For three days, he didn't come back.
The mirror sat silent in the corner of my room like it had never moved, never breathed, never shown me anything more than my reflection. I even started to doubt myself — maybe it was a dream, maybe I was slipping. Maybe I was just lonely.
But every night, I still whispered:
"I'm listening."
And on the third night, something changed.
It was late. The house was quiet. Nimra had gone home already, and my mom was asleep in her room with her door cracked open like she always did when she was worried about me.
I was staring at the mirror again — not really expecting anything — when I noticed it.
A small line. Thin. Barely there. Like a crack. Right in the center.
I moved closer.
It wasn't a crack in the glass. It was a light. Faint and silver, like moonlight trapped behind the mirror. And then it moved. Just a flicker.
And then I heard him.
"I was afraid you'd stop trying."
His voice was softer this time. Almost sad.
I stepped closer. "I thought you left."
"I didn't. I'm just… fading."
I swallowed hard. "What do you mean?"
His face appeared slowly, like smoke forming a shape. That same pale skin. Those same silver eyes. But now there were shadows under them, like he hadn't slept in weeks — or years.
"The longer I stay connected to your world," he said, "the more I disappear from mine."
My throat tightened. "Why are you doing this, then?"
He looked at me like it was obvious.
"Because I remember you."
I felt like I couldn't breathe.
"I've never met you," I said. "I would remember."
He smiled faintly. "You will. One day."
I sat down again in front of the mirror. "Can you tell me your name now?"
He hesitated, then whispered, "Noel."
Noel.
I said it in my head.
And again out loud.
"Noel."
His eyes softened when I said it, like the sound meant something to him. Like it mattered that I remembered.
Then his gaze shifted. "Someone's coming."
I frowned. "What?"
But he was already gone. His face faded. The light vanished. The mirror went back to being a mirror.
At that exact moment, someone knocked on my door.
I turned sharply. "Yeah?"
It was my mom. "Hey, sorry to bother you. You okay?"
I forced my voice steady. "Yeah. Just writing."
She gave me a small smile. "Okay. I made tea. You want some?"
"Sure. Thanks."
As soon as she left, I turned back to the mirror.
Still empty.
But the crack was still there. Faint, but there. Proof.
I wasn't imagining it.
Noel was real.
—
The next day at school felt wrong.
It was like I was stuck between two worlds now — this one, and the one behind the mirror. Auren noticed it before I even sat down.
"You look like you've been awake for three days straight."
"Thanks," I muttered.
He studied me, then leaned in. "Did he come back?"
I blinked. "What?"
"The boy," he said. "The one you said was in your mirror. I know you didn't just make that up."
I stared at him. I'd never told him that. I hadn't told anyone.
"…How did you know?"
Auren leaned back, a weird glint in his eye. "I didn't. You just confirmed it."
He was testing me. And I'd fallen for it.
I stood up, the chair screeching slightly. "I have to go."
"Ethan—"
But I was already walking out of the cafeteria, my heart racing.
I didn't go back to class that afternoon. Instead, I walked. Around the school. Through the courtyard. Past the old art building. Just to think.
Why did Auren do that?
Was he trying to help… or was he trying to find out something?
Was there more to this than just me?
—
That night, I stood in front of the mirror again. My reflection looked tired. Hollow. Like I hadn't slept in days.
I touched the glass.
It felt cold.
"Noel," I whispered. "I don't know who I can trust."
The mirror stayed quiet.
But on the glass, slowly, almost like it was being drawn in the fog — words appeared again:
"Not everyone is who they seem."
I leaned in, closer.
Then another line:
"They're watching you now."