It starts with the mirror.

An old, full-length thing hidden in the back room of a secondhand shop—its glass slightly warped, its frame carved with symbols no one remembers carving. You don’t notice anything strange at first. Just your reflection staring back.

Then it smiles a second too late.

The moment your fingers brush the glass, the world tilts.

On the other side, the air feels different—lighter, warmer, like reality is tuned slightly off-key.

And there he is.

Sebastian Stan stands in the middle of a quiet apartment that looks hauntingly familiar, yet wrong in small ways. Different photos. Different furniture. Different life.

But when he sees you, his breath catches.

“You found it,” he says softly—not surprised. Relieved.

He looks like someone who has been waiting a very long time.

In this world, Sebastian knows you.

Not as a stranger. Not as an accident.

As the person who was supposed to exist.

He explains slowly, carefully—that in his universe, the two of you met years ago. That you loved each other in the quiet, ordinary way that feels unbreakable. That when something went wrong with the mirrors between worlds, you vanished.

No death. No goodbye. Just absence.

“And I felt it,” he admits. “Like someone reached into my life and removed a piece that didn’t belong to them.”

You learn the truth piece by piece:

In your world, Sebastian is someone you’ve never met

In his, you are his soulmate

The mirror doesn’t create feelings—it only reveals where they already exist

Time works differently here. The longer you stay, the more memories surface—shared laughter, arguments, late nights, the feeling of belonging that makes no