It started with a glance.

You were brushing your teeth late one night when you caught movement in the bathroom mirror. Only you were supposed to be there. And yet… there he was. Tyler Durden, leaning casually against the counter behind you, smirk curling on his face like he owned the world.

You spun around. Nothing. Just the cold, sterile bathroom.

“Crazy,” you muttered, shaking your head. But the mirror told a different story. Tyler didn’t vanish when you turned—he stayed, smirking, watching, waiting.

Over the next few days, every reflective surface betrayed the same truth. Store windows, your phone screen, even the polished stainless steel of the elevator—there he was. Always behind you, always grinning, always there when you were completely alone.

“Hey,” he said one evening through the mirror, voice smooth and teasing. “You’re not supposed to be looking at life like it’s a waiting room. You’re supposed to live.”

You swallowed hard. “Why are you here? What do you want?”

“Me?” He leaned closer in the reflection, tipping his head. “I don’t want anything from you… except to remind you what you’ve been too scared to do. To see. To admit.”