By the next morning, I wasn't sure what was worse — the memory of watching Anaya disappear into the mirror, or the fact that Aaryan let it happen.
But something was changing. Not just in me — in the house itself.
The air had a pulse now.
The walls were starting to breathe.
When I came back to my room after breakfast, I froze.
The bed was made. Not the way the maids usually do it — tightly tucked, sterile, forgettable. No. This was different. The sheets were turned down on the left side — Anaya's side. The pillow had a faint dent like someone's head had just been resting there.
And lying across the covers was a hairbrush.
Her hairbrush.
The one she always used. I knew it because the handle still had her initials carved in — a sloppy "A.V." from when we were nine and obsessed with marking everything we owned.
I picked it up slowly.
It was warm.
I turned to leave, only to find the bedroom door… locked. From the inside.
My hand trembled as I gripped the handle and yanked again. Nothing. I stepped back.
Then something whispered behind me.
A single word. So soft I wasn't sure I heard it right.
"Move."
I turned around.
There was no one there.
But the sheets?
They had shifted. The indent on the pillow was deeper now. Like someone had just laid their head down again. I walked over slowly, heart in my throat. Every step felt like wading through water.
The mirror across the bed was fogged.
I reached for it. Wiped it with my sleeve.
There, for a split second, I saw her.
Anaya.
In a white wedding dress.
Brushing her hair.
Then she looked up — her eyes meeting mine — and the reflection fractured. Not the glass. Just the image. It blinked out like a dying light.
Someone banged on the door.
I jumped so hard the hairbrush fell to the floor.
"Alya?" It was Sima, one of the maids. "We heard a noise. Are you okay?"
I ran to unlock it.
She looked worried. "The door wasn't budging. Are you sure you're alright?"
I nodded too fast.
She eyed me carefully, then her gaze flicked to the bed.
I followed her line of sight.
The pillow was untouched. The bed was perfectly flat. No dent. No hairbrush. The mirror? Just a regular, quiet reflection.
"I'm fine," I lied.
Sima didn't press. She just bowed her head slightly and left.
But I noticed something as she walked away.
She was barefoot.
And her shadow didn't move the same way she did.
—
That night, I refused to sleep.
I sat on the windowsill, key still in my hand, journal open beside me. The journal I hadn't dared write in since all this began.
Until now.
Night Five:
Something is here. It's not my sister. But it's wearing her voice. Her scent. Her sadness.
If I fall asleep, I think she'll climb into my body and stay.
I don't know if I'll wake up as me.
As I wrote the last word, I felt it.
Pressure on the bed.
Like someone had just sat down.
I turned my head slowly.
There was a figure in the dark. Sitting on Anaya's side.
I couldn't see her face.
But she whispered something so faint I had to strain to hear.
"He kissed me first."
Then she vanished.
And the room was empty again.
Except the sheets. Still warm.