THE MAGIC MIRROR LOVE

f lavender and vintage paper. Her grandmother's room-now hers-had a strange charm to it: antique mirrors, floral wallpaper, and a vanity table cluttered with forgotten trinkets. Ou

cracked slightly at the edge, it was pristine at the center. Her grandmother had once told her it came from a forest during the

romanticizing old furniture. Yet, here she was-drawn to it every morning. There were days she'd find herself talking to it, as if it listened, as

it watched her. Every night, it reflected back more

ething was

low bloom of mist, swirling like smoke inside the glass. She blinked. Rubbed her eyes. The fog cleared slo

furniture was minimal-just a wooden desk, a floor cushion, and a large w

t across

face that looked like it held poetry behind a calm silence. He wasn't looking

eyes

e stumbled backward,

as if startled by the same sudden collisio

urmured. She leaned clos

. Then, he pointed to himself and scrib

E

ld and clear. The way he held the notebook showed pra

htly. She picked up her sketch

IET

up. He smi

them. An ocean apart. Yet so

ror shi

palm on the surface. So did he. Their han

ar me?" she

d the same

Juliette didn't know whether to scream, cry, or laugh. This was i

rds scribbled on paper. He was in Japan. She, in France. Neither knew how it

head against the mirror. Her eyes fluttered shut. Befor

r to memory. Then, he picked up his penc

ORR

or pulse

ed just befor

in the glass, and a boy who'd been waiting to be seen. A story not of chance, but of fate. The first

e. And with it, a