MargenMy reflection yawns when I yawn, smiles when I smile, combs its hair along with me. As it should. As it always has.
This morning, while I was shaving, it lowered its hand a second before I did.
One second. Nothing. A trick of the eye, lost sleep, the coffee that hadn't kicked in yet. I stood still, watching it, and it watched me back, still, with the face of someone who has made a tiny mistake and is trusting nobody noticed.
Since then I've been keeping watch. I set traps for it: sudden turns, faces pulled without warning, an unannounced wave with my left hand. It passes every one. Perfect, punctual, symmetrical.
But tonight, switching off the bathroom light, with the mirror already in darkness, I heard it.
It sighed. With relief.
Tomorrow I'm not looking at myself. Let it endure the uncertainty for a change. Let it learn what it's like to spend the whole day not knowing whether the one on the other side is copying you or studying you.