Bhagya's eyes fluttered open as if he were surfacing from a deep ocean...one he never meant to dive into. Today, he felt heavier, as though the silence in his room had thickened overnight and pressed down on him. His chest rose and fell unevenly, a shallow rhythm, like he was holding back a storm he couldn't release.
For a long moment, he lay still, staring at the faint patterns of light flickering on the ceiling through window. The conversation with the man in the mirror from the night before hovered behind his eyelids....a secret too vast for words. He did not speak of it and would not...for now. Someday, perhaps, he would let it all out. But not yet.
Days passed in a haze. Sleep eluded him, slipping away like a phantom just beyond reach. He moved through life like a ghost wandering a world that no longer felt like his own. University lectures blurred into meaningless noise. Anaya and Arvin were there as always—familiar and steady—but even their presence felt distant, like echoes in a vast, empty hall.
Sometimes, he caught himself staring off into nothing, the edges of his vision blurred by exhaustion and haunted by restless dreams. The weight inside his chest refused to ease. At night, when he closed his eyes, he found no refuge—only the dark ripple of the mirror and a voice that felt both warning and curse.
A week later, after university, the three friends wove through the crowded marketplace. The air was thick with spices, sweat, and dust, alive with shouting vendors and the clatter of feet. Laughter and bargaining mingled into a chaotic chorus.
That day, Bhagya's senses were oddly alert, a tension crawling beneath his skin. As they passed stalls selling colorful fabrics, street food, and trinkets, his gaze fixed on a frail old woman moving slowly through the crowd. Her white hair was pulled into a loose bun; her bent shoulders carried the weight of many years.
But it wasn't the woman who made him freeze—it was the figure lurking just behind her in the shadows between the bustling bodies.
Tall and cloaked in black fabric that swallowed light, the figure's face was hidden deep in shadow. From beneath the hood, two endless golden fiery eyes stared like a devourer with endless hunger.The air around it grew cold and heavy;an alien presence so overwhelming that Bhagya's breath caught in his throat.
It was a Yamadoot.
His heart pounded fiercely. The man in the mirror had spoken of these beings known as servants of Yama, god of death and justice. Collectors of souls,enforcers of cosmic balance.
Bhagya nudged Anaya quietly, voice barely above a whisper."Do you see that?"
Anaya blinked, confused. "See what? Bhagya...you're scaring me."
"Behind her...someone's there."
She looked again but saw only the old woman, whose steps faltered, slow and unsteady. "There's no one there."
Panic rose in Bhagya's throat, but he kept silent. He wanted to warn them about the Yamadoots, about the judgment they carried, the price souls must pay before reincarnation—but fear gripped him.
The old woman suddenly faltered; her knees buckled, and she collapsed onto the dusty ground. The crowd gasped and stepped back, giving her space.
Bhagya's eyes never left the shadowy figure. The Yamadoot reached out a slender, cloaked hand. From the woman's chest rose a faint, flickering light—fragile and pale. The dark figure grasped it, and the light vanished, swallowed by the blackness of the cloak.
Without a sound, the Yamadoot stepped back and it glanced at Bhagya...and then merging into the shadows of the marketplace, disappearing as if it had never been there.
Anaya's eyes widened. "She's gone…"
Arvin shook his head slowly and didn't said anything.He was just surprised after seeing that sight.
Bhagya felt drained. The sight pressed down on him with the weight of inevitability—the endless cycle of life and death, the balance slipping beyond his reach.
They left quickly, leaving the crowd to tend to the old woman's still form and it was concluded that she died due to (SCD).
That night, alone in his room, Bhagya stood before the mirror again.
The glass shimmered, rippling like disturbed water. The man in the mirror appeared, stepping through the fog of the glass with that same familiar smirk.
"You're late again...fucker."
Bhagya curled his fist."I saw one today. The kind you warned me about. It looked right at me."
The smirk faded into something unreadable. "Of course it did. You've been on their list for a long time. But you're not theirs to take."
His breath caught. "What do you mean?"
"Not yet." The smirk returned, sharper and colder. "You're a glitch in their perfect little order. Death can't file your paperwork. And that makes them… uncomfortable."
Bhagya leaned closer. "So what happens now?"
The man's eyes narrowed. "One of them's going to notice the loop. When that happens… the Brahmanda will stop ignoring you."
The mirror rippled once more. The man stepped back into the fog, disappearing.
Bhagya's reflection returned—but it blinked a second late.