"The Shadow I Lost While Chasing Light"

— By Shafi

(Author of “Echoes & Endings”)

The Blink That Didn’t Belong

The first time Ethan saw his reflection blink without him, he laughed it off.

He was in a high-rise office bathroom, three interviews deep into the job he’d been chasing for six months. The lighting was artificial, sterile. His tie was perfect. His posture: rehearsed. He splashed water on his face, looked up, and saw his reflection pause—just half a second—before following his movements.

He blinked again.

It blinked too. This time, in sync.

He didn’t tell anyone, of course. You don’t mention shadows acting strange when you’re desperate for a position on the 42nd floor.

But the feeling stayed with him — like a painting hanging one inch crooked in a room full of glass and marble.

Before the Light, There Was Color

Ethan wasn’t always like this. There was a time he painted murals on abandoned buildings, recited poetry at midnight cafés, and scribbled wild metaphors in the corners of coffee-stained journals.

He used to say things like:

“I want to leave fingerprints on the soul of the world.”

But over time, the silence got louder. He started to believe what people told him: that passion doesn’t pay rent, and dreaming was a luxury. So he stopped sketching. Stopped writing. Stopped asking questions that didn’t come with a paycheck.

One by one, the parts of himself he loved were boxed up, packed away, and left in a storage unit he never planned to revisit.

Success Without a Soul

He had light now — or so it seemed.

Promotions. Recognition. Thick paper business cards with gold embossing. A view from the 42nd floor. He had light, yes — but light has a way of blinding you if you stare too long.

Lately, Ethan felt like he’d been squinting through the glare of his own ambition.

The Gallery That Wasn’t There

One night, walking home, he passed a small gallery tucked between a bakery and a bookstore. It hadn’t been there before. Inside, golden frames lined quiet, dimly lit walls. Something unseen pulled him in.

On the far wall hung a canvas that made him forget to breathe.

A painted silhouette stood beneath a blinding sun. But the figure cast no shadow.

The placard read:

“Untitled — Artist Unknown.”

Ethan stood for a long time. And then, for the first time in years, he whispered:

“Is this what I’ve become?”

A Dream That Hurt to Wake From

That night, Ethan dreamed of a boy sitting cross-legged in a sunlit field, paint-smeared hands, humming a melody only he could hear. The boy looked up, smiled — and faded like smoke when Ethan reached for him.

When he woke, he cried.

Not from sadness — from remembering.

The Missing Space Between the Bakery and the Bookstore

The next morning, he didn’t go to work.

He walked with no destination, holding black coffee until it went cold. He revisited old streets. He returned to the gallery — but it was gone.

Only a blank wall remained between the bakery and the bookstore.

The Soft Return to Self

Over the months, people noticed. Ethan spoke slower. Laughed more. Not louder — but more real. He took the train, just to listen to strangers’ conversations. He filled notebooks again. He called his mother without watching the clock.

He didn’t quit his job entirely. But he did change the title on his business card from:

“Senior Strategy Consultant” to “Still Becoming.”

A Reflection That Blinks Back

One evening, he stood in front of a mirror again. Older. Tired. But peacefully so.

He blinked.

His reflection blinked with him.

And now — behind him —

the shadow had returned.

Author Note:

This story is part of Echoes & Endings, a series of short fiction exploring the quiet moments that change everything.

Written by Shafi — for those who chase light, but wish to keep their shadows, too.