In the quiet village of Devpur, nestled between dark woods and endless fields, lived a boy named Aarav. From the moment he was born, something about him was different—he couldn’t feel pain, warmth, or even the gentle touch of his mother. Doctors called it congenital insensitivity to pain, but the villagers whispered that it was something else. Something unnatural.
As he grew older, his lack of sensation made him fearless. He walked barefoot on burning coals, played with broken glass, and never cried when he fell. But his parents knew that one mistake, one unnoticed wound, could cost him his life. They begged him to be careful. Yet, the danger Aarav faced was not from wounds—it was from something much worse.
One evening, as he wandered too deep into the woods, he came upon an old mansion, its windows shattered, its doors barely hanging onto their hinges. A strange pull drew him inside. The air was thick with the scent of decay, and the wooden floor creaked beneath his weight.
Then, he saw it. A mirror, covered in dust, yet the reflection within was clearer than any he had ever seen. As he stepped closer, the glass rippled like water. A voice echoed from within.
“You cannot feel… but you will.”
Aarav’s chest tightened. He had never known fear, yet something inside him stirred—a sensation he couldn’t explain. Then, a pale hand shot out from the mirror, gripping his wrist. For the first time in his life, he felt something. Agony. Cold, searing pain spread through his veins. He screamed, collapsing to his knees.
When his parents found him the next morning, he was lying motionless in the mansion, his eyes wide open, his body unscathed. But something had changed.
From that day on, Aarav felt everything. Every drop of rain, every gust of wind, every tiny splinter piercing his skin. And worst of all, he felt something else—whispers in his mind, voices that weren’t his own, telling him to return to the mirror.
And at night, when the village slept, Aarav stood before his reflection, watching as his other self smiled back.