Chapter 3: Shadows in the Mirror
Mira sat at her kitchen table long after midnight, her fingers drumming an uneven rhythm on the wooden surface. The old wall clock ticked steadily above her, but time felt suspended. The expanded letters—one about the glass, one about Lena—lay before her like quiet accusations.
She had avoided the bathroom all evening.
But something gnawed at her. That reflection. That smile.
It couldn't have happened. Mirrors don't delay. They don't move on their own.
Still, her heart whispered otherwise.
Finally, unable to fight the pull any longer, she stood and walked to the bathroom. She flicked the light on.
The mirror above the sink waited.
She approached slowly, almost timidly, as though the glass were a living thing that might flinch if she moved too quickly.
She stared at herself.
Her reflection was as expected—dark circles under the eyes, messy bun from stress, paleness that hadn't been there a week ago.
She raised her hand. Her reflection followed.
She tilted her head. So did the image.
She leaned in closer.
Then something changed.
For a heartbeat—less than a second—the reflection blinked… too late.
Her stomach dropped. Her breath caught in her throat.
She blinked again, deliberately. Her reflection copied her.
But Mira had already seen what she wasn't supposed to.
She backed out of the bathroom slowly, never taking her eyes off the mirror until the doorway blocked her view.
---
The next day, at work, Mira moved like a ghost through the Bureau. She answered questions on autopilot, barely touching her lunch. She declined coffee breaks and didn't speak to Lena more than necessary.
By mid-afternoon, she couldn't stand it anymore.
"Lena," she said, stopping her friend in the hallway. "Can I ask you something weird?"
Lena smiled awkwardly. "Weirder than predicting elevator failures?"
Mira's lips twitched. "Yes."
They sat in a quiet corner of the breakroom. Mira's voice was low. "Have you ever… felt like your reflection wasn't really you?"
Lena tilted her head. "Like, in a spiritual way?"
"No. Like it's… observing you. Separately. Independently."
Lena paused. "Honestly? When I was a kid. After my mom died, I used to stare into the mirror at night and try to see if the other girl in the glass was thinking different things. I convinced myself she blinked late once."
Mira shivered. "Same."
"I grew out of it," Lena added softly. "But… are you saying it's happening again?"
"I don't think it ever stopped," Mira said. "I think I forgot it."
---
That night, Mira turned off every light in her apartment except the one in the bathroom. She stood outside the door with her phone in her hand, recording.
She took a deep breath, walked in, and stared into the mirror.
She waited.
Thirty seconds passed. Nothing.
She raised her left hand. The reflection copied her.
She blinked.
Her reflection blinked.
She was about to turn off the camera when a ripple passed through the glass. Not a physical ripple—something visual. Subtle.
Then her reflection smiled.
Mira did not.
She dropped the phone. It clattered to the floor.
The bathroom light flickered.
The mirror shimmered again—and her own voice whispered from inside it.
Not aloud. Not from her ears. But in her mind.
"You saw me. Finally."
Mira stumbled backward into the hallway, slamming the bathroom door shut. Her breathing came in shallow gasps.
She checked the phone. The video file was there. She played it back.
Static. Gray fuzz.
Then—briefly—her own face, smiling independently.
She paused the video. Zoomed in. The reflection's eyes were just slightly… off.
Not quite hers.
She sat on the floor, back against the wall, phone still in hand.
She texted Lena: Come over. Please.
---
Lena arrived twenty minutes later, hair damp, coat still unzipped. "Mira? What's going on?"
Mira didn't answer. She just handed over the phone.
Lena watched the clip in silence. Then she looked up slowly.
"This is real," she whispered.
Mira nodded. "She's watching me."
"Or waiting for something," Lena murmured.
There was a pause.
"Do you think it's a ghost?" Lena asked.
Mira shook her head. "No. I think it's me. Or part of me. Something I forgot. Or buried."
Lena's expression was unreadable. "That symbol in my notebook—the eye? It's been scratched into my window, too. With something sharp."
Mira's eyes widened. "When?"
"Last week. I thought it was a vandal. But now…"
They stared at each other.
Whatever was happening, it wasn't just Mira anymore.
---
Later, when Mira was alone again, she sat in bed with her old journal. She flipped back through the pages, eyes scanning old thoughts, old fears. And then—near the back—one page that made her blood run cold.
"I don't remember what I did. But she does. She's waiting in the mirror. And I can't run forever."
Dated seven years ago.
She didn't remember writing it.
The next page was ripped out.
She ran her hand along the torn edge.
And in the bathroom, behind the closed door, the light flicked on.
---
End of Chapter 3