I didn't move.
I couldn't.
The boy in the mirror had his hand pressed against the glass, and for a moment, it felt like my room wasn't mine anymore. Like I'd stepped into some place that didn't belong to time.
He spoke again. His lips moved slowly, like he hadn't used them in years.
"You came back."
I blinked, my throat dry. I wanted to answer, but I couldn't even remember how to speak. My heart pounded so loud I swore he could hear it through the mirror.
I swallowed hard and whispered, "Who are you?"
The boy tilted his head slightly, his silver eyes full of something I couldn't name.
"You used to know me."
That didn't make sense.
"I don't understand," I said, a little louder this time. "I've never seen you before."
He didn't argue. He just kept looking at me with that same strange softness, like I was a book he had already read but still loved to open.
I sat down slowly, cross-legged on the floor in front of the mirror.
There was a silence between us. Not uncomfortable. Just... waiting.
"You're not my reflection," I said.
"No."
"Then where are you?"
There was the smallest pause before he said, "Somewhere very close, but very far. A place with no sound. No wind. No sky. Just mirrors."
It sounded like poetry, but the way he said it made it feel like a prison.
"My name is Ethan," I said, like it mattered.
He gave the faintest smile. "I know."
A chill ran down my spine.
"I'm not crazy," I whispered to myself.
"I never said you were," he replied.
I stood up suddenly, backing away. "You're not real. This isn't real."
But he didn't vanish.
He stayed there, watching. Patient.
"I'm dreaming," I muttered.
"I'm not a dream, Ethan."
He said my name again like it meant something more than it ever had before.
That night, I barely slept. I turned away from the mirror, wrapped myself in blankets, and tried not to think about him. About his voice. His eyes. His name—wait, had he told me his name?
No. He hadn't.
I sat up again, turned slowly to the mirror.
He was gone.
But written on the glass, faint like fog, were three words:
"Find me, Ethan."
—
The next morning, I felt like I was living someone else's life. I went through the motions—shower, cereal, walking to school with Nimra beside me—but none of it felt real. I kept thinking about the boy.
I couldn't tell anyone. Not yet.
At lunch, Auren sat beside me like he always did.
"You okay today?" he asked, watching me carefully.
"Do I look not okay?"
"You look like you're stuck in a daydream you can't get out of."
I shrugged. "Something like that."
He didn't press. He just sat with me, quiet, loyal. He always did that—gave me space without making it feel like distance.
Later, I found myself back in Dr. Knox's office. I still hadn't opened the envelope she gave me. I held it in my hand now, unopened, crumpled at the edges.
She looked up from her computer and smiled. "That was fast."
"I couldn't sleep."
"Want to talk?"
I nodded, even though I didn't know what I was going to say.
"There's a boy," I started.
She raised her eyebrows but stayed quiet.
"In my mirror. I think he's... trapped. Or not from here. I don't know. I sound insane."
"No, you sound scared."
That made me stop.
"You said he wrote something?"
"Yeah. First it was 'Don't forget me.' Now it's 'Find me.'"
Dr. Knox leaned forward. "Do you believe he's real?"
I didn't answer.
"You don't have to explain everything," she said gently. "Just follow what feels true."
I looked down at the envelope in my hand.
"What's in this?"
"A story," she said again. "Maybe not your story. But maybe it's close enough."
I opened it that night, lying on my bed with the mirror covered by a blanket.
It wasn't long. Just a page. It was about a boy who used to hear whispers in the wind. Everyone told him it was just in his head, until one day, the whispers gave him directions—and he followed.
He vanished the next day.
At the bottom of the page, someone had written:
"Some voices only speak to those who are willing to listen."
I stared at those words for a long time.
Then I got up, pulled the blanket off the mirror, and said clearly:
"I'm listening."
And the mirror rippled—just once—like water.
He was coming back.
—