It started subtly.

During lectures, when your mind felt like it was on fire with deadlines, expectations, and the constant pressure to perform, you’d hear him. A low, sardonic voice from somewhere behind you. At first, you thought it was just your imagination.

“You’re working yourself to death,” he said once, as you scribbled frantically in your notebook.

You glanced around—empty seats, classmates absorbed in their own world. Nobody else had heard him.

“Who’s there?” you whispered under your breath.

“Relax,” the voice said, casual, like it had been sitting there the whole time. “You’re not supposed to ask. You’re supposed to listen.”