I’m Aditya, from a bustling city in western India—where old apartments stand shoulder to shoulder, and every wall hides decades of stories. Last year, I moved into a small flat on the outskirts. It was cheap, quiet, and felt… oddly untouched.
A week in, I started hearing whispers at night. Soft, broken words coming from the wall behind my bed. I thought it was plumbing noise—until one night, I clearly heard my name.
“Aditya…”
I froze. The sound was low, close, almost inside the wall.
The next morning, I told the building’s watchman. He hesitated, then said, “That room was locked for a long time, sir. The old tenant—he used to talk to himself every night before he…” He stopped mid-sentence and walked away.
That night, the whispers returned. Only this time, they didn’t come from the wall. They came from the mirror—where I could see someone standing behind me, whispering my name.
stake - Adi4292