Reflected In You Novels & Stories

That I had waited my whole life to meet you. 'And...and..now, that I finally see you standing here, in front of me; I can't help but think that I've made a big mistake. I must have been wrong. Because...because you can't be real.' I wish, I could unknow you. Somehow, just, in anyway, rewrite meeting you. Yet..yet..even if I could take away every part of me that knew you, I still wouldn't be able to erase the memory of you etched on my soul.

No. “I... am a single mother...you...you can’t ....I am damaged goods....I can’t Levi....” I stammered as my heart begged for me to stop. But no. I just can’t do this. I turned around and ran away wishing that I never met Levi. little droplets of salty tears flew from my eyes as I ran towards my room. I am sorry Levi. Forgive me *End of flashback*

When I got there, my heart sank, blood everywhere. "What have I done?"

You are so fucking screwed, I thought. My reflection had absolutely nothing helpful to add.

Her reflection glared back at her from the black mirror of her phone screen, eyes dark with venomous resolve. “…then neither will you.”

Each reflection was me—different versions, fractured, flickering like static. My reflection in one mirror smiled. Another looked terrified. A third was bleeding. “Which one are you?” she asked. Her voice came from everywhere and nowhere at once. “Which version deserves to exist?” “I’m not a version,” I whispered. “I’m me.” The reflections laughed in unison, the sound hollow and haunting. “Then prove it.” Every mirror cracked at once, shattering into shards that hovered in the air around me. Each piece glowed faintly, showing moments of my life—Liam’s touch, Grandma Helen’s smile, the night I left, the moment I decided to live for myself.

“The man drove all the way back for you. And waited. Like… full-on gentleman behavior.” Ava didn’t reply. But as she stepped into the bathroom and turned on the tap, she caught her reflection in the mirror… and she was smiling.

At that point, my reflection was no longer in the room. "What do you mean?" I asked. "I asked who you were talking to and you're asking me what I mean?" She said, quite pissed off. It must have been in my head. I responded silently, lowering my gaze to the floor. "She can't see me. Neither should you also be seeing me." My reflection whispered into my ears. It felt like she was real. It seemed real. But again, maybe I'm just imagining things since I crave affection from just anyone. "Keep your emotions in check lest you do something yMira Chenou will regret." She said before her voice ceased.

𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝙄 𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙢𝙗𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙙 𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙚𝙭𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙣𝙮𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙣 𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙣. 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙮 𝙣𝙚𝙫� ��𝙧 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙯𝙚𝙙 𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙢𝙪𝙘𝙝 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙜𝙩𝙝 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙮 𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪. 𝘽𝙪𝙩 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙞𝙘𝙚𝙙.

Her friends said she had become obsessed with “the woman in the mirror.” That evening, as the sun set, I stood in front of the mirror again. This time, I spoke directly to it. “Who are you?” My reflection didn’t move at first. Then it slowly smiled, a smile I had never made. It raised a finger and wrote on the inside of the glass, the letters appearing backward so I could read them: **“I am what’s left when you look away.”** I smashed the mirror with a chair that night. The glass shattered into hundreds of pieces across the floor.