"Officer Vidya," the Nurse Zara acknowledges me with a slight nod of her head as she lifts the tray of medicines to make room for me on the little rickety chair. I settle down on it thankfully and give her a gracious nod.

"Water?" she offers.

I snatch the bottle and drain it in one go. I have been running to and fro all day regarding the Ashutosh Street Case. All the shreds of evidence have led to a dead end. This is my last stop before I call it a day and close the case citing lack of evidence.

"Actually. I'm here regarding your patient, Miss Dasgupta."

"Oh!" she casts a glance back at the woman on the hospital bed. She is deathly pale and lying very still. If I wasn't seeing a steady ECG beat, I would've taken her for dead.

"She's quite critical and we don't want anyone to disturb her," Nurse Zara bites her lips, looking uncomfortable.

"I'm here to see if she has any belongings, a phone or anything to check a few notes," I say, unfazed, "I have the order from the court if that's what you need."

"No, it's okay," she stops me, as I am reaching for my pocket, "She didn't have anything in person when she came in this morning."

"But..." I frown, turning towards the lady I'm interested in. "Is she in her home dresses?"

"Yes. We won't admit her until the tests are done. She has a terrible headache and has been going in and out of consciousness like this," she supplies.

"What's that?" I point to a shiny leather-bound dairy on the table.

"It was in her pocket, so we kept it..."

"I told you to hand over any stuff to me," I retort, swooping on the diary.

"I thought you needed a phone and please don't raise your voice here," the nurse seems to be angry. She pushes me out just as I grab the diary.

Dejectedly I sit down on the metal bench outside the hall and open the first page. No name. It directly stats with an entry. The handwriting is scribbled and loopy, making it difficult to decipher, but still, I read on.
.
.
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Day 1:

My head felt heavy as I dragged my tired body off the bed. I looked at the mirror on my dresser. In the dim light that strayed from somewhere, I couldn't identify my reflection. My hair was bundled atop my head like a crow's nest. My eyes had sunk into their sockets, my lips were chapped and I could see traces of lines wrinkling from the corner of my eyes. It was as if I was ageing faster. The headache came fast and hard and I clutched the dressing table, trying to keep my balance as the world whirled around me. I let go of the dresser which was swaying too under the effect of my body weight. I crumpled to the floor and lay flat on my back, trying to keep my head still.

By the time the attack was over my shirt was damp from sweat as the fabric clung to my skin. I got up and grabbed a damp cloth with which I patted my face. Taking a few sips of water painfully, I trudge my way to the bathroom and switch on the shower. As the cold water hit my face and ran down in trickles from my wet hair, I felt the calmness returning in me. By the time I was back from my freezing shower, my headache had vanished completely like every other day.

I needed to visit the doctor again soon. Painkillers and vertigo meds weren't working. I got ready in a jiffy, packed my bag and then touched up my face lightly. Grabbing some dry bread from the counter, I closed the door of my bachelor's pad, still chewing. I pocket the keys and turn back to abruptly bump into someone. The other woman whelped and jumped away.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't notice..." I began but stopped midway as I stared at her. Jet black hair, pale sun-deprived skin and thin peach lips. Maybe she had noticed me at the same time. I heard her gasp in surprise as she took in my features.

"Hi, are you the new neighbour?" I ask. I was feeling faint again.

She just stared at me, her eyes widening in response. And suddenly she composed herself and drew up straighter, unlike me, who would've gone into full-blown Panic Mode.

"Okay, seems like we look alike. What are the odds of that?" she asked in a beautiful singsong voice.

"Not exactly alike. I have natural brown highlights in my hair and my eyes are silver as opposed to your hazel ones," I breathe nervously, as if I had something to prove, if only to myself, that we're not the same.

"Yeah, minor differences," if she had noticed my pointed attitude, she didn't react and promptly brushed it off in that cavalier style of hers, "Nice to meet you..."

"Sandhya," I extend my hand in greetings.

"Sanjh...oh my God! Even our names match," she squealed, shaking my hands vigorously.

"Oh yes, what do you do?" I extract my arms thankfully.

"Computer techie, IBM. You?"

"Same, Wipro," I sigh.

"So, we're like what? Doppelgangers?" she blurted.

"More like alter egos," I give a nervous smile, looking at my watch. Shi! I was running late. "Well, Sanjh, it was nice meeting you. I bet we could catch up sometime later."

"Oh no!" she paled on looking at her watch."

"Time is such a bitch," we say out loud. Oh no! Do we both use the same phrases too? Could the morning get any weirder? My day passes uneventfully, though I would get lost in thoughts about this girl who looked exactly like me, or rather a better version of me. She looked more radiant, polished and glossy. She looked like all things I should have been but I couldn't be. She could easily replace me someday in my friends' circle, which is already small owing to my minuscule interest in socializing. Work was tiring and the Doctor's visit was postponed to another day in my mind as I took the same route back home. I had picked up some wine on my way It wouldn't look too nice I visited a new neighbour without any gifts.

..........

Day 2

"Oh my God! Someone help me!" I screamed into the pillow again just like my everyday morning. I tried to block out the pain as I unscrewed the cap of the bottle of pills. I gulped down two at once, not caring if I overdosed myself. I drew the sheets above my head and lay very still. The pain faded to a dull throbbing and I could finally get up from my bed. I make my way to the bathtub and collapse into the warm water. I must have passed out at some point because I woke up to a loud ringing of my phone.

I hastily dried myself, wrapped a towel and ran out, tripped over the water dripping from my own body and landing on the floor. I get up again and grab my phone.

"Where are you alter ego?" a cheerful voice beamed from the other end, "Are you late too?"

