It was dawn when Aryan arrived at Room 6.
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Hotel Miraya stood quiet, almost respectful. A fog hung over the corridor like mourning silk, and the lights buzzed faintly as if hesitating to shine on what was about to unfold.
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Room 6 had always been there. Yet no one spoke of it.
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The brass numberplate was spotless, unlike the rest of the decaying hallway. As if time had skipped this door. Aryan’s fingers trembled as he touched the knob. The journal in his pocket burned against his chest.
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He stepped in.
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---
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The room was bare. No furniture. No windows. Just four walls that looked like they had absorbed screams.
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On the far end was a mirror — full length, pristine.
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Aryan walked toward it.
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He saw himself. But this reflection was not haunted. It was calm. Composed. Almost serene.
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Then it blinked. Before he did.
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“Welcome back, Aryan,” the reflection said.
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Aryan’s breath caught. “Who are you?”
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“I am who you would’ve become, had you never opened the journal. Had you never come back to Room 13B.”
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Aryan’s knees buckled, but he stood his ground. “I came for answers. For closure.”
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The reflection nodded. “And you’ve taken everything from those who were trapped. But now... the hotel needs balance.”
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The walls around Aryan pulsed. Whispers filled the room. Familiar voices. Maya. The boy from Room 27. The silent scream from Room 9.
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All fading in. One final time.
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“You brought them peace,” the reflection said, stepping closer, now smiling.
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“But the hotel... it must have one last keeper.”
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Suddenly, Aryan couldn’t move. His legs rooted to the floor. Arms numb. Breath shallow.
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The mirror cracked — a single line down the middle. His reflection stepped out.
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Aryan watched himself, or something wearing his face, smile gently and walk past him.
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“Thank you, Aryan. You were brave. But now, rest.”
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The light dimmed. The air froze.
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And Room 6 closed.
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Hotel Miraya reopened a year later. Tourists returned. The staff were new. Room 13B was still sealed — officially.
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But sometimes, at 3:00 a.m., guests whispered about a man standing in the hallway.
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Not moving. Not blinking. Just watching.
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From Room 6.
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Forever.
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