.
I waited.
This time she didn't avoid my gaze.
"When you disappeared from the hospital, nobody knew where you had gone."
My heartbeat quickened.
"What do you mean disappeared?"
"You were gone for almost two days."
I froze.
Nobody had ever told me that.
Not my father.
Not Kabir.
Nobody.
"That's impossible."
"I wish it was."
My mind struggled to process the information.
Two days.
Forty-eight hours.
Missing.
And I remembered absolutely nothing.
Before I could ask another question, my phone vibrated again.
A new message.
Unknown Number.
Tomorrow. 10:00 AM. Room 309.
Another message followed immediately.
Come alone.
Then:
Trust nobody.
Including her.
I slowly lowered the phone.
Meera already knew what the message said.
She could read it from my expression.
"I'm not letting you go alone."
"No."
"Arjun—"
"No."
The word came out sharper than intended.
She flinched slightly.
Instant regret hit me.
But the truth was unavoidable.
The caller had just accused everyone around me of lying.
My father.
Kabir.
Meera.
And now I didn't know who to trust.
Maybe that was exactly what the caller wanted.
But it was working.
That night, sleep never came.
I sat alone beside the window while rain tapped softly against the glass.
The city lights blurred in the darkness beyond.
Around 3 AM, I opened the voice recorder again.
Dozens of recordings filled the device.
Some were only seconds long.
Others lasted several minutes.
Fragments of memories.
Dreams.
Observations.
Evidence.
I played one of the oldest files.
A recording made nearly a year ago.
My own exhausted voice filled the room.
"Another dream."
Static.
"Same girl."
A pause.
"Still can't see her face clearly."
I frowned.
The date caught my attention.
This recording had been made long before Meera appeared in my dreams regularly.
Long before I consciously remembered her.
Curious, I opened another old file.
Then another.
And another.
Each one mentioned strange dreams.
Rain.
Train stations.
A yellow scarf.
A woman crying.
But something was different.
Something I hadn't noticed before.
In the earliest recordings...
I never called her Meera.
I called her someone else.
My pulse quickened.
I replayed the file.
The younger version of my voice sounded tired.
Confused.
"Dream again."
A long silence followed.
Then—
"I saw Aisha tonight."
My blood turned cold.
I immediately sat upright.
No.
That wasn't possible.
I listened again.
The name was clear.
Aisha.
Not Meera.
Aisha.
For several seconds, I couldn't think.
Then a horrifying possibility entered my mind.
What if I'd been wrong from the beginning?
What if the girl from my dreams wasn't Meera?
What if they were two different people?
The thought sent a chill down my spine.
Suddenly, another memory surfaced.
Not a flash.
Not a fragment.
An actual memory.
Small.
Brief.
But real.
A rooftop.
Sunlight.
A girl laughing.
Not Meera.
Someone else.
I still couldn't see her face.
But I knew one thing immediately.
The feeling was different.
When I thought about Meera, I felt comfort.
Familiarity.
Home.
But this memory...
This felt like guilt.
A crushing guilt so intense it hurt.
My breathing became uneven.
Because for the first time...
I wasn't sure who my heart was remembering.
Meera.
Or Aisha.
The next morning arrived far too quickly.
At 9:15 AM, I stood outside St. Gabriel Medical Research Center.
The building looked abandoned.
Gray concrete walls.
Dark windows.
Rust spreading across old metal gates.
The place felt forgotten.
Dead.
Yet Room 309 was waiting somewhere inside.
Along with answers.
Or perhaps even more lies.
I checked my phone one last time.
No messages.
No calls.
Nothing.
Taking a deep breath, I stepped through the gate.
The moment I entered the building, a strange feeling washed over me.
Recognition.
The corridor ahead looked familiar.
Too familiar.
Like a place I'd seen a thousand times in dreams.
The elevator no longer worked.
I climbed the stairs instead.
First floor.
Second floor.
Third floor.
Every step made my heartbeat louder.
Finally, I reached the end of a narrow hallway.
And there it was.
Room 309.
The door was already open.
Exactly like the photograph.
A thin line of light spilled into the corridor.
My hands trembled.
Somewhere inside that room was the truth.
About Project Echo.
About Aisha.
About Meera.
About me.
Slowly, I pushed the door open.
The room beyond looked abandoned.
Dust covered the furniture.
Old machines sat disconnected from power.
Filing cabinets lined one wall.
At first glance, the room appeared empty.
Then a voice spoke from the shadows.
A female voice.
Weak.
Tired.
But unmistakably real.
"You're late, Arjun."
Every muscle in my body froze.
Because deep inside me—
Something recognized that voice immediately.
And for the first time in three years...
A forgotten name escaped my lips without thinking.
"Aisha...?"
Episode 28 Highlights
Strong psychological twist.
Dream girl mystery deepened.
Meera vs Aisha emotional conflict introduced.
Room 309 finally reached.
Major cliffhanger: Aisha may be alive.