When Ahaan barely slept after what happened in Room 7.
The voice.
The song.
The piano made of bones.
And most of all — his father's secret message:
"I had to give up the boy to protect my real son."
It haunted his mind like a spinning wheel that wouldn't stop.
Who was the boy?
Where is he now?
And why does everything feel… wrong?
The next morning, Ahaan sat in front of his bathroom mirror, brushing his teeth.
But something felt off.
He stopped brushing.
The boy in the mirror — his reflection — wasn't brushing.
It just stood there.
Smiling.
Ahaan stepped back, shocked.
He waved his hand.
The reflection didn't move.
Then, slowly, the reflection lifted its hand and pointed straight at Ahaan.
And it whispered:
"You don't belong."
Ahaan's heart dropped.
He grabbed a towel and covered the mirror.
He didn't want to see himself.
Or… whatever that thing was.
Was he losing his mind?
Or was the cursed room still affecting him?
That evening, he opened the journal again.
The page flipped on its own and bled fresh ink across the paper:
CASE THIRTY-TWO: The Boy in the Mirror
"Sometimes, mirrors reflect more than light.
Sometimes, they show who you could have been… or who you tried to forget.
If your reflection moves without you… run.
You are being watched by the one you replaced."
Ahaan's hands turned cold.
The one I replaced?
Then it hit him.
What if the boy his father gave up…
Was somehow still alive?
And now, trapped in the world behind the mirror?
Trying to get out.
That night, he woke up at 3:11 a.m.
The mirror in his room was uncovered again.
He didn't remember doing that.
But the worst part?
The boy in the mirror was sitting on his bed.
Looking straight at him.
Same face. Same eyes. But his smile…
Too wide. Too sharp. Too wrong.
Ahaan froze.
The boy in the mirror leaned in and whispered:
"You took my name. You took my life.
Let's switch.
Just for one night."
Ahaan screamed and threw a blanket over the mirror.
When he lifted it again—the boy was gone.
But his room was different.
The walls had changed.
Scratches.
Numbers.
Dates.
And one line written over and over again:
"I am Ahaan. I am Ahaan. I am Ahaan."
He looked around the room in horror.
Everything was reversed — like the world inside a mirror.
Even the clock ticked backward.
Then he heard footsteps.
Soft. Careful.
Coming from his closet.
He stepped back slowly.
The door creaked open.
And the other Ahaan stepped out.
But this time…
He was real.
Not a reflection.
Not a ghost.
Not a dream.
Same face. Same eyes.
But his body was pale. His arms were thin. His nails too long. And his smile… the same cruel curve.
"It's finally my turn," the boy said. "You've had your fun, brother."
"W-what are you?" Ahaan whispered.
The boy tilted his head.
"I'm who your father left behind.
I'm the Ahaan that should've lived.
You were the mistake. I was the original."
Ahaan's breath caught in his throat.
This wasn't just about ghosts or legends anymore.
This was personal.
He was face to face with the shadow of a life that wasn't supposed to end.
The boy stepped closer.
"I lived in mirrors, waiting for your face.
Now I'm here to take it back."
He lunged.
Ahaan dodged, grabbed his journal, and ran.
Down the stairs. Out the house.
Behind him, glass shattered.
Mirror after mirror broke.
The boy was chasing him — from every reflection.
He ran until his legs gave out and collapsed behind a tree near the orphanage wall.
The journal lit up again.
Burning words formed:
"You must find the Red Room.
The place where your father made the deal.
Only there can the mirror be sealed… or shattered forever."
Ahaan looked up at the dark sky.
A voice echoed in his head again—this time not from the journal.
Not from the mirror.
But from deep inside him.
"You're not the only one who wants to be ahaan"
Now....