I work as a data analyst at a tech startup in Bangalore. I’m twenty-four, been at this company for about two years now. The office is in one of those glass buildings in Koramangala—you know the type, all sleek and modern on the outside, but the AC never works properly and the elevators smell like someone’s tiffin box.
Anyway, I need to tell you what happened last month because I still can’t sleep properly and I’ve basically stopped eating lunch at work altogether.
It started with my lunch going missing. I mean, it sounds stupid, right? Like something you’d complain about in a group chat and everyone would laugh. But this wasn’t just once. Every single day for a week, my dabba would be in the break room fridge in the morning, and by afternoon, it would be empty. Someone was eating my food and washing the container. That’s the weird part—they were washing it and putting it back.
I asked around. Obviously, I didn’t want to seem like I was accusing anyone, so I kept it casual. “Hey, anyone else having issues with lunch going missing?” But everyone just shook their heads. Our office manager, Priya, suggested I check the security footage.
“We’ve got cameras in the break room,” she said. “Installed them last year after someone stole the microwave. You can review it yourself if you want. Just ask Ramesh in security.”
So I did. It was a Friday evening, around six. Most people had left. Ramesh set me up in the small security office with access to the break room footage. He showed me how to scan through the recordings, then left me alone. Said he had to make his rounds.
I started with Monday’s footage. Fast-forwarded through most of the day. Saw myself putting my lunch in the fridge at 9:47 AM. Watched the usual office traffic—people making chai, heating up food, chatting by the water cooler. Then, around 2:30 PM, I saw someone approach the fridge.
My heart sank when I realized who it was.
It was me.
But that’s impossible, because at 2:30 PM on Monday, I was in a client meeting. I remembered it clearly—we’d been on a video call for two hours straight. I wasn’t anywhere near the break room.
I watched myself on the screen. The me in the footage moved slowly, almost mechanically. She—I—opened the fridge, took out my dabba, and sat down at the table. Then I started eating. Slowly. Methodically. Not looking up once.
Something wasn’t right about the way I was sitting. Too still. My face was blank, empty. Like those mannequins at Lifestyle store, you know? Just going through the motions.
I felt sick. I scrolled back, checked the timestamp again. 2:30 PM. I pulled up my calendar on my phone. Client meeting: 2:00-4:00 PM. Notes and everything.
Maybe the footage was from a different day? But no—I could see the date stamp clearly. Monday, the fourteenth.
I should have stopped there. I should have trusted my instincts and just left. But I kept watching.
Tuesday’s footage showed the same thing. Me, entering the break room at 2:30 PM, eating my lunch with that same blank expression. Wednesday. Thursday. Same time, same routine. The me on screen never blinked. Not once during the entire time I—she—was eating.
Then I remembered Priya mentioning the cameras ran 24/7. Looking back, I realize I should have been more careful about what I was about to discover.
I fast-forwarded to Monday night. The break room was empty after 8 PM. The cleaning staff came through around 9:30. Then nothing. Just an empty room with the hum of the fridge and the flickering fluorescent light in the corner that maintenance kept saying they’d fix.
At 3:00 AM, someone entered the frame.
It was me.
I felt my heart pound so hard I thought I might throw up. I watched myself walk into the break room, wearing the same salwar kameez I’d worn to work that day. I sat down at the table, crossed my arms, put my head down, and apparently went to sleep.
But I live in Indiranagar. That’s a forty-minute drive from the office. I go home every night. I go home every single night after my shift ends at six.
I grabbed my phone with shaking hands and checked my location history. Monday night, 3:00 AM: Home. Tuesday night, 3:00 AM: Home. Every night: Home.
The footage didn’t lie though. There I was, sleeping at that table. At 4:30 AM, I’d wake up—or the me on screen would wake up—stand up, and walk out of frame.
I scrolled to the entrance footage. There. 2:47 AM, I watched myself enter through the main door. I swiped a keycard to get in.
Here’s the thing—I don’t have a keycard that works after hours. Nobody on my team does. You need special authorization, and only senior management and security have access.
I went through every night of that week. Every single night at exactly 3:00 AM, I was there, sleeping at that break room table. And every day at 2:30 PM, I was there again, eating my lunch.
I haven’t told anyone at work yet. What would I even say? That I’m apparently sleepwalking to the office every night, letting myself in with a keycard I don’t own, sleeping for an hour and a half, then going home? That there’s some version of me wandering around eating my lunch while I’m in meetings?
I changed the locks on my apartment. I’ve started setting an alarm for 2:30 AM every night, just to prove to myself I’m in bed. I am. I’m always in bed.
But the footage doesn’t lie.
Last week, I worked up the courage to go to the break room at exactly 2:30 PM. I wanted to see if I’d walk in on myself, which I know sounds insane. The room was empty. I checked the footage later that night. There I was, on camera, eating my lunch at 2:30 PM.
I wasn’t in the room, but I was there.
I’ve applied to three other companies. I’m waiting to hear back. Maybe I was just paranoid, but I don’t think I can work here anymore. To this day, I still check my location history every morning when I wake up. It always says I was home.
But somewhere in Koramangala, in a break room with a flickering light, I know there’s another version of me still showing up. Still eating lunch at 2:30. Still sleeping at that table at 3:00 AM.
I’ll never forget the look on my face in that footage. Empty. Hollow. Like something wearing my face but not quite getting it right.
I don’t eat lunch anymore. Just in case I’m there, at 2:30, waiting for it.
