Aryan fell.
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Not through air — but through time, thought, and memory. His body didn’t drop; it dissolved. Every layer of his guilt peeled away like wet paper in the rain. As he spiraled deeper into the black water, voices collided around him.
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"You watched her burn."
"You ran instead of saving her."
"You told them it wasn’t real."
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Then a louder whisper cut through the rest:
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“You’re not the only one who lied.”
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---
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When Aryan opened his eyes, he was standing in a replica of Room 13 — but everything was reversed. Left was right, right was left, and his own shadow stood in front of him, as if it had detached itself.
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On the bed lay the red journal — now open, its pages blank.
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The mirror across the room shimmered like a pool of water. From its surface stepped a figure.
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Not the girl.
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Himself.
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But older. Colder. His eyes darker, his expression cruel.
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“You think remembering will fix anything?” the mirror-Aryan hissed. “You think guilt redeems you?”
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Aryan stumbled backward, heart racing.
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“Who are you?”
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“I’m who you became when you forgot. When you obeyed them. I’m your truth — and your punishment.”
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The mirror cracked. Flames burst from the edges of the walls. The wallpaper peeled back, revealing layers upon layers of screaming, trapped faces — adults, children, all hollow-eyed, all burning.
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And then, beside him, the girl appeared again.
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Not in the mirror this time — beside him. Real. Her skin burned, her eyes glowing faintly in the firelight.
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“There’s still time,” she whispered. “Face what you saw. Speak what you hid.”
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The mirror-Aryan lunged, his face twisted into a mask of fury.
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Aryan snatched the red journal from the bed and shouted:
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“You’re not me!”
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The pages of the journal turned on their own. Ink spilled like veins across the paper, spelling out memories buried too long.
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---
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A little girl, laughing beside him in Room 13.
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The night of the fire.
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Staff locking the door as she screamed.
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Aryan banging on the door, begging them to open it.
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The manager kneeling beside him, saying calmly, “No one will believe you. And if you want to keep your life, you’ll keep your mouth shut.”
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They knew.
They all knew.
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But Aryan obeyed. He buried it. He let them call it an accident.
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---
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The truth ignited the room.
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The mirror shattered.
The mirror-Aryan burst into red flame and vanished.
The burning walls collapsed.
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And suddenly Aryan was choking — gasping — back on the floor of the real Room 13.
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---
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But now, something was different.
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No whispers.
No flickering lights.
No cold.
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Only stillness.
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The journal lay beside him — now with a black cover. One final message glowed on the last page:
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> “Now that you remember, will you tell the world?”
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Aryan didn’t know yet what he would do.
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But for the first time in years…
He could breathe.
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---
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To be continued…
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