Ahaan couldn't sleep.
It had been two nights since he came back.
Back from the Hollow Mind.
Back from the Last Memory.
Back to the world that felt… normal.
But something was off.
Too off.
The air in his room felt wrong.
Like the room was breathing when he wasn't.
His mirror was covered now — he had thrown a cloth over it.
He couldn't forget that flicker he saw…
That smile behind his own reflection.
He hadn't told anyone what happened.
Not even his mom.
What would he say?
"Hey Mom, I traveled through a haunted memory maze and met ghost-versions of myself"?
No.
No one would believe him.
But something believed in him.
Because it had followed him home.
It started with the dreams.
He'd close his eyes and wake up inside the same orphanage hallway—again and again.
Even though he had escaped.
Even though it was gone.
In the dream, the lights buzzed.
The same sound. The same cold smell.
The same message on the wall:
"He opened it. Now you must shut it."
The second night, the dream changed.
This time, he saw a child standing in the hallway.
Back turned.
Shivering.
Wearing a black hospital gown.
Ahaan walked closer in the dream.
He called out, "Are you okay?"
The child turned.
No face.
Just a smooth surface.
But somehow… it was still crying.
Blood tears.
It raised one finger and pointed at Ahaan's chest.
"It's still inside you," it whispered.
Ahaan woke up screaming.
He gasped for air, drenched in sweat.
His journal was open on the desk.
But he hadn't touched it.
And now it wasn't blank anymore.
A new message had written itself across the page in red ink:
"Not all dreams sleep. Some wait."
That morning, things around him got stranger.
His reflection blinked slower than him.
The whispers started again.
Only when he was alone.
In his closet.
In the cracks of the wall.
In the drain of the bathroom sink.
"You let it out."
"It's not done with you."
"You only broke the box. Not the curse."
By the third night, Ahaan couldn't take it.
He turned to the journal, desperate.
He scribbled a question:
"What did I bring back?"
The page stayed empty for a second.
Then one word appeared:
"Seed."
Ahaan stared at it.
"Seed of what?"
The page flipped by itself.
This time, the drawing showed a boy.
It was him.
But his head was opening like a flower.
And from inside, something dark and sharp was blooming.
Ahaan stepped back in fear.
Then — a knock on the window.
He turned slowly.
It was midnight.
No one should be out there.
But someone was.
A child.
Just like the one from the dream.
Same gown. Same blank face. Same bloody tears.
But this time — it was smiling.
The window creaked open on its own.
Cold air rushed in.
The lights flickered.
And from behind Ahaan, a voice whispered:
"Dreams don't end when you wake up."
He spun around.
The mirror cloth had fallen.
And his reflection?
It wasn't him.
It was the version of Ahaan from the Echo Room.
Black eyes.
Twisted smile.
Whispering:
"I never left. You just changed floors."
Ahaan's body froze.
He couldn't scream.
He couldn't move.
His reflection reached out from the glass.
Not just a hand.
The whole body stepped through the mirror—like the glass was water.
Now, there were two Ahaans in the room.
One real.
One… infected.
"You brought the seed back," it whispered.
"It grows in your mind. In your dreams. In your truth."
Ahaan whispered, "What do you want?"
The twisted version leaned close.
"I want to wake up."
Then it smiled wider and stepped inside Ahaan's body.
Suddenly, Ahaan gasped.
Back in bed.
Morning light.
A dream?
But the journal was open again.
This time, it showed a mirror.
Ahaan's reflection inside.
But it wasn't him smiling.
It was the other one.
The page said:
"Now there are two of you."
Now...