The bell's final chime shivered through the classroom like a blade dragged across glass.
Thirteen strikes.
Everyone continued talking as if nothing unusual had happened — except Vyom. His heartbeat faltered, then stumbled into a strange double rhythm. The teacher frowned at the attendance sheet, tapping the name as if it were a typo come alive.
"Roll number thirteen… Vyom."
Her voice sounded distant, dulled, like someone speaking through water.
Vyom swallowed.
"…That's me."
But that wasn't right.
He'd already answered.
The teacher looked up, confusion flickering briefly. "You're already marked present. Why does this show—"
Her sentence froze mid-air.
Her lips stopped, parted…
but no sound followed.
Then her entire body… stopped.
She didn't blink. Didn't breathe.
Stillness spread outward like ink in water.
One by one, every student froze — mid-laughter, mid-blink, mid-gesture.
Time… locked.
Only Vyom moved.
And the reflection in the window.
It smiled.
Slowly, it lifted a hand — but the real Vyom hadn't moved.
His body remained rigid, heart hammering.
The reflection pressed its palm to the glass.
Vyom stepped back instinctively, chair scraping — the sound was deafening in the silence.
The reflection mouthed words he couldn't hear.
Then the glass fogged from the inside, spelling them out:
"WHICH ONE ARE YOU?"
Vyom's breath trembled.
"I'm… me." His voice cracked.
The reflection tilted its head.
Its lips moved again.
This time, sound came:
"Prove it."
The lights flickered — harsh white to sick red and back.
Time snapped forward like a rubber band.
The teacher blinked and continued, mid-sentence, as though she'd never stopped.
"…—strange. Must be a clerical error. Moving on."
The class resumed.
Vyom stared at the window, but the reflection was normal again — staring back innocently, matching his movements.
Except…
Its eyes were a shade darker.
Almost red.
---
After Class
He stayed seated long after the final bell.
Students poured out, voices fading.
The room emptied.
At last, he stood, forcing his legs to steady.
He approached the window.
His reflection followed… but half a second late.
Vyom whispered, "What are you?"
No answer.
Then—
A breath fogged the glass.
From his side.
The room's air felt normal — too normal for moisture.
But the fog remained, spelling a new word:
"RUN."
He stumbled back.
And someone spoke from behind him.
"You shouldn't be here alone."
Vyom spun.
Nara stood by the doorway, pale, her silver-grey eyes dimmer than before. She leaned against the frame like it was the only thing keeping her upright.
He rushed to her. "Are you okay?"
Her smile was tired. "Wasn't sure I'd still be here."
"What does that mean?"
Her lips parted… but instead of answering, she asked:
"Look at the window again."
He did.
No reflection.
He stood alone in the glass.
No movement. No echo.
Just emptiness.
But if there was no reflection…
Then where did it go?
---
Corridor Distortions
They left the classroom, moving through hallways washed in a too-clean evening glow. Students talked, lockers slammed — but everything felt slightly off-beat, like the world was lip-syncing poorly.
Nara walked slower than usual, shoulders trembling.
Vyom noticed her footsteps didn't make any sound.
He stopped.
"Nara… the floor isn't reacting to you."
She didn't meet his eyes.
"That's what happens when a memory begins to fade."
He froze. "Memory? You're… a person."
Nara gave a faint, sad smile.
"I'm what time remembered of a person."
It hurt to hear.
He reached for her hand — and felt it, warm, real.
But a second later, his palm tingled.
He looked down —
his hand passed cleanly through hers, like mist, before becoming solid again.
Vyom staggered. "You're… disappearing."
Nara met his eyes.
"It's because the reflection is replacing you."
"Replacing… me?"
"Yes. When you broke the pendant inside the mirror world, you shattered the anchor that kept the recursion versions from bleeding into reality. Now, one of them is trying to take your place — fully."
She paused.
"And if it succeeds… you'll become the reflection instead."
Vyom's breath hitched.
"That can't be happening…"
"It already is."
---
The Stairwell
A group of students walked past them.
None of them glanced at Nara.
Not even once.
Vyom stepped into their path.
"Hey—!"
They passed through her like she wasn't there.
But they bumped into him.
Vyom turned to Nara — horrified.
She gave a weak laugh.
"I'm losing definition. Soon, only you will remember me. When you stop remembering… I disappear."
Vyom grabbed her shoulders.
"No! There has to be a way to fix this!"
"There is."
She looked up the dim stairwell — toward the top floor where the old art room used to be.
"We find the reflection before he finishes what he started."
Vyom hesitated. "And if he does?"
Nara answered simply:
"Then you stop breathing."
