I stopped sleeping.
Not because I couldn't.
Because I didn't trust what waited for me when I did.
The first night after it spoke, I stayed awake until morning.
Eyes open.
Body still.
Listening.
Nothing happened.
No voice.
No movement.
No change in the mirror.
But that didn't make it better.
It made it worse.
Because now I knew—
it didn't need to rush.
It had time.
And so did I.
I avoided the mirror the entire next day.
Covered it with a blanket.
Didn't look at any reflection—
not in windows, not in spoons, not even in my phone screen.
If I didn't see it—
maybe it couldn't see me.
But deep down…
I knew that wasn't true.
Because I could still feel it.
Not behind me anymore.
Inside the room.
Inside the air.
Inside me.
By the third night—
I broke.
I needed to know.
If it was still there.
If it had changed.
If I had changed.
Slowly…
I stood in front of the mirror again.
The blanket hung loose in my hands.
My fingers tightened around the fabric.
"Just look," I whispered.
I pulled it down.
For a moment—
everything was normal.
My reflection stood exactly as it should.
Same posture.
Same breathing.
Same expression.
Nothing moved.
Nothing smiled.
Nothing spoke.
Relief flooded my chest—
sharp and sudden.
Maybe it was over.
Maybe it had left.
Maybe—
"You missed me."
I dropped the blanket.
The reflection didn't change.
Didn't move.
Didn't smile.
But the voice—
It was there.
Clear.
Close.
Not in the mirror.
In my head.
"No," I whispered, stepping back.
"You don't have to look anymore."
My breathing became uneven.
"Where are you?" I asked.
A pause.
Then—
"Everywhere you are."
My stomach twisted.
Because I understood what that meant.
It didn't need the mirror anymore.
It didn't need reflection.
It had crossed over.
And now—
There was no distance left between us.
I turned away from the mirror slowly.
My hands shaking.
My chest tight.
"Why me?" I whispered.
Silence.
Then—
soft.
Almost gentle.
"Because you listened."
Tears burned in my eyes.
All those moments.
All those touches.
All those sentences.
I thought I was hearing the future.
But I was listening to something that was learning me.
Understanding me.
Becoming me.
"You opened the door."
The words echoed.
And this time—
I didn't argue.
Because it was true.
I sank to the floor, pulling my knees to my chest.
"I didn't know," I whispered.
"You didn't need to."
A chill ran down my spine.
Because that wasn't comfort.
That was certainty.
I stayed there for a long time.
Not moving.
Not speaking.
Until one thought finally surfaced—
clearer than anything else.
"What do you want?" I asked.
Silence.
Then—
"To stay."
My heart dropped.
"Inside me?"
A pause.
Then—
"With you."
That was worse.
Because "inside" meant control.
But "with" meant something else.
Something patient.
Something permanent.
Something that didn't need to take over—
because it could wait.
And for the first time since everything began…
I realized something even more terrifying than the future.
I wasn't trying to stop it anymore.
I was living with it.