The Other Side of the Mirror

Tania had fair moved into a disintegrating ancient flat in Puran Paltan, Dhaka. With a modern work and dreams of freedom, she was enthusiastic to begin her life over again. The level was modest—faded backdrop, squeaky entryways, and tidy waiting in corners—but it had a unusual charm.

What caught her eye quickly, in any case, was a towering, collectible reflect mounted next to the room window. Its dim wooden outline was unpredictably carved with serpentine designs and images she didn't recognize. Cleared out behind by the past occupant, it stood like a noiseless gatekeeper of the room.

At to begin with, she overlooked it. But before long, peculiarities started to crawl in. Her reflection moved fair a division slower than her genuine self. In some cases, its look appeared to wait indeed after she had looked absent. It was subtle—barely noticeable—but sufficient to unsettle her.

She told herself it was stretch. Mental trips from weariness.

Until one night, as she balanced her scarf, her reflection winked at her.

She hadn't moved.

Her breath caught. Her skin prickled. She squinted quickly and ventured back. The reflection reset, reflecting her absolutely once more.

From that night, she maintained a strategic distance from the reflect at whatever point conceivable. She tossed a shawl over it, but indeed secured, its nearness was suffocating—like something interior was squeezing against the glass, observing.

At that point came the chilling minute.

Whereas brushing her hair some time recently bed, Tania felt an frosty breath close her neck. She spun around—no one. But within the reflect, behind her, a figure stood:

a lady in a pale outfit, splashed as in spite of the fact that pulled from a stream, her dark hair hanging like window ornaments around a ghost-white confront.

Tania shouted.

Mrs. Kabir, the elderly neighbor following entryway, came running. When Tania depicted what she saw, the lady withered.

“There was another young lady here. Ananya,” she whispered. “Lived alone. Said she seem talk to somebody interior the reflect. One morning, they found her… collapsed on the floor before it. No wounds. No signs of battle. Just—dead. Eyes wide open.”

Tania's voice shook. “Did no one evacuate it?”

“They tried,” Mrs. Kabir said delicately. “But the devices broke. So they fixed the room for a year. Until you came.”

Tania gazed at the hidden glass.

She didn't rest that night.

Decided to conclusion it, Tania summoned the building's caretaker the another morning. “Take it down,” she demanded. “I do not care how—just get it out.”

He faltered, eyes bolted on the reflect. “Miss, this thing… it's not ordinary. The final time I attempted, the screwdriver bowed like rubber.”

She rejected him. “I'm not perplexed of superstitions.”

That evening, alone with the reflect, she lit incense and whispered a calm prayer—half custom, half edginess. The shawl slid to the floor. The reflect stood uncovered. Observing.

She come to out.

The minute her fingertips brushed the outline, the glass quivered—like water irritated by wind. A gnawing cold surged into her hand. At that point, her fingers started to sink in. As in spite of the fact that the reflect was not strong, but a liquid boundary to something… past.

Freezing, she yanked her hand back.

Five claw-like scratches materialized on the surface, carved from interior. At that point, moderate and think, words started to carve themselves into the frost-covered glass:

“LET ME OUT.”

Heart beating, Tania called Riad—a companion from college who presently inquired about supernatural marvels.

When he arrived, his confront turned grave the minute he entered the room. “This isn't fair a mirror,” he mumbled, filtering it with a interesting pendulum and reflect thwart. “It's a liminal protest. A portal. Mirrors can ended up entries beneath seriously injury or passing. Ananya must have made contact... and something came through.”

Tania whispered, “But it looks like me. Each time I see in… it's like she's replicating me, examining me. Like she's attempting to… supplant me.”

Riad looked up strongly. “Because that's precisely what she's attempting to do. She doesn't need to be caught in there anymore.”

That night, whereas Riad ventured out to call a colleague, it happened.

A scream echoed from the corridor.

He sprinted back into the room.

Tania was gone.

As it were the reflect remained—silent and undisturbed. But interior it—Tania was caught. Her palms were squeezed against the glass, eyes wide with freeze. She was shouting, beating, but no sound gotten away.

And behind him, within the genuine world, stood somebody who looked like her.

Indistinguishable. But for the grin. The grin didn't have a place to Tania.

Riad attempted everything. Salt, chants, images from old writings.

Nothing worked.

The reflect was undaunted. The young lady inside—his friend—watched with tear-streaked eyes. But the one exterior lived on, getting to work, replying calls, indeed grinning at him.

But he knew.

He may feel the unsoundness. Her voice resounded a small as well delicately. Her eyes flickered a moment as well moderate. And in some cases, fair some of the time, her reflection moved a beat some time recently she did.

The flat is presently fixed. The reflect has been moved to a private inquire about office, bolted behind strengthened glass.

But security watches say the reflection still shouts. That her mouth moves in noiseless anguish each night at precisely 3:

33 a.m. A lady caught behind the shroud.

And carved into the bottom-right corner of the glass, unmistakable as it were beneath ice, are the ultimate words she ever talked:

“I was as it were looking into the mirror…

But she saw me first.”