The Vanishing Reflection

By Bineet Dwivedy

When Anirudh Sharma, a respected architect in Bangalore, walked into the custom mirror boutique, he sought nothing more than a perfectly crafted mirror. He wanted elegance, symmetry—something that reflected his success.

What he found instead was something that reflected far more than he ever wanted to see.

The mirror was pristine, almost unnaturally so. Its frame glowed under the boutique’s golden light. It looked deeper than any reflection he had ever seen—as if it wasn’t just mirroring, but watching.

The old shopkeeper hesitated when Anirudh asked to buy it.

"You’re certain?" the man murmured. His voice was thick with something Anirudh couldn’t place.

But Anirudh laughed off his unease. "It’s just a mirror."

Days passed, and Anirudh admired his new purchase in his penthouse—a sleek, towering residence overlooking the Bangalore skyline. He positioned the mirror perfectly in his bedroom, basking in the way it captured every detail flawlessly.

Then the inconsistencies began.

They were tiny at first—a tie slightly askew in the reflection, though it lay perfectly straight in reality. A smudge near his collar that only existed in the mirror.

Days passed, and the mismatches grew worse.

One morning, as he sipped coffee, he glanced at the mirror—only to find his reflection staring back at him with an expression he wasn't making.

He froze.

His reflected self was smirking.

But Anirudh’s lips were neutral, unreadable.

He raised his hand slowly, and the reflection followed—but a fraction too late.

He clenched his jaw. His pulse was uneven.

It was a delay, almost imperceptible, but it was there.

From that moment on, things spiralled.

He stopped looking at the mirror directly. Every time he glimpsed it, he felt something shift in his reflection—something he wasn’t controlling.

Some nights, he swore he heard subtle noises—the sound of fabric shifting, footsteps that weren’t his own. But whenever he turned to look, the mirror was just a mirror.

Or was it?

Then came the worst moment of all.

One night, Anirudh woke suddenly, sweat clinging to his skin. Instinctively, his gaze flicked to the mirror.

And what he saw froze him in place.

His reflection was already awake.

Sitting upright.

Watching.

His own body hadn’t moved yet.

The air between them felt thick, suffocating.

Anirudh couldn’t look away. He was paralyzed, his mind screaming that this wasn’t possible.

And then—the reflection blinked.

Anirudh had not blinked.

His throat went dry. His limbs refused to move. He felt the tension in the room, felt the sheer wrongness of what was happening.

And then, without warning—his reflection stood up.

Anirudh remained frozen in bed.

His reflection took three slow steps back, deeper into the mirror—until it was no longer visible.

He did not move.

The room was silent.

It was gone.

Heart pounding, Anirudh hurled a book at the mirror, the loud thud echoing into the night.

Nothing.

Slowly, his body came back to life. He stumbled out of bed, grabbed a thick blanket, and covered the mirror completely.

He was done.

The next morning, he called movers to take it away. But when they arrived, they pulled off the sheet and stared in confusion.

"Sir," one of them said hesitantly. "There’s… nothing here."

Anirudh stiffened.

The mirror was gone.

Vanished.

And in its place, a faint outline remained on the wall, as though something had been there for years—and had just been peeled away.

Anirudh backed away, his pulse hammering wildly.

Then, in the polished glass door across the room, he saw it.

His missing double, deep in the reflection, staring straight at him.

Watching.

Waiting.

And then—it smiled.

By Bineet Dwivedy