The Voice in My Head Wasn’t Mine

I first heard it on a Tuesday.
“You left the stove on.”
I was already in bed.
I almost ignored it.
Then I smelled smoke.
I ran to the kitchen.
The stove was on.
After that, the voice never left.
It corrected small things at first.
“Lock the door.”
“Check your bag.”
“He’s lying.”
It was calm.
Not loud.
Not angry.
Just… certain.
It saved me from mistakes.
From embarrassment.
From danger.
One night, it stopped me from taking my usual route home.
“Not that road.”
I listened.
Later I saw the news.
A violent robbery.
Exact location.
Exact time.
The voice had known.
That’s when I asked it.
“Who are you?”
Silence.
Then—
“I’m you.”
I laughed.
“From when?”
A pause.
“From after.”
After what?
It didn’t answer.
But the corrections became warnings.
“Don’t trust her.”
“Don’t open that message.”
“Don’t go inside tonight.”
I froze.
“Why?”
Its voice trembled for the first time.
“Because I remember what happens.”
My hand was already on the doorknob.
I stepped inside.
The apartment was dark.
Too dark.
And in the kitchen…
I saw myself.
Holding a knife.
Breathing heavily.
Waiting.
The voice whispered—
“I couldn’t stop you.”
And suddenly I understood.
It wasn’t guiding me.
It was surviving me.