The rain came in the night, soft at first, then heavier as the hours passed. By morning, the streets were slick with puddles, reflecting the gray sky above. Lian could hear the faint patter against the window, the rhythm soothing, though his thoughts felt anything but calm.
His father had left for work early, the door clicking shut with that finality it always seemed to carry now. Lian's mother had already disappeared into the kitchen, the sound of pots clattering faintly in the background. Lian stood in front of the mirror for longer than usual that morning, staring at his reflection.
He had the same face he'd always had, the same dark eyes, the same messy hair. But something was different. It wasn't the way he looked—it was the way he saw himself. The edges of his face, his posture, even the quiet, constant way his thoughts moved—everything felt more… fluid, less permanent.
The animals weren't as clear anymore. There were still flickers, still moments when he'd see something in someone's eyes or the way they moved. But they didn't seem as fixed as they once had. People weren't foxes, or wolves, or bears anymore. They were just… people.
He had started seeing himself differently, too. Maybe that was the hardest part. The shifting inside himself felt real. It wasn't the clear-cut truth of a wolf or a bird—it was more like a mirror. A reflection that kept changing every time he tried to focus on it.
Lian closed his eyes, breathing slowly, and when he opened them again, he saw himself—not as a boy filled with questions and confusion—but as someone who was beginning to see, to understand. He didn't have all the answers, and he never would, but maybe he didn't need them right away.
The doorbell rang, breaking his reverie. Lian turned and walked downstairs to answer it.
When he opened the door, there was no one there. Only a small package, wrapped in brown paper, resting on the welcome mat.
Lian knelt down, picking it up. There was no return address, no note. Just the weight of the package in his hands, the mysterious presence of something unknown. He frowned, looking around the street, but it was as empty as always.
Curious, he carried the package inside. His mother glanced up as he set it on the table, but said nothing.
The weight of the object inside seemed to press against the paper as he unwrapped it. A small mirror, its frame intricately carved, delicate. The glass was cloudy, like it had been used for years, though it looked brand new. No other explanation. No other words.
He turned it over in his hands, his fingers tracing the edges. Something about it felt familiar, but he couldn't place why.
His reflection stared back at him—distorted, the edges blurred.
Something inside him shifted.
The day passed in a haze. Lian couldn't quite shake the feeling of the mirror, even though he tried to keep himself busy. At school, his mind wandered, far away from his classmates and the lessons in front of him. He saw a bird fluttering in the window, its wings beating against the glass in confusion.
It was Jamie who caught his attention next. She waved from across the courtyard, her usual easy smile in place.
Lian didn't wave back. His thoughts were elsewhere—spinning around the mirror, the sense of it being something more than just an object. It felt like a reminder, something that had been placed in front of him for a reason.
When the bell rang for lunch, he found himself walking out of the building without realizing where he was going. His feet moved on their own, the same path he'd taken so many times before, but today, the air felt different. The world felt different. It was like the mirror had given him a new perspective—a new way of seeing everything.
He ended up in the park again. The swings were empty, the benches wet from the morning rain. Lian sat down, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, the mirror resting on the ground in front of him.
"What is this?" he muttered, looking at it again. "Why now?"
For a long time, he stared at the blurry reflection. His face, distorted, seemed like a stranger's. And yet, it was his own. He was stuck between what he knew, and what was still hidden.
"Lian."
The voice made him jump. He looked up to see Jamie standing at the edge of the swing set, watching him with a mixture of curiosity and concern.
"You okay?" she asked, crossing over to him slowly.
Lian looked at the mirror again, then back at her. Something shifted in him, like an invisible wall breaking, just enough for him to let out a small breath.
"I don't know," he said honestly. "But maybe that's okay."
Jamie didn't respond right away. She simply sat beside him, watching the rain patter on the ground, the silence between them comfortable for the first time in a long while.
Lian stared at the mirror one last time. The face staring back at him was his—but it was still changing, still shifting, in ways he couldn't quite understand yet.
"Maybe we never really know what we're looking at," he said softly.
Jamie turned her head, meeting his eyes. "Maybe," she said, "but that doesn't mean we can't keep looking."
For the first time in a long while, Lian wasn't afraid of the reflection he saw in the mirror. It wasn't a fixed image. It wasn't a truth he could hold on to forever.
But maybe that was okay. Maybe that was the point.
That night, Lian sat in his room, the mirror still on his desk. He studied it for a long time, his fingers resting against the cold surface. The reflections still shifted, but now they felt more like possibilities. More like a door that hadn't yet opened.
And for the first time, Lian wasn't afraid of what he might see when it did.