Missed me?

The Reflection Beside Her

Aily’s heart thundered against her ribs, wild and uneven. The reflection on her phone screen didn’t move when she did.

It just stared back — a pale face beside hers, the faint outline of a grin too still, too sharp.

She blinked hard. The image stayed.

Her breath hitched as her trembling thumb tried to lock the screen, but the display wouldn’t turn off. The screen stayed lit, glowing faintly in the dark, showing both faces — hers and his.

Behind the reflection, the air shimmered, almost like heat. A shadow began to bleed across the wall behind her, tall and thin, moving even though she didn’t.

The scent of vanilla returned again — thicker, rotting, cloying — wrapping around her throat until she felt she was breathing him in.

Her voice came out as a fragile whisper.

“Why… why are you here?”

The reflection’s lips curved into a smirk.

But she hadn’t moved.

Her pulse faltered as her mind began to fracture between fear and disbelief. The reflection’s eyes darkened, the grin widening until it stretched too far, cracking the shape of the face into something not human.

“You brought me back,” it whispered, but not from the screen — from the air beside her.

She jerked, dropping her phone onto the bed. The screen stayed on, illuminating the faintest outline sitting next to her — shoulders, jaw, the shimmer of eyes that had watched her for nights.

He was closer than before, solid enough to cast a shadow on her blanket.

Aily tried to scream, but the sound died before leaving her throat. Every instinct screamed to run, yet her legs wouldn’t move. The mattress sank lower beside her, the shape bending closer, and she could feel it — the warmth of him, the rhythm of his breath syncing with hers.

“I never left,” he murmured. “You closed your eyes… and forgot me.”

She shook her head, tears spilling over, whispering, “You’re not real… you’re gone…”

A sound followed — like a soft chuckle mixed with a sigh.

“Then why do you keep feeling me breathe?”

The lights above her bed flickered once.

Twice.

Then everything went black again.

In the pitch dark, she heard her phone buzz. Once. Then again. A message notification.

Her trembling hand fumbled for it, the faint glow of the screen lighting her face.

Unknown Number:

Don’t look behind you.

Her stomach twisted into ice.

But she couldn’t stop herself. Slowly, she turned her head—

—and saw a reflection in the mirror across the room.

A man standing behind her.

Smiling.

But there was no one there.

The phone slipped from her hands. The last thing she heard before the screen went dark was his voice, so close it might have been inside her ear:

“You can’t escape what belongs to you.”