Once, in a quiet town surrounded by misty woods, there was a man named Vijay who adored his wife, Aarti. They had a happy marriage, but Vijay had one flaw – he was a compulsive liar. Not big lies, mind you, just the small ones he thought would protect Aarti from unnecessary worry or pain.
One night, as he returned from a late meeting, Vijay noticed an old, abandoned mirror by the roadside. Intrigued by its strange allure, he brought it home without mentioning it to Aarti, feeling it would only confuse her. Placing it in the guest room, he whispered to himself, “No need to tell her. It’s just a mirror.”
But that night, as he lay beside his sleeping wife, he heard faint whispers echoing from the guest room. Ignoring it, he tried to sleep, assuming it was just his imagination. Yet, the whispers grew louder each night, chilling him to the bone, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell Aarti – it would only worry her.
One evening, Aarti found the mirror and asked about it. “Oh, just a decoration I found on sale,” Vijay lied with a smile, feeling the familiar guilt prickling at his conscience.
That night, the whispering turned into a full voice, echoing the very lies Vijay had told. Each word he had hidden from Aarti reverberated through the house: “I’m fine… Don’t worry… Nothing happened.” The mirror reflected shadows of secrets he’d kept, each lie taking form in eerie, distorted versions of himself.
Terrified, Vijay decided to come clean and confess everything to Aarti. But when he approached her, he found her staring blankly into the mirror, her eyes hollow and empty. The mirror had claimed her, feeding off his deceit, drawing her spirit into its dark, twisted realm.
To this day, they say the mirror remains in that house, capturing every lie its owners whisper, feeding on secrets, and waiting for the next unspoken truth to consume.
Vijay, horrified by what he had done, desperately tried to break the mirror, hoping to shatter the curse and release Aarti. He grabbed a heavy stone and struck the mirror with all his might, but the glass didn’t crack. Instead, it seemed to absorb his anger, growing darker and more menacing. The reflection that stared back at him was no longer his own but a twisted, evil version of himself, grinning with malice.
In a final attempt, he begged the mirror, confessing all his lies out loud, pleading for Aarti’s return. As he spoke, the mirror pulsed, each confession drawing shadows out of his heart until he was exhausted, his body drained, his voice barely a whisper. But nothing happened; Aarti remained trapped.
Finally, weakened and defeated, he slumped to the floor, his eyes fixated on the reflection of Aarti’s ghostly form, still staring blankly within the mirror. It dawned on him that the mirror had one last demand: his life.
Understanding this, Vijay slowly reached out and pressed his hand to the mirror, feeling its icy pull. As he surrendered, his form faded into the glass, joining the shadowy figures of countless others who had lied to their loved ones. The mirror, satisfied, glowed eerily before falling silent once more.
Now, the house stands abandoned, and some say if you peer closely into the mirror, you can still see Vijay and Aarti, trapped together in an eternity of silence, the cost of every small lie he’d ever told.
And so, the mirror waits, patiently, for the next to whisper a lie in its presence.