Wrong Number📱

It was 1:44 AM when his phone rang.

Unknown caller.

He answered. No one spoke.

Just slow, muffled breathing—like someone behind a thick cloth.

The call ended.

Parsa tried to block the number, but his phone froze. The screen locked itself.

Then a text popped up:

"You answered the call. Now it's our turn."

He laughed it off.

Probably a prank by one of his friends.

But...

The next morning, he found a photo in his gallery.

Of himself.

Sleeping.

The angle was from above—as if someone was standing over him.

But Parsa lived alone.

The second night, at exactly 1:44 AM, the phone rang again.

This time, a child’s voice whispered:

"That night you said, 'Just a small mistake. We’ll fix it.'

But I’m still here.

Still under the bridge.

Still awake."

Parsa froze.

No one was supposed to know about that night.

The accident.

The little girl.

He and his friend decided to cover it up.

To run.

And he did say those words that night:

"Just a small mistake."

But how could she know?

The third night, his friend disappeared.

Gone without a trace.

Only one last call at 1:44 AM.

Then... radio silence.

Parsa saw a therapist.

Maybe it was stress. Maybe guilt.

The doctor told him to confront his past.

The fourth night, Parsa ignored the call.

He turned the phone off.

Or so he thought.

At 1:44 AM, the phone turned itself back on.

The call answered itself.

The girl spoke again:

"Have you ever told a lie so deep... it came alive?

I am that lie.

And I still breathe."

Parsa screamed. Threw the phone across the room.

The power went out.

From the darkness, the phone rang again.

This time, the caller ID said: HIMSELF.

🩸 End.