Reflection of a Stranger

by Adhan Ali

In the foggy glass of morning light, I meet a face I half-recognize– Eyes that once sparkled like struck matches Now dommed, like smoke curling from a wick. Hands that were certain,steady, sure, Now fumble with buttons and tired shoelaces. A familiar mouth pulls at an old, practiced smile, But beneath, there is a quiet hunger, a question. Yesterday’s dreams linger like perfume on skin, Sweet but fading, almost forgotten. I see the ghosts of choices dancing in the reflection, Twisting, twirling patterns I can’t quite trace. Outside, the world rushes past– A river of voices, plans, and pointed fingers. I want to step into that current, feel it push me forward, But my feet feel rooted, stuck in unseen mud. The mirror shows me what everyone else sees: A collection of features, lines, and a name. But not the whispers of doubt in the dark of the night, Nor the quiet flame that flickers, refusing to die. I raise a hand, touch the glass– Feel the cold echo of my own skin, And in that silent moment, I wonder who’s looking back: Me, or a stranger who’s wearing my skin