Episode-3

Chapter Three: The Boy Who Belonged to Silence

The next morning, Hillview House looked ordinary again. Sunlight slipped through the curtains, birds chirped faintly outside, and Aayna could almost believe the night before had been some sort of bizarre dream.

Almost.

Except the mirror now had a single crack—thin, like a scar—and Room 9’s door was closed again, locked tight as if it had never opened at all.

Krish was nowhere to be seen.

Her fingers trembled as she touched the edge of the mirror. The words from the night before were gone, wiped clean like they were never there. But the chill in the air hadn’t left, and neither had the feeling that something was watching her.

Later that afternoon, she snuck back toward Room 9. She had to know more—who he was, why he knew her name, what this house was hiding.

She didn’t expect the door to open so easily.

Inside, the room was darker than before, and the scent of lavender had been replaced with old paper and dust. A journal lay on the bed. Worn, leather-bound, its edges frayed from years of being read and reread.

Aayna hesitated… and then opened it.

The first page was filled with neat handwriting.

“My name is Krish Malhotra. I was seventeen when I came to Hillview. I was alive when I arrived. I’m not sure I am anymore.”

A chill crawled up her spine.

Each page unfolded a different piece of him. His words were calm but filled with quiet despair. He had been a scholarship student, sent to Hillview Boarding School years ago—decades, if her guess was right. But there was no mention of the school anymore. The mansion had since been turned into a residential guesthouse for artists and students like her.

So what happened?

She read on.

“It started with the mirror. Room 7. I saw things I shouldn’t have—my reflection showing futures I didn’t recognize, moments I hadn’t lived. I saw myself bleeding, calling for help. And then one day, I saw her.”

Aayna paused.

Her breath caught.

“She was laughing, wearing a silver bracelet. The light in her eyes… it made me forget the mirror was cursed.”

The bracelet. The one on Aayna’s wrist right now—her late grandmother’s gift.

The next entry was different.

“They told me to stop writing. Said I was losing my mind. But I knew the mirror was doing something—erasing time, folding it, bending it. Then people started disappearing. First my roommate, then a teacher. But no one else remembered them. No one but me.”

Page after page detailed strange disappearances, twisted visions in the mirror, and a growing madness in the house. Until the entries abruptly stopped.

Aayna flipped ahead.

There was one final page.

Dated exactly ten years ago.

“I’m not sure how long I’ve been here. I don’t sleep anymore. I don’t eat. But I still feel. And I wait… for her. I know she’ll come one day. The girl with the silver bracelet. The one I saw before the mirror cracked.”

Her hands trembled.

He had seen her before she ever arrived.

A creak came from behind her.

She turned—he stood there. Krish.

Not smiling this time. Not teasing.

“Why did you stop writing?” she whispered.

His voice was softer than ever. “Because I stopped believing I was real.”

She reached out slowly, her fingers brushing his. He was warm. Solid. But there was something not quite… present about him.

“Am I dreaming this?” she asked.

“No,” he replied, “You’re the only thing real in this place now.”

Tears prickled at her eyes. “What happened to you, Krish?”

His gaze dropped.

“The mirror needed a soul. It chose mine.”

Aayna stepped back in disbelief.

“You died?”

Krish shook his head slowly. “No… I became a part of the house. A part of its memory.”

He looked at her again.

“You can still leave, Aayna. But if you stay… you’ll never be just a guest anymore.”

She stared at him—this boy who had loved her before they’d even met, who had waited through silence and shadow just for a moment like this.

And all she could say was:

“What if I don’t want to leave you alone?”

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