Roumit's eyes fluttered open, the heaviness of sleep fading as a strange chill brushed across his skin. He blinked twice, trying to focus—and then his breath hitched.
The ground beneath him wasn't the same cracked, dusty land they had rested on. It shimmered faintly, like frozen glass—no, crystal, spreading endlessly in every direction. His own reflection blinked back at him faintly from the floor.
Startled, Roumit sat up abruptly, his pulse thudding in his ears.
"What the hell…?" he muttered, scanning the area.
All around him stood towering mirrors—each framed by intricate, transparent crystals that glowed with an eerie, pale blue light. They reflected not just his face, but infinite versions of him, each slightly distorted, each staring back like a silent judge.
The air was unnaturally still.
He swallowed hard. The silence pressed on his ears as if even sound was afraid to exist here.
Everything had changed. The barren battlefield was gone—replaced by a crystalline prison of reflections.
Roumit's throat went dry as he slowly rose to his feet, his shoes making faint tapping sounds against the glassy floor. His reflection followed every motion like a ghostly twin.
"Hey… Armaan?" he called out, his voice echoing strangely in the empty space, bouncing off the crystal walls. "Samar? Zykarith, can you hear me?"
Silence. Not even a whisper of wind replied—only his own shaky breath filling the void.
A cold unease crept into his chest. His heartbeat grew faster, louder. It wasn't just fear of being alone—no, this feeling was different.
It was as if something inside him was… tightening, stirring.
The air felt heavier now. His reflection seemed to flicker faintly in the mirrors around him. A strange sense of longing—a deep, hollow ache—spread through his chest, as if something precious had been torn away long ago and this place was forcing him to remember it.
He clenched his fists. "What is this…?" he whispered, his voice trembling.
Roumit's voice echoed sharply through the crystalline hall, shattering the silence.
"ARMAAN!! SAMAR!! ZYKARITH!! WHERE HAVE YOU GONE!?"
His desperate cry bounced off the mirrored walls, splitting into countless faint echoes that mocked him from every direction. But no answer came—only the hollow repetition of his own voice fading into stillness.
Something in his mind flickered. His breathing turned uneven as he forced out a strained laugh. "Heh… hey, guys, if you're playing a prank on me, you should stop it now, okay? It's… it's not cool."
He looked around, his smile twitching, eyes darting from one reflection to another. "I'm not gonna fall for this. I'm not getting pranked—"
Still, nothing. No sound. No warmth.
His laugh died out slowly, replaced by the faint trembling of his lips. The smile he tried so hard to hold onto began to slip away, melting into confusion—then dread.
"Hey… guys…" his voice broke, barely a whisper now. "Say something…"
But there was only silence—and his reflection, staring back at him with the same growing fear.
Roumit broke into a run. First to the north—then east—then west—then south.
But no matter where he turned, all he saw was himself.
An endless maze of mirrors, stretching into infinity—his own terrified reflection staring back at him a thousand times over.
His breath grew heavier with each step, the sound echoing sharply in the crystal chamber. "What is this place…?!" he muttered, his voice shaking.
He slammed his hand against one of the mirrors—it was solid, cold, unbreakable. He tried again, harder this time. The surface didn't even crack; it only sent his reflection rippling like water, distorting his face into something alien.
Panic began clawing at his chest.
The Roumit who always stayed calm, who analyzed every fight, who never lost composure—even he was now running wildly like someone possessed.
He tried to steady his breathing, clutching his shirt over his heart. "C-Calm down, Roumit… just think… think!"
But no matter how much he tried, he couldn't. His chest hurt—not from fear, but from something else.
A strange, hollow ache that made his heartbeat feel heavier with every thud.
That longness in his chest—it wasn't just loneliness. It was like something precious was slipping away, and he couldn't even name what it was.
He fell to his knees, eyes darting frantically between the mirrors as if searching for an answer. "Why… why do I feel like something terrible is about to happen…?" he whispered, his voice barely holding together.
And deep inside the endless maze of reflections—one of them, just one—didn't move like the rest.
A sudden chill brushed the back of Roumit's neck—cold, sharp, and alive.
He froze mid-breath. Slowly, almost unwillingly, he turned toward the source.
What he saw made his blood run cold.
The mirrors—those countless reflections that had been mocking his every move—were gone.
Vanished.
