Chicago, May 2013
Hannah crouched on the edge of a weathered concrete wall, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees as if protecting herself from the cool evening breeze. The city stretched out before her in a haze of muted colors — gray rooftops, glimmering glass towers catching the last traces of sunlight, and the distant hum of traffic rising like a restless heartbeat. She smiled faintly, though her thoughts wandered far beyond the skyline.
Beside her sat Danielle, her phone face-down on the wall. For the past hour, she had been pointedly ignoring call after call, her jaw tight with irritation. She was still furious with her boyfriend, their earlier fight replaying in her head like an unwanted song. Danielle was like that — fierce, quick to anger, and even quicker to shut people out. She could be selfish, her impulses reckless, her ideas verging on madness. And yet, despite all of this, Hannah adored her. Lately, she had even caught herself imitating her — right down to bleaching her hair, turning it the same shade of pale gold as her twin's.
"I still can't believe you found me," Hannah said softly, her voice catching on the memory. "I had no idea you even existed until you showed up on my doorstep." Her eyes shimmered, recalling the shock of that day.
"I'd been looking for you for a long time," Danielle replied matter-of-factly. "The moment my mom told me we'd been separated, I started searching. You were the first to be taken from the orphanage. Apparently, your mother considered adopting both of us, but your father… he was against it."
Hannah's face darkened. That decision — his decision — had torn them apart. And for what? He had gone on to find another woman anyway, abandoning her all the same.
"How do you even know about this?" she demanded, the bitterness in her tone unmistakable.
"The caretaker at the orphanage was a terrible gossip."
The two of them burst into laughter, the sound sharp and unguarded in the open air.
"Does your family know you're here in Chicago?" Hannah asked when their laughter subsided.
"My mother knows everything," Danielle said, nodding. "I told her to keep it to herself and not breathe a word to her partner. I don't trust him. I know he doesn't like me."
"What do you mean?" Hannah frowned, unable to understand what that man could have against her sister.
"I'm going to get away from them," Danielle said calmly, as though she were discussing the weather. "I'll move to Chicago to be close to you. I have a friend who can help me."
Hannah blinked. "Are you serious?"
"Yes. I'll do it after I graduate in June. My mother can marry him if she wants — I'll be long gone. And most of all, I'll be away from Jin."
The name hung between them like a dropped stone. Hannah couldn't fathom how easily Danielle spoke of leaving him — the boy she had claimed to care about so much.
"Are you… going to break up with Jin?" she asked cautiously.
"I'm sixteen," Danielle said with a shrug. "That's not exactly a grand love story."
"But you've told me so much about him," Hannah pressed. "So much that I feel like I know him. After everything you've said, I'm convinced he loves you. And you're just going to throw him away like that? Do you even care?"
"Of course," Danielle said, but her voice lacked conviction. "I feel something… but he knows what I'm like. I like to play."
The answer hit Hannah like a splash of cold water. If only she could meet this boy, she thought. She would never allow him to suffer at Danielle's hands.
"And you'd really run away just to be closer to me?" Hannah asked.
"Right now, you matter to me more than anyone. Before I met you…" Danielle's gaze softened. "You don't know how excited I was when I learned I had a twin. So much so that when I found out your name, I wanted to take it for myself."
"Why?" Hannah asked, genuinely puzzled.
"It made me feel closer to you," Danielle said simply, her tone oddly intense. "Now you think I'm crazy, don't you?" She laughed, covering her mouth with one manicured hand. "What if we both inherited it — whatever it is — from our family? How can we even know who we come from?"
Hannah rubbed her palms against her knees, as if grounding herself. "Stop. You're fine. Just because you liked my name doesn't mean anything. I'd like a different name too. Rosalie, for example."
Danielle groaned theatrically. "Ugh. I knew a Rosalie in school. A total bore. I bullied her for a year."
"You… bullied other girls?" Hannah asked, half-amused, half-appalled.
"I'm a queen," Danielle declared, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "I like to rule. And it's… thrilling, watching people bend to you."
Hannah studied her sister in silence. Though they shared the same face, it was as if they had been born from entirely different worlds — one from light, the other from shadow.
"What's your dream?" Hannah asked suddenly, glancing at her from the corner of her eye.
Danielle smirked. "What's yours?"
"To get into the best school in New York," Hannah said without hesitation. "Only the smartest students go there. It would be an honor to be accepted, so I'm submitting my application in June. I've always been a top student. I think I have a shot."
Danielle's expression soured.
