Reflections in the Dark

Reflections in the dark

By [Muhammad Saqib]

The train yard was quiet at night—just the way Theo liked it. The only sounds were the soft groans of metal cooling in the night air and the distant call of an owl. He lit a cigarette with shaking hands, then exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl through the cold. He had worked the graveyard shift as a train conductor for sixteen years and had no one waiting at home.

He found the car by accident.

It was tucked away in a corner of the yard—an old passenger car long out of service, its sides rusted, its windows dusted over with grime. He passed it every night without notice until, last Tuesday, he swore he saw someone inside.

Curiosity got the better of him.

Tonight, he returned with a flashlight. The door groaned as he pushed it open. Inside, dust coated the velvet seats, and spiderwebs crowned the corners like forgotten lace. His flashlight flickered. That’s when he saw it.

A mirror, freestanding, leaned against the far wall.

It didn’t belong. Too clean, too clear, too… bright. As if it hadn’t aged like the rest of the world. Theo approached it, expecting to see his own face, tired and pale.

But the man looking back was not tired. Not pale.

His hair was neatly combed. He wore a tailored coat. His skin glowed faintly with warmth. Behind him, the train car in the reflection was restored—polished brass handles, deep mahogany walls, golden sconces casting amber light.

Theo reached out. The man in the mirror did too.

He whispered to himself, “What the hell…”

Then the man in the mirror smiled.

Not a reflection.

A response.

Theo stumbled back, heart racing. The light from his flashlight jittered across the walls.

"Who are you?" he asked the mirror.

The man mouthed something he couldn’t hear. But the lips moved with purpose, with familiarity. As if he knew Theo. As if he was him.

Over the next few nights, Theo returned.

Every time, the mirror showed more.

Himself, but different. He was laughing with people—friends, maybe even family. There was music. A birthday cake. A dog curled at his feet. Things he had never known.

He began talking to it.

"What do you do for a living?"

The man in the mirror showed a desk with books, writing. A novelist?

"Are you happy?"

The reflection gave a soft, solemn nod.

"What did you do differently?"

The man held up a sheet of paper. On it, in mirrored writing, were the words:

"I stayed."

Theo didn’t understand. Stayed where?

He stopped sleeping. Every night, he came to the train car. The mirror grew brighter, more vivid. The life on the other side felt warmer. More real. The Theo inside it looked younger, even though they were the same age.

His coworkers noticed.

“You look rough, Theo,” one of them said. “Get some rest.”

But he couldn’t.

One night, the mirror showed something new.

The other Theo stood alone, in the same train car—but now he looked into the mirror too.

And for the first time, the car behind him looked cold. Abandoned.

Their eyes met. Simultaneously, both reached out to touch the glass.

A low hum began to build. The air thickened. The world flickered.

Theo gasped as his fingers met the surface—it wasn’t glass anymore. It was soft, warm. It felt like skin. Like reaching into water.

A voice—not from the mirror, but from behind him—spoke gently.

"You don’t belong here anymore."

Theo turned.

No one.

Just shadows.

The mirror pulsed.

He had a choice.

The next morning, the old train car was empty. Dust untouched. No footprints. No Theo.

His locker at the station remained unopened.

Some said he finally quit. Others said he just disappeared. No one looked too hard—he hadn’t been close to anyone.

But sometimes, at night, a worker or two would swear they saw a glow in the window of that old car.

If you looked inside, they said, you might see a man with a dog at his feet, a book in his lap, and a faint, contented smile on his face.

Not looking at you—no.

Looking into something deeper.

A life he finally reached.