In their place stretched an open world, vast and eerily familiar. The smooth crystal beneath his feet was replaced by cracked asphalt, faintly glimmering under silver moonlight.
He blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of it. "W–What the… where…?"
The suffocating chamber of glass had dissolved entirely. He could feel the wind again—real, earthy wind—brushing through his hair, carrying the scent of night air and dust. Above him, stars dotted the ink-black sky like scattered shards of crystal.
And around him—houses.
Buildings.
Streetlights flickering dimly in the distance.
Roumit's heart stopped for a moment as recognition hit him like a hammer.
"This… this can't be…" he whispered, his voice trembling.
He was standing on Earth.
In his world.
His chest tightened as he took a few shaky steps forward, eyes darting around in disbelief. Every detail felt real—the asphalt under his shoes, the soft hum of electricity, the faint barking of a dog far away.
And then—he turned his gaze forward.
What he saw next made his eyes widen so violently, it felt like they might burst out of their sockets.
He saw it—a small bundle wrapped in white cloth lying beside the society gate.
The faint, helpless wails of a newborn boy echoed through the still night, piercing straight into Roumit's chest.
"What the—" he gasped, his instincts taking over. Without thinking, he sprinted toward the child. His feet slammed against the ground, breath quickening, arms outstretched—
But he wasn't moving.
No matter how hard he ran, no matter how much force he put in, his body stayed frozen in place, like he was trapped behind an invisible wall.
He could feel his muscles strain, his heartbeat hammering in panic.
"I–I'm running… so why… why am I not moving!?" he yelled, desperation cracking his voice.
The baby kept crying, his tiny hands waving in the cold air, the white cloth now dusted with dirt. Roumit's eyes burned. He wanted to help. He needed to. But his legs refused to carry him forward.
Then, from the dimly lit road, two faint silhouettes emerged—
A man and a woman, walking side by side.
Maybe newlyweds… that's what they looked like.
But their faces—Roumit couldn't see them clearly. They were hazy, distorted… glitched, like fragments of a broken video feed trying to form an image but failing every second.
The man seemed to be around twenty-six or twenty-seven, tall and broad-shouldered, his frame solid, protective. Beside him, the woman looked to be in her early twenties—graceful yet fragile, wrapped in a saree that shimmered faintly under the starlight.
Her wrists were adorned with a bundle of red and golden bangles that jingled softly as she moved—just like newlywed Indian wives.
They noticed the baby at the gate.
The woman gasped, placing a hand on her chest before rushing forward. She kneeled, gently lifting the infant into her arms, her movements trembling yet tender.
The baby's cries softened instantly, his tiny fingers brushing her cheek.
The man came closer and said something—Roumit could see his lips moving, but not a sound reached him. The world around him was silent, eerily so.
The woman nodded in response, whispering something back, and again—only the faint coos and hiccups of the baby reached his ears.
Roumit strained to listen, his heartbeat echoing louder than anything else.
"Why… can't I hear them?" he muttered.
He could see the woman smiling faintly at the baby.
She said something—words Roumit couldn't hear, yet somehow felt.
A warmth flickered inside him… and confusion.
"Why does this feel… familiar?" he whispered, eyes wide, as the bangles glinted in the cold moonlight.
The couple carefully carried the baby into their home, their movements smooth, almost gliding as if the world itself flowed around them. Roumit's eyes followed every step, yet nothing felt solid—everything shimmered like a half-remembered dream.
Inside the house, Roumit noticed the wedding photo on the wall. The couple's faces remained blurred, featureless, as if the camera refused to capture their true selves. It made the room feel both intimate and distant, a memory he couldn't fully grasp.
The man spoke softly to his wife, gesturing with urgency, before stepping out. Moments later, he returned carrying a small bottle—a nipple for the child.
The couple fed the baby carefully, their hands gentle and precise. The infant, soothed by the warmth and care, gradually closed his eyes and drifted into a peaceful sleep.
They exchanged a soft smile, a quiet acknowledgment of each other's effort and love. The woman leaned her head against her husband's broad shoulder, resting in that brief moment of serenity.
Roumit could only watch, mesmerized, the scene unfolding like a fleeting vision—comforting, yet painfully out of reach.
The scenes before Roumit began to move like a fast-forwarded movie, each frame flowing steadily yet unnervingly quick. The child's life unfolded in front of him, each small moment accelerated yet vivid.
