The next morning, Rohan’s laptop was found open, seeding a file to thousands. And on every screen that played it, a reflection lingered a second too long after the viewer looked away.
In the outskirts of Kolkata, where the city’s glow faded into swamp and shadow, lay the half-sunken temple of Bakreshwar. Locals said no pregnant woman should pass within a mile of it. Rumor had it that a Pari —not a winged fairy, but a vengeful, fallen spirit—dwelled in its roots.
Rohan tried to run, but his legs turned to stone. The Pari tilted her head, smiling with Neel’s mouth.
Neel had watched it alone one night. By morning, his reflection in the mirror had begun to smile without him.