The shards fell like digital snow. His real reflection returned—flawed, tired, human—and with it, a flood of memory: Maya laughing, Maya crying, Maya making him toast on the morning his father died.
“Who are you?” he whispered.
It took him three days to find the mirror test. He’d avoided reflections instinctively, always looking away from his phone screen, store windows, the dark surface of his coffee. But on day three, in a gas station bathroom, he forced himself to look.