REFLECTION

(story by Soumya, October, 2024)

In the cool, dim light of dawn, I stood before my mirror, a silent witness to my morning ritual. The glass was like a portal, reflecting not only my visage but the shadows of a life I barely recognized. In that quiet moment, I felt like a stranger, an uninvited guest inhabiting a body that felt eerily foreign.

The face gazing back at me held an unsettling familiarity, yet it felt untethered from who I truly was. Dark curls framed my face—a chaotic mess that mirrored my thoughts—while the hazel eyes stared intently, searching for answers hidden deep within. But all I could see were secrets swirling like mist, obscured and out of reach. They whispered stories of hopes once bright but dimmed over time. Tales of heartache woven into laughter, losses that had shaped a past I struggled to embrace.

The longer I locked eyes with my reflection, the more I felt like an intruder in my own narrative. Each line carved by experience seemed to echo another’s life—an existence that bore heaviness and joy intertwined like threads in a tapestry. Wrinkles etched around the corners of my eyes betrayed laughter mingled with sorrow, revealing a soul who had weathered storms, yet emerged upright yet weary.

I plucked a memory from the depths: a girl with dream-filled eyes who had wished to conquer the world. She had not understood sorrow then—the kind that drops unexpected into one’s life like stones in still water. As I examined the curve of my lips, I recognized an unfamiliar smile—a curvature borrowed, perhaps, from moments of someone else's triumph, someone else's grief. It danced upon my lips but carried with it an inkling of sadness, a weight that seemed to press down on my heart.

With each breath, I felt a chasm widening between the reflection and the reality I lived—a life radiating a longing for understanding. I traced a finger over my cheek, studying its texture and the way light played upon its surface. A flicker caught my eye; it reminded me of flickering streetlights on a lonely street, illuminating the sorrow paved beneath. Whispers of past endeavors echoed in the silence; regrets that were never fully spoken took form between us, like ghosts lurking in the twilight of my thoughts.

For a moment, I thought I could jump through that glass, cross into the life hidden within, but it only left me feeling cold, a shiver that traveled down my spine. Was I really so different from the visage before me? Was this face a mere reflection or a distorted echo of paths untrodden? I felt torn, as if I were standing at a crossroads, yearning for guidance from a version of myself entangled in a web of what-ifs.

I turned away, inhaling the cool morning air, rejecting the mirror's attempt to define me. Instead, I sought refuge in the world beyond, opening my window to a murmur of leaves dancing in the breeze, birds greeting the day with songs of hope. The fluorescent light of reality sparked warmth in my chest, grounding me once more.

My life, though it mirrored the experiences of others, was distinctly my own. I began to weave my narrative against the backdrop of those shared tales of love and loss. I stepped away from the glass, my heart galloping to its own rhythm, punctuated by the setting sun that promised new beginnings. Every life carried its story, and mine—though solitary in its essence—was a tapestry of lessons learned, moments cherished, and battles fought.

And so I carried on, knowing that the mirror held no sway over my identity, only shadows and reflections of a life lived through countless others. Piece by piece, I was finding my voice, learning to embrace not just the face in the glass, but the soul that pulsed within—finally embracing the tune to which my heart would always beat.