He watched as the child grew, learning to crawl, laugh, and speak under the careful guidance of the couple. The love and care surrounding the little one were undeniable, yet Roumit felt an unsettling chill, like he was watching someone else's memory… yet it felt personal.
Then the scenes shifted. Two years had passed, and the couple was moving to a new home. Roumit's eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat.
"I-it's… my previous apartment…" he muttered, voice trembling, barely audible. His heart raced as recognition hit him like a thunderbolt. The walls, the windows, even the faint scratches on the floor—they were unmistakably familiar. Yet everything was surreal, like a reflection of his own past, twisted and distant.
He could feel a strange pull in his chest, an emotion he couldn't name, as the realization slowly settled: the child… the couple… it all had a connection to him, one he couldn't yet comprehend.
The scenes sped forward like a relentless river, each moment sharper and more vivid than the last. The boy grew steadily, passing through nursery, LKG, UKG, 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and by the time he reached 4th class, spectacles were perched on his small nose to correct his poor eyesight.
Roumit's chest tightened, his breath quickened, and his heartbeat thundered in his ears with each passing frame. Something in the unfolding memories clawed at him, pulling him deeper into a past he hadn't fully understood—yet felt inexplicably familiar.
By the time the boy reached 5th class, he was attending boxing classes, moving with determination despite the specs framing his eyes. The world of his memories blurred around him as he glimpsed the boy in school, holding hands with a girl.
Roumit froze, his body trembling, his eyes widening behind his glasses. Recognition struck him like lightning. Tears welled up uncontrollably, streaming down his cheeks even as he blinked rapidly.
"G-G-Geetanjali…?!" he whispered, voice breaking, as the weight of the memories and the connection slammed into him with unbearable clarity.
Then the world around him shifted again — the mirrors melted into a new vision. The lockdown had begun due to a global pandemic, and the boy stayed home, training in his small room, punching the air and shadowboxing with determination. The dim light from the window, the muffled sounds of news on TV — everything felt eerily familiar to Roumit, yet he couldn't grasp why.
He kept watching, his expression trembling between confusion and dread. Why does this feel so close? So real? he thought. There was something inside him that already knew the answer, but his mind refused to accept it — his heart wasn't ready.
Time flowed faster, years turning like pages in a book. The boy grew taller, stronger, sharper — a teen now, heading to the same school Roumit himself went to. The world inside the mirrors was like a replay of memories Roumit had buried deep within his soul.
Then came the moment that shattered everything. The teen was laughing, hanging out with two boys — Armaan and Samar.
Roumit's knees grew weak, tears blurring his vision. His lips trembled as he spoke, the words heavy with disbelief.
"I-It was my past… my story… and that boy is no one else but me…"
His voice cracked as his body shook.
"Then that couple are…"
The hazy faces of the man and woman in the visions started to clear, slowly sharpening — until he saw them clearly. His mom. His dad.
Roumit gasped, the realization stabbing straight through his heart. He fell to his knees, tears bursting out uncontrollably.
"They are… my mom and dad… and that means… I'm— I'm adopted."
His voice broke into a sob. The words hung in the air like a curse that refused to fade. Pain flooded his chest as he collapsed to the ground, clutching at it as if trying to tear out the ache. His cries echoed endlessly in the crystalline void.
"Why!? Why'd they hide this truth from me!? Why!?"
The mirrors around him reflected his torment, his reflection screaming back at him from every direction. He began punching the ground, over and over, blood smearing across the crystal floor until it turned a deep, crimson red.
"I was adopted… they're not my real parents… I— I wasn't meant to be alive…"
His fists bled. His breath trembled. His heart shattered.
And all around him, the infinite mirrors pulsed with his agony — as if the world itself was weeping with him.
He screamed madly, his voice breaking, almost choking on his own anguish.
"AAAAAAARRRGHHH!!! Why!!? Why am I being shown this!?"
His fists slammed against the crystalline mirrors, cracking some of them, as his gaze shot upward. "What do you want from me? Why are you revealing this to me?" he yelled, his voice raw, directed at the unknown force showing him his past.
Tears streamed down his face as he fell to his knees, burying his head in his hands. "What is going on!!?" he cried, his voice trembling with despair.
Then, with one final, broken scream, he let out all his pain into the void.
"AAAAAAHHHHHH!!!"
The world around him pulsed with his agony, the mirrors reflecting nothing but his torment.