I glanced at the clock.

9.30. Shit! I wouldn't be able to make it to work on time.

"No, I'm taking the day off," I say, trying to sound casual like her, but I could feel the slight shaking of my voice in panic. Boss would kill me, but I needed medical help more.

"Oooo great. Me taking a break too. Would catch up with you then," she giggled.

I cut the call and dialled up my boss. He agreed grudgingly and threatened to make me do overtime once I return. I sighed and kept my phone, pulling on my casual jeans as I collected my purse and existed my door. Sanjh was leaving at the same time. She had a huge shopping bag with her and waved at me before running down the stairs, her slippers slapping noisily over the cemented stairs.

The fog was thicker than usual. I drew my scarf closer to my neck, stuffed my already numb hands into the pocket of my oversized hoodie and set off at a steady jog. As I rounded the corner, I saw a figure in front of me. At first, I thought it was Sanjh because the side profile was exactly like me. The dizziness increased suddenly as I tried desperately to peel apart the curtain of headache that was now beginning to affect my vision. But the girl was gone. One moment she was there, the next poof! I felt an eerie sensation crawling up my neck.

I ignored my body's reactions and started moving forward. As I stood at the crossing, I happened to look up at the glass front of the groceries store just opposite to me. And there was Sanjh. It was unmistakably her. No one else could look as similar to me. I waved to catch her attention, but she couldn't see me. Once the lights turned green, I sprinted off to the other side but the figure had vanished again. I looked around and saw her standing beside a lamppost. She seemed to be drifting in and out of the fog.

"Hey," I called, moving towards her. My vision swam with phosphenes as a fresh bout of headache seized me. I clutched my head in shock. It went as fast as it came but the figure was gone. I was gone. I turned around confused and saw her standing at the same spot that I had been, a moment ago. And that was the last straw. I was positive that I was being haunted, haunted by myself. I felt so silly. This wasn't supposed to happen. I am the quietest twenty years old you'll ever come across. I am the kind of person that wouldn't be able to haunt anyone even in death...death...death...

The diary entries stop there. I stare incredulously at the page. Who writes a diary with only two entries that sound so eerie and then leave it hanging with 'death' written thrice?

"This can't be the end," I mutter to myself as I flip through the pages, desperately trying to get some clues. Though the two entries could prove she was not in the right state of mind, I need something solid. I need explanations. It couldn't be all paranormal.

My eyes get glued to a small page, folded in two and tucked in between two random pages. With shaking hands, I unfolded the page and stare at the familiar loopy font.
.
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11.30 pm

I don't know why I'm writing this or for whom I'm writing. This is in a hope that if someone finds it, they'll know what happened to me. I had looked at the time. It was 10 pm when finally after drifting in and out of sleep, I had lifted myself off the bed to go to the kitchen. I was starving. As my habit was, I went and stood in front of the mirror, taking up my hairbrush sloppily. As I ran the comb through my hair, I felt a strange ringing in my ears. I straightened up fully and looked at my face in the mirror, but I wasn't there. My reflection was not falling on the mirror.

I didn't know when the hairbrush had fallen from my hands, or when I had collapsed to the floor in front of my mirror in shock. I had rubbed my eyes and pinched myself to ascertain that I wasn't dreaming, but still, there was no reflection. The pounding headache was back in full force again. I broke down completely. My tearless sobs came in heaves, as my shoulders shuddered form the impact of my fragile mental state. I had been erased, omitted. Nobody will know anymore who Sandhya was. Maybe they would meet Sanjh. She'd be the exact version of Sandhya they had wanted. She would roam with them and get invited to parties. Gradually my friends won't even remember that I existed.

Sanjh...Sanjh...It all happened since the day she came here. She must have done something because she didn't want another one like her. I was a competitor. The more I thought, the less I liked it. She must have fragmented my souls and scattered it and that's why I saw all those girls outside. They were parts of me. It also explains why I couldn't catch them because they were immaterial. If she has shattered my soul, so I can't see myself in the mirror because I'm a noting. Fear, panic, anger, all coursed through me in one rush of feelings....

.

.

"I have her reports if that is of any concern to you people," Zara's voice jolts me out from my thoughts as I hastily close the diary.

"Well?" I raise my eyebrows.

"She has an undiagnosed tumour in the insular region of the left temporal lobe," Zara shrugs. That goes tangentially above my head, so I ask, "Can that cause headache?"

"The first symptom of a brain tumour is usually a headache, but why?" she looks at me questioningly.

"Zara, I needed to ask you something. Unconnected to the case but I had a doubt," I soften my face into a needy look.

"Fine," she sits down beside me, rolling her eyes.

"Can a person see doubles and triples of himself?"

"Reduplicative hallucinations," she informs, "also called heautoscopy. We see it in schizophrenia and epilepsy, I mean fits."

"Can this be caused by a tumour?"

"If it interferes with the thinking process then yes."

"How about not seeing oneself in the mirror?" I ask again.

"Aahh. That's interesting. We call it negative autoscopy. It's similar to disembodiment or an egocentric visuo-spatial perspective..."

I block out the complex medical terms as I try to process the newly acquired information. This is all falling into place. She smiles and leaves. I turn back to the small chit. I had only a few lines left.

.

.

I felt lightheaded and giddy as I floated to the kitchen in a trance. I drew back the drawers slightly, rummaging through the utensils. My fingers wrapped around a black handle. I drew it out. It was the meat knife. I moved like a zombie to the door and stepped out into the freezing cold. The building was still as death. A stray dog barked from somewhere as I knocked on her door.

...

The last two lines have been scratched out so badly that the pen had passed through the paper and frayed the area.