Chapter 4: The Room Without a Door
559 Words
Aryan had always believed that trauma came in moments—loud, violent, unforgettable.
But this place didn’t scream.
It whispered.
And somehow, that was worse.
He had spent hours—maybe days—since Tanya vanished. No clocks. No sunlight. Just mirror after mirror, memory after memory, all reflecting versions of himself he didn’t remember living.
He thought he was strong.
But here… strength was just a slower way to break.
---
Tonight, he returned to Room 13B not to search—but to confront.
The mirror stood silent, as it always did.
But Aryan had learned the timing. He waited.
**3:12 AM.**
The hum began.
But this time, **no corridor appeared.**
Instead, the floor beneath him flickered.
And before he could react—he was **somewhere else**.
---
The room was empty.
No door.
No window.
No mirror.
Just four dark walls and a cold stone floor.
He wasn’t alone.
Across the room sat a boy—barely sixteen. Pale. Silent.
His eyes were wide open, but blank.
Aryan approached slowly.
“Hey. What’s your name?”
No response.
He crouched beside him.
The boy’s lips moved—but no sound came out.
Then, one word—barely audible.
**“Exit.”**
Aryan frowned. “Where’s the exit?”
The boy pointed upward.
There was **nothing but ceiling**.
---
A mirror appeared on the wall suddenly.
It showed Aryan’s childhood home. His mother was standing at the stove, humming. His father reading the newspaper.
His own 9-year-old self sitting on the floor, drawing.
Aryan stepped toward it instinctively.
But then the scene shifted.
His mother collapsed.
His father screamed.
Fire.
And then…
**Black.**
The mirror showed him everything he had forgotten.
The night his house burned.
The guilt he carried.
The voice inside him whispering for years: *“It was your fault.”*
Aryan stumbled back.
“No. I wasn’t even home that night—”
But the mirror didn’t care.
It replayed it again.
And again.
Until he screamed.
---
When he turned around—the boy was gone.
The walls began to bleed.
Not with blood—but with **names**.
Ria.
Tanya.
Anika.
Others.
Unknown.
And finally—**Aryan Chauhan**.
And then… one more name etched itself slowly:
**Kabir Chauhan.**
His brother.
The one he had lost in that same fire.
The one he never talked about.
The one he told everyone never existed.
---
He fell to his knees.
The pain was too much.
The memories weren’t just being shown. They were being **extracted**.
Suddenly, the floor cracked.
A soft blue light seeped through.
A voice called from below.
Familiar.
Gentle.
**“Aryan... stop running.”**
He looked down.
And saw his brother’s face.
Young. Smiling. Reaching out from beneath the floor.
Aryan froze.
Was it real?
Or just another trick?
Then the room whispered:
**"Only what you face can set you free."**
---
He reached down.
The floor gave way.
And Aryan fell through into a mirror lake.
The surface broke like glass.
He landed in a forest clearing—outside the hotel.
But everything looked... wrong.
The sky was red.
The air heavy.
Hotel Miraya stood nearby—but upside down, floating in the sky, as if gravity had been reversed.
And from the entrance walked out the **masked figure**.
This time, the mask had **Aryan’s face**.
- Writer
