My Brother’s Shadow Didn’t Follow Him

My Brother’s Shadow Didn’t Follow Him

I was ten when I noticed it.

My brother, Zeeshan, was fourteen. He was tall for his age, quiet, and always seemed to be thinking about something distant.

We’d play cricket in the empty street every afternoon. One day, while fielding, I saw something strange.

Zeeshan was walking across the road — and his shadow wasn’t behind him.

It was ahead.


---

At first, I thought my eyes tricked me. Maybe the angle of the sun, maybe dust in the air.

But the next day, I watched more closely.

Every time he moved…
his shadow didn’t match.

He turned right. The shadow turned left.

He stopped. The shadow kept moving.

He stood still — and the shadow… turned to face him.



---

I told Ammi.

She said, “Beta, stop imagining things.”

But one day, she saw it too.

We were walking to the mosque after Asr.

Zeeshan walked slightly ahead.

The sunlight hit us all equally.

But his shadow…

It curved. Shifted. Then split into two for a moment — before rejoining.

Ammi squeezed my hand.


---

We tried to ignore it. Thought maybe it was… a rare condition. A trick of the light.

Until Zeeshan started talking to it.

At night.

Whispers.

Sometimes angry. Sometimes… sad.

I heard him once through the door:

> “I said not now. You promised! Let me sleep.”




---

One evening, we found him sitting silently on the roof, knees to chest, eyes wide.

> “Are you okay?” Abba asked.



He looked up slowly and said:

> “It’s trying to take my place.”




---

The next day, mirrors started cracking near him.

First in the bathroom. Then on his cupboard. Then the rearview mirror of Abba’s car.

When we asked him what happened, he just said:

> “It doesn’t like being seen.”




---

A local aalim was called.

He recited verses, gently questioned Zeeshan.

During Surah Al-Falaq, Zeeshan’s eyes rolled back for a second.

And his shadow disappeared completely.

We all gasped.

The aalim said calmly:

> “This is not normal shadow-play. This is a naqil — something that has attached to his reflection, waiting to replace him.”



> “Why him?” Ammi asked.



> “Maybe jealousy. Maybe weakness. Or maybe… he touched something that was waiting to be seen.”




---

Zeeshan began changing.

He stopped eating much.

His laughter sounded hollow.

His reflection in water lagged behind his real movements.


And sometimes, when no one was around…

I heard two footsteps walking… even though he was alone.


---

One day, I gathered courage and asked:

> “Zeeshan bhai… what does it want?”



He whispered:

> “To live.”



> “Live how?”



He looked at me and smiled — but his eyes were crying.

> “It wants to be me. It already knows how.”




---

The final moment came just before sunset.

He stood in the courtyard, facing the sun.

We watched from inside.

His shadow began to pull away — not on the ground, but rising… like smoke.

It turned. Slowly. Deliberately.

And smiled.

A second mouth — forming in the darkness.


---

Abba rushed out with a Qur’an.

Recited loudly.

Zeeshan collapsed.

The shadow… vanished.


---

He stayed unconscious for three days.

When he awoke, he didn’t remember anything.

But now, his shadow follows him normally.

Except…

Sometimes it flickers.

And when he passes a mirror…

He doesn’t look into it.

And neither do we.


---

Because what if one day…

his shadow decides not to follow again?