Morning came like a lie.
The sky was grey. Heavy.
Bawang Putih didn't leave his room.
He sat on the floor beside the bed, surrounded by old photographs.
Him. Jahe. Merah.
Smiling. Laughing. Pretending the world was whole.
He stared at one particular picture — the last one ever taken of the three of them.
He didn't remember it being taken.
And now he understood why.
In the photo, Jahe's eyes were black.
He brought the photo to the mirror.
Not the cursed one in the woods.
Just an ordinary one.
One he had missed under the stairs.
His reflection was tired. Lost.
But beside him — nothing.
No Jahe. No Merah.
Only his own face.
And slowly, very slowly… that face began to smile.
Even though his mouth did not.
He ran.
Out the door. Into the rain. Toward the forest again.
He didn't call Jahe.
He didn't need to.
Jahe was already following.
The mirror in the clearing was waiting.
Its frame was cracked now. Warped.
But the surface shimmered like water.
Putih stepped up to it.
"I want her back," he whispered.
His reflection did not move.
"I'll trade."
And suddenly, his reflection nodded.
And stepped forward.
So did Jahe.
"Wait," Jahe said. "You don't know what it'll take."
Putih looked at him. At his friend. At the ghost.
"I do," he said. "Everything."
The mirror swallowed him whole.
No flash. No sound.
Just silence.
Then Jahe turned to the trees.
And smiled one last time
Inside the mirror, there was only grey.
No floor. No sky.
Just fog.
Putih wandered, calling her name.
"Merah!"
Over and over.
Until he heard it.
A whisper.
"Putih?"
He turned.
She was there.
Pale. Afraid. Real.
He ran to her.
Held her.
But something was wrong.
She was cold.
And behind her, in the fog—
A hundred faces.
Watching.
Some smiling.
Some screaming.
And all of them reflections of himself.