The first time I saw him, I thought it was a reflection.
I was walking past a shop window late at night, the glass catching just enough light to mirror the empty street behind me. I barely glanced at it—just a quick look to check if my shirt was straight.
But the reflection didn’t match.
I stopped.
Slowly turned back.
There I was.
Standing in the glass.
Same clothes.
Same posture.
Same tired expression.
But I wasn’t facing the window anymore.
He was.
My stomach dropped.
I lifted my hand.
The reflection didn’t.
Instead—
He smiled.
A slow, deliberate stretch of lips that I didn’t feel on my own face.
I stumbled back, heart pounding.
“No… no, that’s not…”
The street was empty.
No one around.
No sound but the faint hum of distant traffic.
I looked back at the window—
Nothing.
Just my normal reflection again.
Perfectly in sync.
Like nothing had happened.
I told myself it was exhaustion.
Stress.
A trick of the light.
I wanted to believe that.
I really did.
Until the next day.
It started small.
A missed call I didn’t remember making.
A message sent from my phone:
“I’m almost there.”
I hadn’t gone anywhere.
Hadn’t planned to.
I checked the timestamp.
2:17 a.m.
I was asleep.
I knew I was asleep.
But something inside me hesitated.
The same feeling you get when you try to remember a dream and can’t quite grab it.
That night, I locked everything.
Doors.
Windows.
Even my bedroom.
I needed to feel in control.
I needed to prove to myself that nothing else was here.
I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
Waiting.
Listening.
Nothing happened.
No sounds.
No movement.
No… him.
Eventually, my eyes closed.
I woke up standing.
In front of the mirror.
Again.
My hand was pressed against the glass.
My breath fogging it slowly.
“…what am I doing?” I whispered.
My reflection stared back.
Still.
Silent.
Then—
It blinked.
Out of sync.
My chest tightened.
“Stop,” I said.
It didn’t.
Instead, it leaned closer.
And so did I.
But I wasn’t the one moving.
“…you shouldn’t have looked,” it said.
The voice came from my mouth.
But I didn’t speak.
My lips didn’t move.
“…now I know how to wear it.”
I tried to pull back.
I couldn’t.
My body felt distant.
Heavy.
Like I was sitting behind my own eyes instead of controlling them.
“No,” I whispered. “No, no—”
The reflection’s smile widened.
Wrong.
Too wide.
“…you’re still inside,” it said softly.
“…that’s the best part.”
The next morning, everything felt normal.
Too normal.
I made coffee.
Checked my phone.
Got dressed.
All routine.
All automatic.
Except—
Something felt… delayed.
Like my thoughts were a step behind my actions.
Like I was watching myself instead of being myself.
I went to the bathroom.
Stared into the mirror.
My reflection stared back.
Perfectly synced.
No smile.
No movement.
Nothing wrong.
I exhaled slowly.
“Okay,” I said. “It’s over.”
Then I turned away.
And as I did—
I saw it.
Just for a second.
In the corner of the mirror.
My reflection didn’t turn with me.
He stayed.
Watching.
Now it happens more often.
Little things.
Small delays.
Movements I don’t remember deciding.
Messages I don’t remember sending.
Smiles I don’t feel.
And sometimes—
At night—
I feel my face… moving.
Stretching slightly.
Like someone adjusting it from the inside.
Practicing.
Learning.
I tried recording myself while I slept.
Just to prove something was wrong.
Just to catch it.
And I did.
I wish I hadn’t.
The video starts normal.
Me lying in bed.
Still.
Peaceful.
Minutes pass.
Nothing changes.
Until—
I sit up.
Too fast.
Too sharp.
My head turns toward the camera.
Eyes open.
Wide.
Aware.
But I know I wasn’t awake.
Because I remember the moment after.
I remember waking up.
Lying down.
Not sitting.
Not watching.
Not smiling.
But in the video—
I am.
And then—
I reach up.
Slowly.
Carefully.
And touch my own face.
Running my fingers along my skin.
Like I’m testing it.
Like I’m checking the fit.
My mouth opens.
And the voice comes out.
Clear.
Calm.
Not mine.
“…almost perfect.”
I don’t trust mirrors anymore.
I don’t trust reflections.
I don’t even trust my own expressions.
Because sometimes—
When I’m not thinking about it—
I catch myself smiling.
For no reason.
And it feels…
Right.
Tonight, I covered every mirror in my apartment.
I don’t want to see him.
I don’t want him to see me.
But it doesn’t matter.
Because I can still feel him.
Behind my eyes.
Waiting.
Watching.
Practicing.
And just now—
As I finished writing this—
My hand paused.
For a second.
Without me telling it to.
And then—
It started typing again.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Like it wanted to add something.
Something I didn’t choose.
Something I didn’t think.
“…don’t worry.”
“…I’ll take it from here.”
Write by : Endomarfa
