When I did, I saw myself. Or rather, a version of me—standing at the edge of the yard, illuminated by the moonlight like a reflection made solid. They weren’t threatening, just watching with an expression I couldn’t quite decipher.
Calm. Knowing. My phone buzzed once more.
A new message appeared: “You left something behind.” The figure raised their hand and pointed toward the house. I looked back at the windows glowing faintly from inside and suddenly understood. For months I had ignored an ache inside me—a dream deferred, a part of myself I had abandoned in the rush of everyday life.
When I looked again, the figure was gone, but the message remained. It wasn’t a warning. It was a reminder.
And as I stepped back inside, the air felt lighter, as though some long-closed door within me had finally opened.
