The Account That Shouldn’t Exist:

It started out with a notification.

Sara, a 27-yr-old graphic clothier living in Karachi, turned into scrolling via Instagram overdue one night time while she noticed a acquainted name pop up in her suggested follows: @zainwritesagain. Her coronary heart stopped.

Zain had died two years ago.

He changed into her college friend, a poet, and someone she had loved quietly from afar. His death have been surprising — a bike twist of fate on a rainy night time. She remembered the funeral, the grief, the silence that followed.

So why become his account energetic?

The Primary Put up

Sara clicked the profile. It had one post — a photo of a notebook, open to a web page full of Zain’s handwriting. The caption study: “some things survive the silence.”

The post was dated just three days ago.

She stared on the display, her fingers trembling. turned into it a tribute account? A member of the family? A hacker? but the handwriting was actual. She had seen it before — within the notes he used to bypass in magnificence, within the poems he left in library books.

The Messages Start

She followed the account. mins later, she obtained a DM. “You do not forget the rooftop?”

Sara’s breath stuck. The rooftop became their mystery — a place they used to break out to for the duration of university breaks, in which Zain might study his poems aloud and she or he could caricature the metropolis skyline.

No one else knew.

She responded: “who's this?”

The account replied: “you recognize.”

The Search For Reality

Sara couldn’t sleep. She started out digging. Zain’s vintage debts have been inactive. His circle of relatives hadn’t published anything in months. She messaged his sister, who confirmed they hadn’t created any tribute page.

“I don’t actually have get admission to to his notebooks,” she stated. “They were lost in the flow.”

Sara’s mind raced. became someone pretending to be him? however why? and how did they realize a lot?

The Second Submit

A week later, a brand new publish regarded. A picture of a caricature — her cartoon. One she had drawn years ago and in no way shared on line. It was of the rooftop, with Zain standing at the brink, hands outstretched.

The caption examine: “You noticed me before I noticed myself.”

Sara felt dizzy. That sketch were tucked away in her magazine. She hadn’t proven it to everyone. She messaged once more: “How do you have got this?”

No reply.

The Emotional Spiral

Sara started out thinking everything. changed into Zain alive? Had he faked his loss of life? changed into a person looking her?

She stopped going out. covered her laptop digital camera. Deleted vintage posts. but the account saved posting — fragments of poems, photos of locations they had visited, even a voice be aware that sounded eerily like Zain’s soft, planned tone.

Her friends advised her to report the account. but she couldn’t. a part of her didn’t want to permit cross.

The very last Message

One night time, the account posted a video. It become blurry, filmed from a rooftop. The digicam panned slowly, displaying the skyline, then zoomed in on a pocket book lying open.

The caption study: “A few stories don’t quit. They echo.”

Sara watched it on loop. She knew that rooftop. She knew that pocket book.

She messaged one closing time: “Are you actual?”

The respond got here instantly: “You stored me alive.”

The Silence That observed

The account went darkish after that. No posts. No replies. just a lingering presence in her followers list.

Sara in no way observed out who ran it. however something shifted in her. She commenced drawing once more. Writing once more. She published her personal tribute — a comic strip of the rooftop, captioned: “a few echoes are well worth taking note of.”

humans answered. a few shared tales of lost friends. Others pointed out mysterious debts that had reached out to them.

Sara realized she wasn’t alone.