The Man in the Chair

Aarav's mind refused to accept what his eyes were seeing. The man sitting across from him wasn't just similar—he was identical. Every detail, down to the faint scar above his eyebrow, was the same. But there was one difference. His eyes. They held something Aarav didn't recognize in himself.

"Finally," the man said, his voice smooth and knowing. "I was starting to think you'd never make it here."

Aarav's throat was dry. "Who… are you?"

The man smirked, as if the question amused him. "Isn't it obvious?"

Aarav shook his head. "No. This isn't possible."

"But it is," the man leaned forward. "And it has been for a very long time."

Aarav stepped back, his pulse hammering. The air in the room was heavy, suffocating. Every instinct screamed for him to run, but his legs wouldn't move.

The candle flickered. Shadows stretched unnaturally along the walls. The portraits of himself seemed to watch him, their painted eyes shifting ever so slightly.

"You look afraid," the man said. "I get it. I was, too, when I first saw him."

"Who?" Aarav whispered.

The man's smile widened. "The one who brought you here."

Aarav stiffened. "The voice?"

A slow nod. "You heard it, didn't you? Calling your name, leading you deeper. Just like it did to me. And now…" His eyes gleamed. "Now it's your turn."

Aarav clenched his fists. "My turn for what?"

The man didn't answer. Instead, he gestured toward a mirror at the far end of the room. Aarav hadn't noticed it before. Its glass was old, cracked at the edges.

"Look," the man urged.

Aarav hesitated. The air around the mirror felt wrong, like something pulsed beneath the surface. But something inside him—some terrible curiosity—pulled him forward.

When he finally stood before it, he took a deep breath and looked at his reflection.

His own face stared back.

But behind him—

Something moved.

A shadow. A shape.

Not the man in the chair.

Something… else.

Something that had been watching the entire time.

And then—

It smiled.