Ayaan froze, staring at the shadow with his own face. His mind raced—was this some trick? A ghost? Or something far worse?
The shadow stepped closer, whispering, “You can’t run… you are me now.”
Fear paralyzed him, but Ayaan remembered the small, old mirror in the corner of the room. Summoning all his courage, he grabbed it and held it up toward the shadow. The reflection revealed the truth—the shadow was not him, but a dark version, a twisted copy that fed on fear.
With a desperate yell, Ayaan smashed the mirror against the floor. Shards flew everywhere, and a deafening scream echoed through the house. The shadow froze, then slowly melted into the darkness, leaving only a cold chill in the air.
The lights flickered back on. Ayaan looked around—everything seemed normal, yet he could still feel the presence watching him. He ran out of the house and didn’t stop until he reached the safety of the village.
From that night on, Ayaan never returned to the old house. But sometimes, when the wind howls and rain taps on the windows, he swears he sees a shadow at the edge of the forest… with his face, waiting.
