I wasn't supposed to find the mirror.
It was hidden behind a moldy curtain in the attic of the apartment I had just rented. I didn't even know the building had an attic—until one nighy, around 2 AM, I heard footsteps above my ceiling. Slow. Uneven. Like someone dragging a foot.
Thinking maybe it was a rat, I grabbed torch and climbed the rusted ladder. The attic was exactly you'd expect: boxes, torn furniture, a rolled-up rug. But one thing stood out—a seven-foot-tall mirror leaning against the wall.
The glass was spotless. Strange, because everything else up there was coated in thick dust.
I stepped closer.
In the reflection, I saw myself—but not the attic behind me. The mirror showed a white-walled room. Spotless. Elegant. And I was standing in it, smiling like I'd never smile before.
I don't smile like that in real life. Not anymore.
I touched the glass. It was warm.
And then, I heard it. A faint whisper, too soft to understand. My torch died instantly. The attic plunged into darkness.
But the mirror glowed.
That night, I dreamed about the white room.
Except the dream, I was inside it. I walked around, touched the marble counter, the silver-framed photographs—my photographs—but I didn't recognize the people smiling with me. I looked happy. Fulfilled. Loved.
When I woke up, I shrugged it off.
Until I opened my email.
There was a message from a company I'd applied to years ago—one I had completely forgotten about. They wanted to interview me. No explanation.
I took the interview out of curiosity.
I got the job the same day.
---
That was the beginning.
Each time I dreamt of the mirror, a new part of that perfect life bled into mine.
My shabby one-room rental turned into a sleek studio. The leftover noodles I'd eat cold became home-delivered gourmet. Friends I hadn't spoken to in years started calling again. Opportunities I'd given up on just•••• showed up.
But one thing never changed: the mirror. Wherever I went, it followed. I never moved it. Never touched it again. Yet it appeared in every place I stayed.
Always standing quietly in the corner.
————
One night, after everything had gone so right for so long. I stood before the mirror and asked aloud:
"WHAT ARE YOU?"
The reflection stared back at me.
Then it did something I didn't except—it smiled. But I didn't smile. My face stayed still.
The mirror spoke in a voice that sounded almost like mine.
"DEBT IS ALWAYS PAID."
I stepped back, heart thudding.
I didn't sleep that night.
-----
A week later, I noticed something strange.
My mother didn't answer my calls. At first I thought she was busy.
Then her number disappeared from my contacts.
Not deleted—VANISHED.
When I checked her address, someone else lived there. A man who swore no one by her name had ever been there.
It was like she never existed.
And when I looked into the mirror that night, I didn't see myself anymore.
I saw the version of me from the dreams. The better version. The one in the perfect white room.
He wasn't smiling this time.
He was staring at me.
I panicked. I grabbed a hammer and tried to smash the mirror.
The glass cracked—and screamed.
Not like glass. Like a person. A choked, ragged cry.
I fell back. The mirror shimmered••• then healed.
No cracks. No damage. But now, reflection was gone completely.
That night, two more people disappeared from my world—my best friend from school and my old neighbour. All traces of them gone. Photos erased. Social Media blank. Even their names felt fuzzy in my mind.
I had everything I'd ever wanted.
But I was losing everyone I'd ever loved.
Desparate I searched for the previous tenant of my apartment. I found her in a care home, her mind fading.
But when I showed her a photo of the mirror, she snapped alert.
"Don't ask it anything," she whispered. "It gives you what you want. But it takes what you love."
I leaned in, "Can I undo it?"
She shook her head. "Debt can't be undone. Only paid."
That night, I confronted the mirror.
"I don't want any of it anymore," I said. "Take it back. Take the job, the flat, the money. I just want THEM back."
The reflection returned. It tilted his head.
"You already live the life you chose," it whispered. "Now, it's mine to walk in."
And then.... it stepped forward.
I tried to run.
But my body stopped responding.
My feet locked. My mouth froze.
The reflection walked out of the mirror and stood before me. He wore my face, but better. Brightened. Perfected.
He smiled—and I felt myself pulled in.
Now I'm trapped.
Inside the mirror.
The white room is still here, but it's empty. Silent. Like a museum with no visitors.
I scream, but no sound comes out.
I bang on the glass, but no one sees me.
Because out there, the other me—the mirror version—is leaving my life. He's charming. Talented. Successful. He gets everything right. And people love him.
Because they think he's me.
But I'm slowly forgetting what it felt like to be real.
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But if you ever come across a mirror that shows you the life you always wanted, be careful what you wish for.
Because every reflection comes with a debt.
_________
I think I'm obsessed with mirrors. Because it's my second story on mirror. Well whatever I think my both stories are good. So I'll write some more.
