Ravi fell to his knees.
His grandmother's face started melting, like wax near fire. Her calm eyes twisted into hollow black holes. The smile stayed.
Forever.
"No… you're not real," Ravi cried.
The haveli answered with silence.
Then—thump.
Something moved behind the walls.
Ravi forced himself to stand. His hands were cold, numb. He turned and ran down the left corridor, the one that was always locked during his childhood.
But tonight, it was open.
Inside, the air was warm.
Too warm.
The room had no windows. Only cracked mirrors on every wall. In each mirror, Ravi saw himself—but none of the reflections moved at the same time.
One Ravi was crying.
One was smiling.
One was screaming silently.
His heart pounded.
He stepped back, but the door slammed shut.
Bang.
The walls began to pulse slowly, like living skin.
Thump… thump…
The room was breathing.
From the ceiling, black water started dripping.
Drop.
Drop.
Drop.
Each drop whispered his name.
"Ravi… Ravi… Ravi…"
He covered his ears, but the sound came from inside his head.
Suddenly, words appeared on the largest mirror, written by invisible fingers:
EVERY HAVeli NEEDS A SOUL.
Memories flooded Ravi's mind.
He saw his childhood.
His parents arguing.
His grandmother praying alone.
The little girl who had disappeared years ago.
He remembered now.
She wasn't a stranger.
She was his sister.
Lost inside the haveli.
His chest tightened.
"I left her," Ravi whispered. "I ran away."
The mirror cracked.
From behind it, long shadowy hands reached out and grabbed his arms.
The room began to shrink.
The shadows pulled him toward the mirror, toward the darkness behind it.
As Ravi screamed, his voice faded into whispers.
Outside, the village dogs started barking again.
Because the haveli had finally received its soul.