After the grave visit, the girls hoped things would calm down. But the hotel had other plans.
The next morning, while brushing her hair, Akshara froze.
The mirror in her room rippled.
Not like a trick of light. It moved—like water disturbed by a pebble. And for a second, she swore she saw someone standing behind her. A woman, dressed in black, brushing her hair slowly… but when she turned—no one.
"Guys!" she yelled, running out. "Mere room mein koi tha!"
Koi tha… mera reflection nahi tha vo. Koi aur tha mere peeche…
Everyone gathered in her room. Srushti, always trying to lighten the mood, joked, "Maybe Margaret's giving you fashion tips."
But Akshara looked pale. "I'm serious. Mirror ne move kiya. Jaise paani ho."
Prajwal examined the mirror. It looked normal now—but something about it felt… wrong.
Swara ran to fetch the hotel's old blueprint she had taken from the library earlier.
"There's a note here," she said. "Room 309. The mirror is original. Gifted by Eleanor's husband. They called it The Mirror of Memories."
"Mirror of Memories?" Anushka laughed nervously. "What are we in? A fantasy novel?"
"Lekin kya pata… yeh hotel fantasy se zyada haunted nikle," Apurva muttered.
Later that day, curious and cautious, the girls returned to Room 309. The mirror was large, antique, and slightly tarnished around the edges. Intricate carvings framed the glass, with initials E & E at the bottom.
Prajwal stared into it.
Suddenly, the reflection changed.
The room remained—but the girls were gone. Instead, a young girl in a white dress sat on the bed, braiding her hair. She turned and smiled.
Ophelia.
The others gasped. "It's showing the past?"
"Ya phir… yaadein jo mirror mein band hain," Swara whispered.
The vision faded as quickly as it appeared.
Prajwal touched the surface. It was cold—but pulsing, like a heartbeat.
"We need to test it," she said. "One by one."
Khushi went first. The mirror showed her hugging someone—an older man. Her father, probably. A memory.
Swarali saw herself winning a prize, beaming with pride.
Rutuja saw a rainy day, her and her mom dancing barefoot.
Akshara stepped forward hesitantly… and gasped.
"No!" she backed away. "That wasn't my memory!"
The mirror had shown a girl—tied up, screaming—as a shadowy woman watched.
"Vo… main nahi thi… par lagta tha jaise meri body thi," she whispered.
"Kya yeh mirror… sirf yaadein nahi… kisi aur ki zindagi bhi dikha raha hai?" Anushka asked.
Suddenly, the room grew colder.
The mirror shimmered again. This time, all of them saw it.
A woman in a wedding gown, staring directly at them from inside the mirror.
Blood smeared across her veil. A soft, echoing voice:
"You saw her pain. Now, see mine."
The glass cracked.
Everyone screamed and stumbled back.
But Prajwal stayed frozen, her eyes wide.
"That… that wasn't Margaret."
Swara's voice trembled. "Toh phir kaun thi vo…?"
Prajwal whispered, "We've been looking at Eleanor and Margaret. But someone else… someone no one remembers… wants to be seen."
They looked at the mirror again.
Written in the cracks:
"Lydia."
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