The insomnia didn't come as exhaustion.
It came as vigilance.
Maxinni spent hours lying awake, eyes open in the dark, feeling that sleeping would be… careless. There were no nightmares. No intrusive images. Only the unsettling certainty that something moved when she closed her eyes — not in the room, but outside of her.
On the third consecutive night without sleep, she stopped fighting it.
She put on a coat, left before the house woke up, and walked without a defined destination. The city was still in an in-between state: neither fully awake nor truly asleep. Dark storefronts, damp streets, elongated reflections on the asphalt.
She avoided looking at them.
She didn't know why.
The café was open too early to be comfortable. The interior lights were soft, yellowish, and the smell wasn't exactly coffee — there was something herbal, almost sweet, mixed into the air.
Elowen was behind the counter.
She didn't seem surprised to see her.
— You look tired — she said, as if commenting on the weather.
Maxinni pulled out a chair and sat down without answering right away. Her eyes were drawn, against her will, to the metallic surface of the coffee machine. The reflection there was strange. Not distorted — just… delayed. As if the image needed an extra moment to decide whether it would follow her movements.
She looked away.
— I didn't sleep — she said at last. — I think I'm becoming paranoid.
Elowen set a cup in front of her.
— People use that word when they feel something they can't organize — she replied. — It doesn't mean they're wrong.
Maxinni almost laughed.
— It does.
She brought the cup to her lips and noticed the liquid wasn't hot, but it wasn't cold either. It was exactly the right temperature. That bothered her more than it should have.
— Do you usually stare at reflections? — Elowen asked casually, while wiping down the counter.
Maxinni froze for a second.
— No.
— Hmm.
The answer didn't seem convincing, but Elowen didn't press.
The café was empty. Still, Maxinni had the constant feeling that someone occupied the table beside her. Not a physical presence — something more like attention. Like sensing a gaze without seeing who is looking.
She rested her elbows on the table.
— Sometimes — she began, choosing her words carefully — I feel like… I'm not the one being watched.
Elowen stopped what she was doing.
— What do you mean?
— As if the world were looking at a different version of me. — Maxinni frowned. — Not the one that's here. Another one.
Elowen didn't answer immediately. When she moved again, it was to close the café's curtains, one by one, even though the sun was already starting to rise.
— You should avoid very clean surfaces when you're tired — she said. — They trick perception.
— Trick it how?
— They make it seem like there's more of you there than actually exists.
The silence that followed wasn't comfortable.
Maxinni felt a strange pressure behind her eyes. Not pain. Something subtler, like when you strain for a memory that doesn't want to come. She blinked, and for an instant she was absolutely certain her reflection in the window had blinked after her.
Not before.
After.
— I'm imagining things — she said quickly, more to herself than to Elowen.
— Of course you are — Elowen replied, with a faint smile. — That's what we do when we're exhausted.
But her eyes weren't smiling.
A customer walked in at that moment. An all-too-ordinary man. Simple clothes. A gaze far too attentive for such an empty place. He chose a table that allowed him to see the counter, the door… and Maxinni.
The discomfort came back in full force.
She stood up too quickly, the chair scraping against the floor. The man looked up immediately.
Elowen was faster.
— It's all right — she said, subtly positioning herself between Maxinni and the man's line of sight. — Go to the back.
— What?
— Now.
It wasn't a request.
Maxinni obeyed without thinking. The narrow corridor behind the counter seemed larger inside than it should have been. Old mirrors lined the wall — oval, stained by time, impossible to use to see oneself clearly.
She passed them without looking.
Even so, she felt it.
Each one knew she was there.
When she returned to the main area, the man was already gone. Elowen was cleaning the table where he had been sitting, with more care than necessary.
— You don't have to come back here if you don't want to — she said, without looking at Maxinni.
— I want to — Maxinni replied immediately. — Here… the world feels less loud.
Elowen nodded.
— Then come while you can still pretend that's all it is.
— Pretend what?
Elowen finally looked at her.
For a second too long, it felt like she was looking through Maxinni — not inward, but at something reflected beyond.
— That it's just exhaustion — she said at last.
Maxinni went home with the sky already bright. As she passed the hallway mirror, she slowed her pace. The reflection was normal. Perfectly synchronized.
Still, she didn't move closer.
Because, deep down, she knew:
It wasn't the mirror that bothered her.
It was the feeling that, somewhere she wasn't looking,
something was learning to imitate her.
And when it learned enough,
it wouldn't need the reflection anymore.