"Don't tell me you mean Horace Mann boarding school. I hate that place. Everyone there thinks they're some kind of genius." She snorted in contempt, as if the very name tasted bitter on her tongue.
*
Just as Danielle had promised, she returned to Chicago in June. She had run away from home, from her family, and from her boyfriend. She arrived not alone, but with her best friend, an older boy who seemed to know how to handle life better than Danielle ever did. The boy, determined to be near her, had decided to follow and find work in the city so he could support her.
Hannah could see—almost painfully—that her twin was mercilessly taking advantage of him. But she chose to keep her silence, burying the urge to intervene. Danielle was not someone who listened to warnings.
The sixteen-year-old recounted, almost boastfully, how Jin had chased after her when she was leaving for Chicago. She described his desperation as if it were nothing more than a game.
In the days that followed, the boy sent her message after message, each more desperate than the last, accusing her of being the reason his parents had separated. Instead of trying to help them mend their relationship, Danielle had goaded the situation—pushing the woman to accuse her fiancé of driving her daughter away.
Danielle admitted that this had been her plan all along. She had hoped their wedding would collapse before it could even happen.
With calculated detachment, she discarded the SIM card with her old number, replacing it with a new one. When she was certain her mother had severed all ties with that man, she finally called her—just long enough to reassure her that she was safe. She explained that she had decided to stay in Chicago for a while, to be with her twin, and promised she would come home soon.
But a week later, she left for New York.
That day turned out to be her last.
On the way back, she died in a car accident.
After the funeral, Hannah found herself drifting through days she barely remembered. Outwardly, she told her friends and family that she was fine. Inside, her grief was a sharp, unyielding weight.
Her mother, already a workaholic, was now more absent than ever, leaving Hannah with a hollow silence in the house. Danielle had been her anchor, the closest person she had ever had, and losing her felt like the ground had been pulled away.
But Hannah convinced herself that Danielle had not truly gone. She believed her twin still came to her at night, speaking to her as if nothing had changed. This belief allowed her to accept her death too quickly—at least, that's what she thought. In truth, the visits began to change her.
It was the last night before Hannah's departure for New York. She had been accepted into her dream school, and she intended to tell her sister.
The room was cloaked in darkness, but Hannah didn't mind. She knew that if Danielle came, it would be late at night.
"I still can't believe it," she whispered into the shadows. "I got into my dream school. Do you know how wonderful that feels?"
A faint voice brushed her ear. "Is that really a reason to be happy? You'll see soon enough how tacky that place is."
Hannah couldn't see her, but she felt her presence like a chill along her spine.
"You'll welcome me to my new place, won't you? You won't leave me?"
"My foot will never step there."
"But… you have no feet."
Silence fell—long, heavy, and disapproving. Hannah's attempt at humor had been clumsy, almost cruel in its awkwardness.
"This is our last meeting," Danielle said at last.
"Danielle!" Hannah's voice broke as she called into the empty room. "If something falls off the shelf in the middle of the night, will I just be visited by some other ghost?"
"Apparently."
A shiver prickled over her skin.
"But I don't believe in ghosts… they don't exist."
"Then I don't exist either, Hannah." The voice had dropped lower, as though it came from a place much deeper than the room itself. "Remember—every person has a hidden dark reflection, and that reflection can appear in a new place. But it won't be me."
"What do you mean by a dark reflection?"
"It's all in your head, so don't trust it. It can trick you into destroying your life."
"Are you telling me I'll never see you again… and that I should think carefully before making choices?"
"The dark side of a person can be powerful and persuasive, especially when the right circumstances come. That's why people give in to it so easily. Don't let it take your mind."
Hannah understood then that her sister was warning her about a danger no one else could see—one born in the human mind itself.
"What if I give in to it?"
"That's a one-way road. Once you step on it, there's no escape. You'll fall into your own trap."
The air seemed to drop a dozen degrees, and a soft, haunting melody floated to Hannah's ears.
"I know that song," Hannah said, smiling faintly.
"It's the one our mother used to listen to when she was pregnant. I've met her, Hannah. She's here with me."
Hannah's heart thudded in her chest as she looked around the darkness. "Is she here?"
"Yes. She's warning you, too—about the darkness in your mind. She wants to protect you from it."
Hannah switched on the lamp, its glow chasing the shadows into the corners, and rushed to the suitcase she had prepared for her trip. From inside, she pulled out a small white handkerchief, its golden embroidered flower gleaming softly in the light.
"This," she whispered, holding it tightly, "will make sure that no matter what happens, you'll always be close to me."