Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1-IT STOPPED MOVING
I always liked my reflection. Every morning, it smiled back at me, copied my quirks, my yawns, even the way I blinked. It was comforting a silent companion in my otherwise lonely apartment.
Then, one night, I noticed something wrong. My reflection didn’t move when I did. I waved nothing. I blinked , nothing. My heart thumped. Maybe it was exhaustion, maybe a trick of the dim light. I told myself it was nothing.
The next morning, it was gone completely. The mirror was just glass. Nothing behind it.
At first, I laughed nervously. “I’m imagining things,” I muttered to myself. But then the whispers started. Soft, just barely audible, coming from the bathroom mirror: “You shouldn’t be here"
I checked every reflective surface. My reflection was nowhere. But the feeling of being watched never left. I felt eyes on my back, cold and calculating. I started leaving lights on, but even in the brightness, shadows moved in ways they shouldn’t.
Days passed. Objects in my apartment shifted. A cup I left on the counter yesterday would appear on the floor today. My laptop screen would flicker at night, showing brief flashes of my own face but wrong. Wider eyes. A smile that stretched too far.
I stopped sleeping well. Every time I dozed off, I dreamed of mirrors. Endless corridors of mirrors, all reflecting me but all smiling differently. Watching me. Judging me. Learning.
One night, I woke to the sound of breathing behind me. I froze. The air was colder than usual. Slowly, I turned… and there it was. My reflection. Standing in the dark corner of my room. Unmoving, but perfect. Not glass, not bound by the mirror. Just there.
I screamed. It didn’t flinch. Then, it raised a hand, pointing toward the bathroom mirror. Hesitating, I followed its gesture.
The bathroom mirror was empty. Or so I thought. Then, from the corner of my eye, movement. My reflection had stepped inside the glass. And now… the glass was empty.
I ran, but every reflective surface windows, polished tables, even my phone screen showed only the figure smiling back at me, while I stared at blank surfaces.
Weeks later, I live in rooms without mirrors, without windows. My phone is screen-down. I speak to no one. But sometimes, at night, I hear the whispers again: “You belong to the mirror now we’ve learned everything about you.”
And I realize the truth: it wasn’t just my reflection. It was always waiting. Patient. Hungry.
And one day, it will step out completely.
I think
it already has.
Because sometimes, when I forget and glance at my phone screen…
I see it.
Smiling.
And for a second
I don’t remember making that expression.
