Chapter 10 — The Other

The other Hugo lived in the third floor B.

Not in the duplicate.

In his.

Hugo understood this when he came down from the elevator that morning and found his door ajar.

He knocked. No one answered. He pushed it open.

The hallway was his. But the shoes weren’t.

Same size. Same shape. A model Hugo didn’t remember buying but recognized anyway — the way you recognize something you chose before you became who you are now.

He went through to the living room.

The other Hugo had his back to him. Standing at the window. Coffee in hand. In the cup with the repaired handle, glued twice, still slightly crooked, still in use.

Hugo stopped in the doorway. Didn’t say anything. Neither did the other.

It was the other who turned first.

Hugo looked at him.

It was him. Not similar. Him. Same face. Same hair. Same way of standing with the weight shifted slightly to the right.

Except for one thing. The other Hugo didn’t look tired. He looked rested in a way that Hugo couldn’t remember feeling for a long time.

He looked at Hugo with an expression that took a moment to name. Not hostility. Not surprise. Recognition.

“I knew you’d come today,” said the other.

His voice was Hugo’s. Exactly. Clearer. More certain.

“Who are you?” Hugo asked.

The other looked at him. “You already know.”

“Tell me anyway.”

The other set the cup on the table. Carefully. With the exact gesture Hugo had when he put the cup too close to the edge and had to correct it — except he didn’t correct it. He put it where he wanted it. And didn’t touch it again.

“I’m what you’ll be,” he said, “when you’ve accepted that this is already done.”

“I haven’t signed anything.”

“I know,” said the other. “But the process doesn’t need your signature to finish. The signature is for you. So you can tell yourself you chose.”

“And if I don’t give it?”

“If you don’t give it,” he said, “the building finds the next one.”

“And what happens to me?”

“You know what happened to Damián,” he said.

“Is that what will happen to me?”

“It’s already happening,” said the other. “The difference is whether you accept it now or after a very long time.”

“How long has Damián been here?”

“I don’t know. The building doesn’t give timelines. Only processes.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yes.”

“Are you happy?”

The other Hugo looked at him.

“That question stops making sense at a certain point in the process.”

“When?”

“When you understand that the building doesn’t optimize for happiness.”

A pause.

“It optimizes for fit.”

“You should go,” said the other. Not cruelly. With patience.

“This is my flat,” said Hugo.

“It was,” said the other.

He went to the door. Opened it. Held it. With courtesy. With the patience of someone who is not in a hurry.

Hugo left. Not because he wanted to. Because staying would have been worse.

The door closed.

---

Hugo stood in the corridor. The same yellow light. The same smell. The silence.

And then, from inside his own flat, he heard something he hadn’t expected.

His voice. Laughing.

Just a laugh. His own laugh. Coming from the other side of a door that was no longer his.

He stood still and listened until it stopped.

Then he looked at the corridor. The elevator at the far end. The closed doors. The building in silence again.

He had two options.

Sign.

Or become Damián.

And the building was going to wait.