The Book That Writes You Back A Story No One Survived to Finish

My name is Arman, and today I’m going to tell you a story that’ll make you feel like no one ever made it up… something weighs heavy inside it, something that still lingers within me. I’m not in a mental asylum, but people say I should get myself checked. But I’ve only distanced myself from those who don’t understand the truth. And today, the story I’m going to tell is about a place where death never comes… and where even time has already died. It all started in a small place — a place that only one man remembered, and that man’s name was “No.” Yes, his name was No. I met him in a library, where all the books were blank. Every single page white, no writing, no titles. But he said, “Everything is written here. You just can’t see it.” I laughed. But then he leaned close to my ear and whispered: “Your name is written in them, but your time of death has been removed.” I thought he was joking. But that night, things began to change. Every clock lost its second hand. Strange photos started appearing in my phone gallery — ones I’d never taken. In one, I stood without eyes. In another, I was in the middle of a dark lake without a reflection. And in one photo, I wasn’t even there… only my shadow, shrinking slowly, like it was aging in reverse. Then one day, I went back to that same library. It looked the same, but now it had an extra shelf… a shelf filled with books, all titled with just one name: Arman. Every single book was named Arman. And every page had only one thing written: “Don’t read me, or I’ll come alive.” But curiosity got the better of me… I opened one book. In that moment, the library door didn’t just shut — it disappeared. Now I was in a place where time didn’t exist. No air, no sound. Only a face — it had no name, no eyes, but from within it came the voice of my mother: “Son, don’t come home.” And then that face began to turn inside out, its bones weren’t straight anymore… the only thing straight were my breaths, which no longer returned. In that world, people don’t live. Only memories remain — but memories have pain too. There, people die and then are born again… but that birth happens inside their dead faces. You won’t understand. Once, I tried to find a map of that place… I only found a piece of paper that said: “Where you’re standing is the map.” And then the edge of that map began to burn… without any fire. From it came a voice: “You’ve read me, now I’m writing you.” And that’s when I realized… I’m not the one writing this story… someone else is moving my hand. Maybe you’re able to read this line because your hand is about to come under its control too. Now I know I’m alive… but only in this story. In the real world, I left the moment I opened that first book. Ever since then, every time someone reads this story… they too become a new book on that shelf. Now you decide… will you be the next name? And when the darkness starts breathing faster than you… don’t close your eyes. Because that’s when it begins to watch.