Ethan didn't sleep the rest of that night.
He sat curled up against the headboard, a blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders, the overhead light buzzing quietly above him. He didn't look at the mirror again. Not directly. But he felt it watching. Like a cold breath on the back of his neck that never touched him, only lingered.
By 6:42 AM, he gave up. He dragged himself to the bathroom, brushed his teeth in silence, and got dressed without speaking a word to his reflection. He avoided his eyes. He didn't want to see anything. Or worse—nothing.
Downstairs, the kitchen smelled like toast and hot chocolate. Nimra sat at the counter in her uniform, braiding her hair, her legs swinging.
"You look like you didn't sleep," she said, not looking up from the mirror in her hand.
Ethan opened the fridge. "Didn't feel like it."
"Nightmares again?"
He hesitated. "Sort of."
She didn't press. Nimra never did. She was like that. Fourteen and already understood the language of silence better than most adults.
He poured orange juice into a cup and took a long sip, trying to focus on the sting of citrus instead of the phantom message on the mirror. Don't forget me. It didn't make sense. Why would a mirror say that? Why would anything say that?
But the more he tried to forget it, the more the words echoed.
"Did you take my sketchpad?" Nimra asked suddenly.
"What?"
"I was looking for the one with the sunflowers. The one you said you hated."
"I didn't touch it."
She frowned, clearly not believing him. "Well, it's gone."
Maybe it was nothing. Maybe she just misplaced it. Still, the tension tightened in his chest.
By the time they got to school, Ethan was exhausted. The hallways buzzed with voices, lockers slammed, sneakers squeaked on the linoleum floors. His friends greeted him in passing, but he gave them a weak smile and kept walking. He wasn't ready to talk. Not today.
He slumped into his seat in first period. A familiar figure slid into the desk beside him.
Auren Lys.
"Morning," Auren said, dropping his bag with a thud. "You look like hell."
"Thanks."
"No problem. You eating souls again or just insomnia?"
Ethan almost laughed. Almost. "Bad night."
Auren leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Want to talk about it?"
"No."
"Okay." He leaned back again, like he expected that answer. "Let me guess. The mirror thing again?"
Ethan's head jerked toward him. "What do you mean?"
Auren raised his eyebrows. "You told me once you don't like mirrors in your room. Said they make you feel watched."
"I—yeah, that was a long time ago."
"You brought it up like two weeks ago."
Ethan looked away.
Don't forget me.
He pressed his palms against the desk, grounding himself.
Auren didn't push. Instead, he reached into his bag and pulled out a thermos. "Coffee? I added cinnamon. It's disgusting, but it wakes you up."
Ethan took it with a quiet "Thanks."
The class filled in. Mrs. Kenz began taking roll. Ethan tried to focus on anything except the mirror in his head. But when she turned off the lights to start the projector, a chill passed over him.
He glanced at the classroom's side wall—there was a tall window. And beside it, the glass display case full of awards.
He caught it again.
Not his reflection. But something… different.
It wasn't moving.
It was watching.
He turned sharply—but it was gone.
"Ethan?" Mrs. Kenz's voice cut through the fog. "Are you with us?"
"Yes," he lied, straightening up.
She gave him a look, then resumed.
Second period didn't go much better.
Neither did third.
By the time lunch rolled around, Ethan stood in front of the counselor's door, debating whether to knock.
He didn't talk to people about things. Not really. Not deeply.
But his hands were shaking.
He raised a fist and tapped.
The door opened almost instantly. Dr. Ellira Knox sat behind her desk, hair silver and short, a lavender diffuser on the table beside her. The office was warm and soft, like it was meant to make people feel safe.
"Ethan," she said, smiling. "Haven't seen you in here since last semester."
"Yeah. I don't usually—" He stopped. "Do you have a minute?"
"For you? Always."
She gestured for him to sit.
He did.
There was a long pause before he spoke. He didn't know how to begin. Or if he should.
"Do you ever… have dreams that feel real?"
Her eyes softened. "All the time."
"Not like that. I mean… like something is real but it's not supposed to be."
She nodded slowly. "Sometimes dreams are just truths we haven't spoken out loud."
Ethan stared at the floor.
"I saw something," he said quietly. "In my mirror."
She didn't laugh. She didn't react at all, really. Just waited.
"I was awake. I'm sure of it. It wrote something on the glass."
"What did it say?"
"'Don't forget me.'"
Dr. Knox tilted her head. "Do you feel like you've forgotten something? Or someone?"
"I don't know," he whispered.
There was silence. The kind that doesn't ask for filling.
"Mirrors can be funny things," she said. "They show us what's there. But sometimes, if we're not careful, they show us what we've been trying not to see."
Ethan nodded, but he didn't know what that meant.
Before he left, she handed him a small envelope.
"Open this later," she said. "It's not advice. It's a story."
He slipped it into his pocket.
That night, at 12:06 AM, he sat on the floor of his room, eyes locked on the mirror.
Waiting.
And exactly one minute later—
The boy appeared.
Pale, silver-eyed, wearing a black coat that didn't match anything Ethan had ever seen.
He didn't smile. He didn't move.
He raised a hand to the glass and placed his palm flat against it.
Ethan's breath caught in his throat.
For a second, it looked like he was the reflection.
And then the boy's lips moved:
"You came back."