---
The Art Room
They climbed the stairs.
The higher they went, the more reality seemed to unravel.
Second-hand ticks from invisible clocks echoed.
Paintings on the walls subtly shifted — tears appearing in eyes, smiles turning upward too far.
One portrait — a girl in uniform — blinked.
Vyom's throat tightened.
They reached the art room.
It shouldn't have existed — it had been closed for years — but the door stood open, lights humming inside.
Nara pushed the door gently.
Inside…
The room was filled with mirrors.
Some broken.
Some tall.
Some small.
Some melted into puddles on the floor, still reflecting.
Each mirror showed a different version of Vyom.
One bleeding.
One older.
One smiling too wide.
One missing his eyes.
Vyom felt sick.
Nara whispered, "Don't look too long. They'll pull you in."
At the center of the room stood a lone easel —
A canvas facing away from them.
Someone sat before it, back turned — painting.
Slow stroke.
Deliberate.
Unhurried.
Vyom felt his heart seize.
The painter spoke without turning:
"I've been waiting."
The voice was soft, familiar — his own voice, cut with an echo.
The painter rose.
Turned.
It was Vyom.
But wrong.
His uniform spotless.
His smile perfect.
His eyes… pitch dark.
Nara stepped forward, shielding Vyom subtly.
"You shouldn't be here."
Reflection-Vyom smiled politely.
"But I am. And he is not supposed to be."
He pointed — directly at Vyom.
Vyom felt something twist inside him — a sensation like being tugged out from behind his own eyes.
Reflection-Vyom continued:
"You stole my hours. My life. You broke the seal so you could pretend to be the only one."
Vyom gritted his teeth.
"That's not true. I didn't ask for any of this."
Reflection-Vyom tilted his head.
"Does the knife ask for blood before it cuts?"
Vyom took a step forward.
"What do you want?"
The reflection smiled gently.
"To breathe."
The mirrors trembled.
The reflections inside began pounding on the glass surface, palms smearing blood-like shadow.
Nara hissed, "He's merging them. If he fuses with enough lost selves, he'll overwrite you."
Vyom shouted, "How do I stop him?"
Nara's voice was low.
"You must decide which one of you is the original. Your certainty is the key."
Vyom stared at the reflection.
It stared back.
"You don't know, do you?"
And suddenly…
Vyom wasn't sure.
His memories flickered —
faces
places
moments
Some felt… dusty…
second-hand.
Maybe he was the reflection.
Maybe he had been all along.
His knees buckled.
Reflection-Vyom walked closer.
"I remember the day we were born. I remember the tower. The storm. The seal."
Vyom whispered, shaking,
"…me too."
The reflection smiled wider.
"Do you?"
Images flashed in Vyom's mind:
A clocktower.
Blood.
A crying child.
Silver chains.
A woman screaming.
A roar beneath earth.
Vyom clutched his head.
The reflection leaned close to his ear.
"I remember better."
Nara grabbed Vyom's wrist.
"Don't listen! He's stitching false memories into yours — to weaken your identity."
Vyom gasped, "Nara— how do I know I'm real?"
Her eyes softened.
"You don't need to know. You need to choose."
The reflection scoffed.
"Existence is not a choice — it's a privilege."
He grabbed the canvas and turned it around.
Vyom's breath stopped.
On the canvas was a painting —
but not of him.
It was Nara.
Her body — fading, dissolving.
Her outline made of torn pages.
Her eyes hollow.
Nara froze.
Vyom looked at her — she had already begun flickering at the edges.
The reflection whispered:
"When you broke the pendant, you shattered the balance. One twin must fade so the other survives."
He reached toward Nara.
"She was never meant to exist."
Vyom moved instinctively — grabbing Reflection-Vyom's wrist.
Their palms touched.
A shock ripped through the room — mirrors HISSING, cracking outward like spiderwebs.
In every mirror —
the Vyoms screamed.
Nara shouted, "Vyom — your name! SAY YOUR NAME!"
He stared into the reflection's eyes —
saw himself, endless.
The reflection's voice echoed inside his head:
"You are a stolen second. A borrowed breath."
Vyom's heartbeat thundered.
His voice broke into the collapsing room:
"I am VYOM!"
The mirrors snapped — shattering, raining shards of reflected worlds.
The reflection flinched —
and his form fractured, briefly unstable.
Nara pulled Vyom back.
The reflection snarled, face twisting — no longer gentle.
"Then prove it."
He plunged his hand into Vyom's chest.
Vyom screamed —
the world split.
And the chapter ends.
---
End of Chapter 13 — The Mirror That Breathes