Chapter 5: The Face That Wasn't Mine
757 Words
Aryan stood still.
The floating version of Hotel Miraya loomed above him, suspended upside down in a sky that looked like it was bleeding.
And from its entrance, that masked figure walked toward him—slow, steady, deliberate.
Except now, it didn’t wear a mask.
It wore **his face**.
Same eyes. Same scars. Same smirk.
But the smile was… wrong.
Aryan stepped back, breath caught in his chest.
“You’re not me.”
The reflection tilted its head. “Aren’t I?”
---
The ground beneath Aryan cracked with every step the doppelgänger took. His reflection’s shadow moved like smoke, detaching itself from its feet. The mirror version stopped just a few feet away.
“I’m everything you left behind, Aryan,” it said, voice like ice cracking on a frozen lake. “All your regrets. All your choices. I didn't come from the glass.”
It leaned forward, grinning.
“I came from **you**.”
---
Suddenly, the sky shattered—literally broke into sharp shards of red light. Aryan shielded his eyes as pieces of the sky fell like broken glass.
When he looked again, they were standing in the original **Hotel Miraya lobby**.
But twisted.
The ceiling bled. The floor pulsed like skin. The mirrors on the walls showed not just reflections, but **memories**—all of them Aryan’s.
There he was at age 10, hiding under a table during the fire.
At 16, lying to a police board during his first witness interview.
At 24, watching a suspect fall to their death… and saying nothing.
Each mirror burned a part of him.
“You see now?” the double whispered. “You are not the rescuer here. You’re part of the curse.”
---
Aryan screamed, shattering one of the mirrors with a punch. Blood trickled down his hand, but he didn’t stop. He swung again. And again.
The doppelgänger just stood and watched.
“You think violence makes you real?” it asked. “You don’t even remember how this all started.”
Aryan froze.
“What?”
The double grinned.
“It wasn’t Ria. Or Tanya. Or Anika.”
“It was you.”
“You were the **first** to enter the mirror.”
---
The room flickered again. Now Aryan stood inside Room 13B—but from **1995**.
The wallpaper was fresh. The bed made. And in the mirror, a young version of Aryan—a 15-year-old boy—was staring back.
He saw himself reach out. Touch the mirror.
And vanish.
His knees buckled.
“No... That can’t be. I never... I was never here—”
The double appeared beside him.
“You were. You’ve just forgotten. Because this place doesn’t just trap people—it **feeds** on denial.”
Aryan gasped.
He remembered… flashes.
A dare. A storm. His brother crying outside Room 13B, telling him not to go in.
The mirror swallowing him.
But somehow—he came back. Or thought he did.
---
“Then how did I survive?” he asked.
“You didn’t,” the double said calmly. “You just replaced the part of you that did with **me**.”
Aryan’s head spun. “You mean—”
“Yes,” the double finished. “You created me. Gave me form. Gave me purpose.”
“To what?”
“To keep you safe. To let you forget.”
“And now?”
The double’s face changed—into Aryan’s younger brother, **Kabir**.
“Now… it’s time to remember.”
---
The world around them shook violently.
The mirrors cracked and fell.
One fell toward Aryan’s face—he raised his arms instinctively—
**Blackness.**
---
He woke up gasping, lying in the actual Room 13B. The mirror was back. The floor was cold. His hand was still bleeding.
Had it all been a vision?
Then he saw the **mirror fog over**.
A message etched itself:
**“The first soul must close the gate.”**
Beneath it: **“You were the first.”**
---
Aryan stood up slowly.
If what the reflection said was true… he had entered the mirror as a teenager.
He had forgotten.
And in forgetting, he had *opened the door for others*.
Ria. Tanya. Anika.
All pulled into a curse he helped create.
And now… only he could close it.
But at what cost?
---
He walked up to the mirror one last time.
And whispered, “Then take me back.”
The glass rippled.
His reflection smiled.
And then—
**He stepped in.**
- Writer
