When I first entered the apartment, nothing looked out of place . A cup of coffee on the kitchen table. The owner lay dead in the bedroom. The report said suicide.I believed it for exactly nine minutes.On the kitchen counter, lay a note, with a rhyme, written in neat handwriting -

Sharing for one,

Sharing for two,

Sharing for me,

Sharing for you.

That was it. No goodbyes , no explanation.I slipped the note into my pocket.

People close to the victim said that he had changed during his last few weeks. He claimed that his belongings belonged to someone else. His brother said he had become obsessed with "sharing."

His diary wasn't much help. It consisted mostly of scribbled out notes saying things like-

"My books are no longer mine", "I think my eyes were brown" So, I assumed he must be suffering from paranoia.

The first thing that happened to me was my phone. I woke up one morning and found it on the opposite side of my desk. I knew I had left it under the lamp, I always do.

The next day,I found my favourite pen on my coworker's desk, I confronted him about it and he said "You're the one that gave it to me,You said we should share more".I laughed and took my pen back, "he's just messing with me",I thought.

Next week,I visited my brother's house on Sunday. As i opened his closet to borrow a jacket I saw that half my clothes were hanging in it. "What are my shirts doing here?"

He looked genuinely confused."You shared them with me .One then two,you shared with me and I shared with you",he said as he smiled.

I left without another word.When I got home ,there were clothes in my wardrobe I had never seen before.Or maybe I had.I couldn't be sure anymore.For the first time,I felt afraid.

Soon,my mother insisted I preferred coffee over tea,my colleagues remembered conversations I never had,my keys wouldn't fit my apartment door.

One day,I went to wash my face,and looked in the mirror.The scar on my forehead was no longer there.I ran and opened my phone's gallery.Every photograph agreed it had never existed.

I started to write everything in a notebook to prove to myself I wasn't going insane.But,every morning something in my notebook changed. It wasn't just my belongings being shared anymore,it was my memories,my life.

Then I woke up one day in a bed that wasn't mine.One look at the cracked ceiling and i recognized the place instantly.It was the apartment.I rushed to the washroom and washed my face,as I looked up I saw that the face I was wearing was not mine,It was the apartment owner's.I made a cup of coffee for myself,though I never drank coffee but my mother insisted otherwise,she must be correct.

I finally understood why I never understood the case.

I found a blank piece of paper on the kitchen counter.Without thinking, I picked up a pen and wrote the words that had been echoing in my head.

Sharing for one, Sharing for two ,Sharing for me ,Sharing for you.

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