"What if the strongest version of me… is already inside, just waiting to be let out?"
Dear Diary,
There's something strange about mirrors.
They show you everything — your eyes, your skin, the little curl that never stays down.
But they never show you the stuff you feel.
Like fear.
Like doubt.
Like how your stomach flips when you walk into a room and wonder if you belong there.
Today, I stood in front of the mirror for too long.
Not to take a selfie. Not to fix my face.
Just… staring.
I tilted my head.
And she moved slightly slower.
That's when I knew — this wasn't just my reflection.
This was her.
The version of me I always dream about.
Her shoulders didn't curl in. Her eyes held fire.
She smiled without hesitation.
"Who are you?" I whispered.
She stepped forward, still inside the glass.
"I'm you. But louder. Braver. The version that doesn't shrink when people speak too fast or too loud."
"Are you real?"
She reached out, her hand brushing the surface between us.
"As real as you let me be."
Then, the mirror rippled like water.
And I fell forward.
Suddenly, I was standing in a place I'd never seen — glowing skies, stairs made of golden pages, and doors that whispered, "Open me."
She stood beside me now, my reflection come to life.
"I built this world every time you wished you were stronger," she said.
"You just never opened the mirror wide enough."
Together, we opened door after door — each one leading to moments from my past.
The time I stood up for Ada when everyone laughed at her accent.
The time I apologized first, even though it burned.
The time I walked away from someone who made me feel small.
I never saw those things as brave.
But she did. She always did.
When we returned to the mirror room, I asked,
"Why did you wait for me?"
She smiled gently.
"Because you had to believe we were the same girl."
I blinked.
And I was back in my room.
Still in front of the mirror. Still me.
But something had changed.
I lifted my chin. Rolled my shoulders back.
And this time, when I smiled, it wasn't just her smiling back.
It was me — all of me. The soft. The brave. The becoming.
Till tomorrow,
Wunor 🌒🪞