The auditorium was silent. Outside, the curfew lights had gone out too. The air was damp, and shadows sat in every corner as if they were breathing. The register lay closed on the stage, but a faint steam rose from its black cover—like it was alive. Blue smoke slowly spread through the air, and in the middle stood Meera. Her hands trembled, but her eyes were calm—like she already knew what was about to happen. “Sir used to say, every story becomes real,” she spoke softly. “So now… listen to my story.” She walked toward the same chair where Arya, Aman, and Neil had sat. The candle lit on its own, and the blue flame reflected her face like an old photo coming alive. “My story is called—The One Who Lives in the Mirror.” Everyone’s breath stopped. Meera continued, “When I was a child, there was a mirror on the wall at my home. My grandmother used to say, ‘Don’t look into that mirror after sunset, or it will pull you inside.’ I used to laugh, but one day… I saw it.” The air gre
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