A young man sat in his classroom with his head down when the teacher called on him.
"Vedant Rao, come here and solve this equation."
Vedant looked up.
He was handsome in an effortless way fair skin, sharp features, eyes that looked permanently disinterested in whatever stood in front of them.
"Uhh… yes, sir."
Vedant walked up to the board and took a quick glance at the question. Without hesitation, without strain, he wrote the answer. Clean. Correct.
The teacher wasn't surprised, as it was normal.
"Good job, Vedant."
Vedant Rao had learned, very early in life, that being exceptional was just another way of being trapped.
At seventeen, he was already tired. Not the kind of tired sleep could fix the other kind. The kind that sat behind the eyes when every test felt predictable, the kind when everything was too easy for him.
Whenever he picked something new, he mastered it in a very short time. Nothing gave him a sense of thrill anymore. His life was just boring and meaningless.
Vedant felt nothing....
The mansion was supposed to scare him.
That was the point of the dare.
The mansion stood at the edge of an old road covered with weeds, overgrown grass being swallowed by shadows. The windows were sealed shut, like it was trying to hide something. The paint had peeled off. The iron gate was half open, as if it were waiting for someone.
Vedant was coming home from school with some of his classmates when they passed near that old road.
"Five minutes," one of his classmates said to Vedant.
"If you stay in that old mansion for five minutes, I'll give everyone here a treat.
But if you come out before that, you lose and you have to do my homework for the whole year."
Vedant didn't argue. He never did. He simply stepped forward, hands in his pockets. He felt bored more than afraid.
As Vedant got near the mansion, the iron gate creaked open by itself, like the door was waiting for him. Vedant felt like someone or something was calling for him.
Inside, the air was stale and dusty. Thin light slipped through cracked walls and broken windows.
At first, he roamed around without any purpose.
He saw a broken-down staircase and a dining table with a plate on it, like someone was about to eat but couldn't. He saw some framed photographs turned face down.
Then he passed by a painting. When he came near it, it fell down. Behind it was a door.
A door different from any other.
It was small, but enough for a person to go inside.
The room was calling him. Vedant was feeling something after a long time, CURIOSITY.
Vedant started to breathe heavily.
"Wha-What am I feeling?"
Vedant slowly approached the door and opened it.
The door opened into a narrow room, barely wider than a hallway. Shelves lined the walls, most of them empty, except for a stack of yellowed newspapers bound together with twine. On the desk lay a single book.
Black cover. No title.
Vedant ignored the book at first and picked up the newspapers.
The headline stared back at him.
MIRROR KILLER STRIKES AGAIN
His fingers paused.
He flipped through more pages.
Different dates. Same name.
The articles spoke nervously. Victims found in strange circumstances. No pattern to be found. No suspects. Nothing in common.
The nickname had come from the public because every crime reflected something about the victim their habits, their secrets, their lives.
There were a total of twelve victims.
The case had gone cold in the late 1950s.
Vedant finally reached for the book.
The journal was heavier than it looked. The pages inside were filled with tight, deliberate handwriting. There were no emotions, no apologies, no dates—but every entry was given a number.
One.
Two.
Three.
By the time he reached Twelve, his breathing changed.
This wasn't madness.
This was precision.
The killer didn't write how. He wrote why.
The logic behind the choice.
The belief that death, when done correctly, is meaningful.
Vedant thought to himself,
"What would it feel like… to do something no one expects of you?"
A voice called from outside.
"Vedant! Come outside the dare is over!"
Vedant slipped the journal into his coat.
As he stepped out of the mansion, the sky felt different. Sharper. Closer. Like it was watching him back.
His classmates were looking at him strangely when one of them said,
"Vedant… why are you smiling?"
"I've never seen you smile."