21/08/2026
A Stranger
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The sun was sinking into the western horizon, bleeding itself into the sky in shades of deep crimson, as if the day was quietly letting go of its own identity. On such an evening, a sharp ringtone tore through the silence. Nila frowned, a small irritation folding across her face.
:Hello! Is this Nila speaking?
A voice answered calm, precise, and strangely distant, like it didn’t belong to the same world.
:Yes… who is this?
A pause followed. Not empty, but heavy. Even the air outside seemed to hesitate.
:Who I am is not important. I’m calling about something urgent.
:If it’s urgent, then at least tell me your name.
:On the 4th… do not leave your house.
Her expression tightened, like something unseen had pressed against her thoughts.
:Why would I not leave? And who are you to tell me that?
But the silence answered before the voice did. The call ended. Or maybe it was taken away.
Nila remained still, the phone cold in her hand.
:Strange joke…
She tried to bury it beneath ordinary hours. And for a while, she succeeded.
Days returned to their familiar rhythm. University lectures echoing in tired halls, pages turning in the library, footsteps fading across corridors that always felt longer in the evening light. But somewhere beneath routine, something subtle stayed unsettled, like a thought she had forgotten to finish.
Then the message arrived.
Unknown number.
“Do not leave your house on the 4th.”
Nila exhaled sharply.
:Enough…
She called back immediately.
No connection.
“The number you have dialed is out of reach.”
She lowered the phone slowly.
:This is absurd…
But absurd things, once noticed, do not leave easily. And so the feeling stayed.
Days passed, dressed in normality. But normality began to feel slightly misplaced, like a photograph taken out of focus. Faces in lectures seemed familiar only in fragments. Corridors stretched a little too long. Even reflections in passing glass sometimes lagged behind her by a breath too late.
Still, she ignored it.
Until the night before the 4th.
Nila sat alone in her room. The silence was no longer empty, it felt aware as if it had learned her name. Then her phone rang again.
Same unknown number.
She hesitated. Then answered.
:Hello…
The voice had changed. Not calm anymore. Strained. Controlled panic, like something breaking slowly.
:You saw the message, didn’t you?
:Yes. But I still don’t understand who you are.
:I told you not to leave the house.
:Why? What happens if I do?
A pause stretched between them, thin as glass.
Then,
:Because once you step outside… you will no longer remain the same Nila.
Her fingers tightened.
:Stop speaking in riddles. Tell me the truth.
The voice lowered, almost collapsing into itself.
:If you still doubt me… look at the mirror.
The call ended.
Nila did not move at first. Then slowly she stood and walked toward the mirror.
Her reflection stood waiting.
Long black hair. Familiar face. Tired eyes. Everything correct… almost too correct.
But something was not aligned.
Not in shape.
In timing.
Her reflection blinked a fraction too late.
Nila’s breath caught.
:This cannot be real…
Her phone vibrated again.
Unknown number.
“Class 204. Don’t go.”
Her heart stumbled.
:My class is in Room 204…
She turned toward the door.
Morning had already arrived outside. Ordinary, indifferent, continuing without her permission. Everything looked normal enough to doubt herself.
Her phone vibrated once more.
Only one word appeared in the text.
:Open.
Nila stood still. Her hand moved toward the door… then stopped. Because suddenly, a thought arrived without permission.
What if this wasn’t a warning?
What if this was a correction?
Her reflection did not move immediately.
And in that silence between motion and meaning, something inside her finally broke into understanding.
The call.
The voice.
The warning.
None of it was unknown.
It was her own voice.
Not from now.
From later.
From a version of her that had already walked through the door.
A version that had already seen what happens on the 4th.
And had called back not to save her…
but to delay her.
Her reflection finally blinked.
At the exact same time.
Nila froze.
Because now she understood the most terrifying part.
The call was not from a stranger.
It was a recording she had already made.
And somewhere, in a version of this same room, she was still on the other side of the loop, trying again...
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Writer: Tabassum Alam
Department: Accounting
Session: 2024-25
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We are open to submissions for our 'Friday Fiction' segment from any current or former students of Dhaka University. To send us submissions, make sure to check this post out!
https://www.facebook.com/182121355902389/posts/942238659890651/
