That night, Shreya couldn't sleep again.
The air in her room had thickened. Every shadow was sharp now, slithering along walls like hungry snakes. The reflection in her mirror wavered, as though the glass itself was alive.
Then, it moved.
Not her reflection—something behind it. A figure, tall and thin, all black edges, no face, standing perfectly still.
Shreya froze. Her pulse screamed through her ears.
A whisper echoed, low and harsh: "You cannot run from tomorrow."
She stumbled backward. The reflection twisted. The figure in the glass raised a hand.
Her phone lit up with a text:
"Shreya… look behind you."
She whipped around. The room was empty.
But when she turned back to the mirror, the figure was closer—its head tilted unnaturally, its grin stretching impossibly wide.
Shreya's heart hammered. She realized the truth: it wasn't just in the mirror. It was inside the room. Inside her.
Something was following her. Always a step ahead. And it knew her name.
Aarav's words returned to her: "One wrong step and it consumes someone you love."
She understood. She was the next target. And the figure in the mirror was only the beginning.
As the whisper returned, circling her like smoke:
"Tomorrow belongs to me… and I am never late."
Shreya screamed, but the sound seemed to vanish before it left her throat.
And then—silence.
Too heavy. Too complete.
She knew that when the silence ended, the horror would begin.