The Mirror: Every Now and Then

Sometimes the person we keep returning to has been waiting quietly in the same place all along.

The lights above the office pantry had already dimmed into their evening setting by the time I finally stood up from my desk. Most of the floor had gone quiet hours earlier. A few monitors still glowed faintly across the room, left on by people who would return in the morning before the sun came up. Near the far end of the office, the mirrored glass along the meeting room wall reflected the empty workstations back into the room.

I had stayed back later than usual that evening.

A few years earlier, nights like this would probably have ended somewhere louder. There would have been messages coming in from friends asking where everyone was meeting next. Someone would already be halfway drunk before midnight. Somebody else would be asking me to stay longer even after I had already decided to leave.

That part of life disappeared slowly.

The drinking stopped first.

Then the smoking.

Then the nights that stretched until morning because nobody wanted to go home yet.

Most of them were probably still out there somewhere doing the same things we used to do together. I was the one who left quietly without explaining much to anyone.

At first, the quiet felt unfamiliar.

Eventually it started feeling peaceful.

I walked toward the pantry to refill my water bottle and caught sight of him again through the mirrored wall beside the meeting room.

He was standing there with one hand in his pocket, staring downward as though he had been waiting longer than I had realised. The anger I used to notice in him was mostly gone now. His face looked softer than before, more tired than tense. But there was still something heavy sitting behind the expression he carried.

He lifted his head slightly when I slowed down.

For a moment neither of us spoke.

Somewhere behind us, the air-conditioning continued humming softly through the ceiling vents. A printer near the reception area released a low mechanical sound before falling quiet again.

“Looking for me again?” I laughed softly.

He gave a small shrug.

“Something like that.”

“Looking for me again?” I laughed softly.

I leaned against the pantry counter and watched the mirrored wall catch the office lights behind us. I woke earlier now. Ate properly more often. Worked normally. Slept through most nights without needing noise around me to avoid being alone with my thoughts.

But every now and then, usually without warning, he would come looking for me again.

Sometimes it happened after weeks where I had been moving through work too mechanically without properly resting. Sometimes after days where even simple conversations left me more exhausted than they should have.

And whenever he appeared again, I found myself staying beside him longer than I meant to.

Not because I knew what to say.

Most of the time I did not.

Sometimes I would sit quietly near him for hours after work without either of us speaking very much. Sometimes a few days would pass where I carried him quietly through everything else I was trying to do. Work still got done. Messages still got answered. Conversations still happened normally. But somewhere underneath all of it, he remained there beside me, quieter than before but harder to ignore completely.

I used to think people only needed help when the damage became visible.

Back then, I probably would have trusted loud sadness more easily than quiet exhaustion.

But some people learn how to continue moving through ordinary life long after something inside them has already grown tired. They still arrive at work on time. They still reply to messages. They still laugh at the correct moments during conversations. Most people around them never realise how much effort is required just to remain ordinary for another day.

Someone walked past the pantry entrance carrying a laptop bag before disappearing toward the elevators.

Neither of us moved for a while. I looked down at the water bottle resting against the counter between us.

“I think he’s getting better,” I said quietly.

He heard me and smiled slightly at that, though the expression looked tired more than happy.

After a while, I straightened my shirt and reached for the bottle beside me. A second later, he did the same.

“I think he’s getting better,” I said quietly.

The office lights shifted softly across the mirrored glass as he lifted his head at the same moment I did, and for a brief second the movement between us looked too exact to belong to two different people.

Somewhere near the elevators, I could hear a few people laughing before the doors closed again.

I stood there for another moment before finally reaching for my bottle.

Some days he still comes looking for me.

But because of him, I no longer assume I understand what sits behind another person’s smile. Some people carry their tiredness so carefully that most of the world never learns how heavy it really is.

Made In His Image

You are made perfectly. Loved deeply. Never beyond hope.

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