Don’t Trust the Miror - A Short Story

A Short Story - Don’t Trust the Miror

Penulis: Cindy Trianita – UKI

I still remember the smell of the room when I first stepped in — a mix of dust, damp wood, and a faint trace of lavender left by the previous tenant.

The boarding house was quiet, tucked away in a narrow alley that even delivery drivers often got lost trying to find.

The Move

My name is Nara, 21 years old, a transfer student who is trying to start a new life after… well, after everything fell apart at my old college. My parents call it “a mistake that must be forgotten,” but to me, it’s more like a wound that hasn’t had time to heal.

“If you need anything, call me,” said Mrs. Tari, the landlady. Her voice was soft, but her eyes were sharp. “This room’s been empty for a while, but it’s still good.”

I nodded and smiled politely. But that night, when everyone else in the boarding house had gone to sleep, I sat alone at my desk.
In front of me stood a tall mirror with a wooden frame.

I brushed my hair, trying to calm myself. Then, without thinking, I murmured, “You look sad tonight, Nar.”

But that voice — wasn’t mine.

It was soft, almost like a whisper, coming from the direction of the mirror.

I froze. My reflection looked perfectly normal — tired eyes, blank expression — but my heartbeat quickened.

Maybe I was just stressed, I told myself.

Yet the next night, the voice came again.

“You didn’t eat lunch today, did you?”

I flinched. “Who are you?”

“Someone who knows you’re hungry, but pretending to be fine.”

I stared at the reflection again. The lips in the mirror’s reflection curved slightly—a little faster than my own movements.

The voice returned every night. Calm. Gentle. Always knowing exactly what to say.

I began calling her Ara — maybe because she sounded like me, only more certain, more… alive.

“You can talk to me, Nara. I understand.”

And she did. She really did.

I told her about my strict mother. About the ex-boyfriend who spread rumors about me. About how I always felt like a mistake walking in human skin.

Ara never judged. She listened.
Sometimes she even laughed softly, like an old friend who’d been waiting for me.

Until one night, she said,

“You don’t need them. I can be your friend.”

I wanted to laugh it off — but deep down, I knew she was right.

“Ra, have you ever felt completely alone?” I asked one night.

“I’ve always been here, even when you didn’t notice.”

“What do you mean?”

“You called me once, remember? When you were little, locked inside your room.”

My blood ran cold.
That was true.

My mother used to lock me in my room for hours as punishment.
There had been a mirror there, too.
Sometimes I’d talk to my reflection, pretending I had a friend.

But I’d forgotten all about that — or thought I had.

They don't believe me

One afternoon, I told my two classmates—Lila and Dika—about it. We had just eaten meatballs in the cafeteria.

“I often hear voices coming from my bedroom mirror,” I said quietly.

Lila laughed, thinking I was joking. But Dika, who had been silent until then, looked at me seriously.

“Don’t look in the mirror too often at night, Nar. People used to say that mirrors can be doors.”

I took a sip of water, trying to laugh. But when I got back to my boarding house, I found that the mirror frame had shifted on its own. There were scratch marks on the floor—as if something had come out from behind it.

***

Ara talks more and more often. Sometimes I hear her voice even without looking in the mirror. She knows things I couldn’t possibly remember.

“You’re wearing the white blouse today, right? The one that makes Dika stare at you.”

I froze. I hadn’t even opened my closet yet — but the blouse was already laid out on my bed.

One night, she said,

“I can make everything better. Just let me out for a while.”

My reflection looked straight at me.

“I only want to live a little.”

I panicked. “You’re not real!”

“You made me, Nara. I’m the part of you you threw away.”

Then my reflection smiled while I didn’t.

I grabbed a chair and smashed the mirror.
But each shard reflected Ara’s face, a hundred versions of her — all smiling back at me.

“Finally, you can see all of me.”

The world spun. Her laughter filled my head.
And in the shards, I saw something impossible — me, standing up and smiling at my own body collapsed on the floor.

The world seemed to spin. Ara’s voice filled my entire head. I fell, but in the reflection of the broken glass, I saw something I couldn’t explain—I was standing, smiling at my body lying on the floor.