Yakabatanidzwa ruzha

I heard my own voice whisper my name… from inside the closet. At first, I thought it was just one of those half-dreams—you know, the kind where your brain hasn’t fully woken up yet. My room was dark, quiet, the faint glow of my phone lighting up the ceiling. Nothing felt wrong… until it whispered again. “Ammar…” It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. It sounded exactly like me. Same tone. Same breathiness. Same way I drag the last syllable when I’m tired. I froze. The closet door was sligh