For a heartbeat, for a breath, for a tenth of a second stretched into eternity, she stood completely still, unable to process what had just happened. The chilling whisper still echoed in her ears, cold and moist, like it had crawled straight from a damp grave and slid into her mind.
"Finally… you heard me."
She spun around so fast her hair whipped across her face. Her pulse thundered violently. But the room behind her was empty—so empty that the silence itself felt like a living creature watching her.
The comedy movie she had paused earlier flickered on the television, its bright colors now twisted into eerie shadows that stretched across the floor and climbed up the wall. The laughter track, frozen mid-sound, appeared mocking now. A moment ago, she had been laughing at the silly dialogue. A moment ago, life had felt normal.
Now, everything felt wrong.
"Wh-who's there?" she whispered, though her voice cracked with fear halfway through.
Her reflection in the mirror smiled faintly.
But Muskan hadn't smiled.
Her chest tightened. Her reflection… wasn't reflecting her anymore.
The other Muskan—mirror Muskan—tilted her head slightly. The movement was soft, graceful, deliberate. The real Muskan didn't move an inch. Yet her reflection did.
"You can see me now," the reflection said calmly, almost kindly. "You can hear me now. I've been waiting for this moment."
Muskan shook her head, backing up a step. "No… no, this is not happening. You're me. You're just… a reflection. That's all."
The reflection's smile stretched a little wider, a little too wide.
"Do I look like just a reflection?"
Muskan's breath caught. She didn't want to answer. She didn't want to know.
Her reflection raised a hand slowly, almost whisper-soft. Muskan watched it rise… with horrified fascination. Because her own arm remained hanging at her side.
"You've always been afraid to look too closely," the reflection murmured. "But now you must."
Muskan swallowed hard and stepped closer despite every nerve screaming at her to run. She lifted her trembling hand toward the mirror.
But before her fingertips could reach the cool surface—
"Don't touch it," the reflection warned sharply.
Muskan jerked her hand back, startled.
"Why?" she whispered.
The reflection's expression softened in a strange, almost sad way.
"Because it's awake right now."
The words sent a shiver crawling down Muskan's spine.
"It?" Muskan asked. "What is it?"
Her reflection didn't answer. Not yet.
Instead, she looked around the room, as if sensing something Muskan couldn't see. A gust of cold air slid across the hall, brushing over Muskan's hair and sending goosebumps tingling across her arms.
Which was impossible.
No windows were open.
No doors were ajar.
Yet she felt a breeze—sharp, icy, unnatural.
"What do you want?" Muskan whispered, her voice barely audible.
Her reflection leaned closer, and for the first time, Muskan noticed something deeply unsettling—her eyes. They looked exactly like Muskan's, same brown irises, same familiar shape, but there was depth in them… a hollow darkness that shouldn't exist in a normal human eye.
"I want you to remember," mirror Muskan whispered.
"I want you to understand."
Muskan shook her head violently.
"I don't remember anything! I don't know you!"
"Yes, you do."
The reflection's voice softened, almost pitying.
"You just don't want to."
"Stop lying!" Muskan snapped, though her voice was trembling.
The reflection let out a long, slow sigh. It sent a ripple across the mirror's surface—like breath on still water.
"You forgot because they wanted you to forget. They erased everything. Locked it away."
She paused.
"And they used me to do it."
Muskan felt her stomach twist.
"What are you saying? Who are 'they'?"
Her reflection didn't answer. Instead, she slowly lifted her hand and pointed behind Muskan.
"He's here again."
Muskan froze.
"Wh… who is here?" she whispered.
"The one who gives the mirror its breath."
As the reflection spoke those words, the lights flickered violently—like the room itself had suddenly inhaled. A strange tension filled the air, thick and heavy.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick…
The wall clock began to slow.
The rhythm warped, stretched, as if time itself was resisting something.
Everything inside the room—shadows, light, the air—felt as if it were tightening around her.
Muskan tried to speak, but her voice caught in her throat.
She felt something else now.
A presence.
It wasn't a sound.
It wasn't a sight.
It was a feeling—someone else was in the room with her.
Watching her.
Breathing with her.
Close.
Too close.
She smelled it before she heard anything else.
A heavy metallic scent.
Like rusted iron.
Like old blood.
Muskan's body tensed as her reflection's voice grew distorted, as if it were being filtered through water and static.
"Muskan… he's not behind you. He's around you. Everywhere."
Muskan's chest tightened painfully. The cold air wrapped around her like invisible fingers.
"This is a dream," she whispered desperately.
"It has to be a dream. I'm just tired, I'm just—"
Her reflection's eyes filled with something like sorrow.
"I wish it was."
Then the mirror inhaled.
Deep.
Long.
Massive.
The sound wasn't human.
It was too big, too loud, too cavernous—like something enormous had drawn in a breath.
Muskan stumbled backward, her knees almost giving out. The mirror began to ripple again, its surface warping like liquid trapped inside a frame. Her reflection's edges blurred, dissolving like smoke.
"Time is running out," the reflection whispered.
"What do you want from me?" Muskan cried.
"It's not me who wants you…"
Her reflection's voice trembled.
"It's him. He wants you."
"Who is he?" Muskan shouted, tears threatening to spill.
"A spirit? A monster? What is he!?"
Her reflection leaned close, whispering so softly Muskan barely heard:
"He is not a spirit.
Not a creature.
Not a ghost."
Her voice dropped to a chilling, fragile whisper:
"He… is your future."
Muskan shook her head, panic rising uncontrollably.
"What does that even mean!?"
Her reflection didn't get a chance to explain.
Because the mirror suddenly exhaled.
Hard.
Violent.
A gust of freezing wind blasted out of the glass and hit Muskan square in the chest, shoving her backward. She crashed onto the floor, her breath knocked out of her.
The lights flickered chaotically—once, twice—then steadied.
The mirror turned completely black.
Her reflection disappeared.
The silence that followed was unnatural.
Dead.
Absolute.
But beneath the silence… something else moved.
Something breathed.
A slow, deep, raspy inhale that didn't come from Muskan.
Her skin crawled.
Her pulse stuttered.
Her mind screamed one word.
Run.
But Muskan couldn't.
Her body refused to move.
It felt as if the shadows had wrapped themselves around her limbs, holding her still.
Then—
From the darkness of the blackened mirror—
A whisper rose.
Soft.
Deliberate.
Too close.
"Muskan…"
Muskan's breath hitched painfully.
The whisper continued, calm but dripping with something darker.
"Open the door."
Muskan felt blood rush to her head.
Her heartbeat slammed painfully against her chest.
Because the whisper wasn't echoing from the mirror.
It was coming from the main door of her house.
Slow.
Insistent.
Calling her name again.
"Muskan… open the door."
Her eyes widened in terror.
Something scratched against the door.
Slowly.
Softly.
Like fingernails dragging across wood.
Then—
A knock.
Gentle.
Polite.
Almost human.
But Muskan felt it in her bones.
It wasn't human.