Maya tore through the house calling for Arjun.
"Arjun! Arjun, answer me!"
No reply.
Not from the garden.
Not the attic.
Not the pantry.
Not even his favourite hiding spots under the stairs.
She paused at the foot of the hallway upstairs, breathing hard.
The door.
It was slightly open. Not wide yet wide enough.
She rushed to it and flung it open. The room looked the same, untouched. But the mirror was cracked in two places now.
And in the rocking chair sat Arjun, smiling.
"Arjun!" she ran to him, touching his face. "What are you doing? I told you, I told you to never come here!"
He looked up at her with wide, calm eyes, clearly not belonging to him.
"She said you'd come," Arjun spoke in a very calm manner.
At his words, Maya froze. Even though she felt that she had an idea of the person he was talking about, she couldn't help herself and asked. "Who?"
"Mina," he whispered. "She told me the truth." Arjun continued with no change in his expression.
"What truth?" "That the fire wasn't an accident."
As he spoke, Arjun stood up, walked to the wall, and tapped a floorboard near the bed.
"She showed me." He said while pointing at the floorboard.
Reaching there, Maya knelt down. Her hands trembled, and she pried the board open.
Inside was a charred child-sized notebook. She pulled it out and opened it, and saw pages crumbling at the edges.
The entries were uneven. Some were written in shaky cursive, others in big, childish letters. Each one seemed more erratic than the last.
"The lady in the walls said I can stay forever."
"Amma yelled at me for hiding her sewing needles. But it wasn't me. It was the house."
"The mirror girl talks backwards. She has no eyes."
"I heard my name in the fire. But I wasn't scared. I was home."
Then, one entry near the end, in different handwriting. More grown-up.
"We thought Mina was sick. She talked to shadows, heard voices, and blamed the house. But now I think we were wrong. She wasn't imagining it. She was listening."
Maya flipped to the last page.
A rough drawing.
Of a girl's face.
No eyes.
No mouth.
Just the outline of a head and hair, and long, reaching fingers wrapped around a heart drawn in red crayon.
The image scared her, and she shut the book quickly.
"We need to go," Maya said, her voice breaking, but Arjun didn't move.
"I don't want to go," he whispered.
"It's better here." He replied in an acceptable manner.
"No, Arjun, it's not. This isn't real. This house - it's playing with you."
He looked at her and smiled faintly. "She said you'd say that too."
Ignoring his words and the unease in her heart, Maya grabbed his wrist and yanked him out of the room.
They stumbled down the hallway as the door behind them slammed shut with a crash that shook the walls.
Downstairs, Amma was lighting incense, chanting under her breath. The wind chime clanged violently, though the windows were closed.
"The mirror's cracked," Maya said, still panting.
"He went inside. I found a journal. She's real, Amma. Whatever's happening - she's not just a memory. She's here."
Amma turned toward her, her eyes burning with something ancient and fierce.
"She never left," Amma said. "I told you. But you didn't listen."
"She's inside Arjun now."
Amma stepped back, eyes widening. "No. No, no, that's not possible. Not unless - "
"Unless what?"
"She's made room."
Maya didn't understand. "Room?"
Amma looked toward the stairs.
"If Mina is inside him, then part of him is… gone."
.
.
.
.
That night, Arjun didn't speak.
He sat by the window, unmoving, watching the tree sway. Maya tried to coax him to bed, but he only blinked slowly, as if he were somewhere else.
She turned to Amma in desperation. "How do we stop this?"
"There's only one way," Amma said. "We give her what she wants."
"And what's that?" "Memory."
At midnight, the house woke up.
Maya heard it.
The breathing.
The soft dragging sound of feet on wood.
Laughter in the walls.
Arjun walked again, this time toward the tree outside.
Maya followed, barefoot, the grass cool underfoot, dew dampening the hem of her clothes.
The tree looked different now - taller, twisted. The bark writhed faintly, like something alive pulsed beneath it.
Carvings were etched into it - symbols, names, dates. And one of them was Maya's. Fresh.
"She said you belong to her, too," Arjun said dreamily.
"I don't," Maya snapped.
"She showed me. Your name. The memory. You were here before when you were small. She tried to take you then. But Amma stopped her."
Maya reeled. "That's not true."
But something inside her stirred. A memory buried deep.
A firefly-lit night. A door was slightly open. Whispers. A mirror. A scream - her scream.
Then nothing.
The truth hit her like a wave.
She had been here before. She had seen the door. But something… someone… had sealed it away. Until now.
Maya turned to Arjun.
"I won't let her take you." Her voice was firm.
But Arjun was already walking toward the tree.
At its base, a small door was visible now, wooden and half-buried.
"She's waiting," he whispered.