Ramesh, a veteran bus driver, took the late-night route through the Kalighat forest—an area wrapped in silence and superstition. Locals whispered of a "mirror road" where time looped and shadows whispered.
That night, at exactly 12:13 a.m., a woman in a white sari flagged him down. Pale, silent, and dripping wet, she boarded and sat at the back. He’d heard stories, but brushed it off as imagination.
As he drove deeper into the forest, the GPS went haywire. It showed the same location repeatedly: "Mirror Route – 12:13 a.m."
Then it happened again—the woman appeared at the next stop, dry now, as if she'd never boarded. Yet the first woman still sat at the back. Frozen, he stopped the bus and turned around—they were both gone.
Only their faint laughter echoed from behind the trees.
Panicked, Ramesh tried to turn back. But every road led to the same forest stretch. Every attempt reset the time to 12:13 a.m. He was trapped.
The next morning, passengers found the bus parked at the station — engine cold, door open.
No sign of Ramesh.
But in the driver’s mirror, if you look closely…
you’ll see a man still driving through the forest, his clock forever stuck at 12:13
