Through the world’s mirror

His life was getting better.

One evening, after a long walk around the city, he returned to his room. He looked out the window and saw his new home reflected in the moonlight. It was old, dilapidated, but it was his home.

Taking out his notepad, he wrote: «Home isn’t about the walls, but about the people who surround you.»

The morning greeted Michael with a cacophony of sounds: the cooing of pigeons outside the window, the rumble of passing cars, and, of course, the enchanting sounds of old Bill’s saxophone. The music flowed from under his windows like thick honey, filling the room with sadness and hope simultaneously. Michael went to the window and looked down. Bill, as always, was standing on his balcony, clutching his old saxophone. His eyes were closed, and his face expressed bliss.

Michael thought: «What power there is in this music! It can heal the soul, comfort the heart, give hope. Art is like a medicine that cures all diseases.»

But right now, he needed to think not about music, but about his daily bread. The money he had brought with him was melting like snow in the sun. He urgently needed to find a job.

He went downstairs and knocked on Bill’s door. The old man opened the door, dressed in a greasy bathrobe and worn-out slippers. His face told a whole story, full of joys and losses.

«Ah, it’s you, kid,» Bill said, recognizing Michael. «Something wrong? Is my music bothering you?»

Michael smiled and shook his head. He took out his notepad and wrote: «Thank you for the music. It’s very beautiful. It inspires me.»

Bill grinned, revealing a gap-toothed mouth. «Music is my life, kid. It’s my love, my pain, my passion. Without it, I’d just die. You know, as Louis Armstrong said, „If I don’t play, I don’t live.“» He paused, then asked, as if reading his thoughts: «And what are you doing here? Are you a musician too?»

Michael shook his head again and wrote: «I’m a photographer. Looking for work. Almost out of money.»

Bill thought, scratching his gray stubble. «Work… Hmm… Maybe I can help you somehow. I have a friend, Alex, owns a cafe. A good place, cozy. Maybe he needs a photographer. He’s a young guy, creative.»

Michael’s face lit up with a smile. «Really? That would be great! I’d be very grateful.»

Bill laughed, looking at his joy. «Well, don’t celebrate too early. It’s just a cafe. But you have to start somewhere, right? Okay, here’s the address. Tell him Bill sent you.»

He handed him a scrap of paper with the cafe’s address. Michael thanked him heartily and promised to come to the concert that evening.

The cafe turned out to be small and cozy, with a sign that read «Cozy Corner.» Inside, it smelled of freshly brewed coffee, cinnamon, and fresh pastries. Paintings by local artists hung on the walls, and an old piano stood in the corner. A young guy with a good-natured face stood behind the counter.

Michael approached him and gestured that he wanted to talk.

«You must be the photographer Bill told me about?» the guy guessed, smiling.

Michael nodded.

«Great! My name is Alex. Bill said you’re a talented guy. We actually need a photographer. We want to update the menu, take photos for the website, attract new customers.»

Michael nodded enthusiastically, took out his camera, and got to work. He photographed coffee, pastries, the cafe’s customers. He tried to capture live moments, convey the atmosphere of warmth and coziness. He felt he was doing what he loved, and it gave him strength.

Alex really liked his shots. He offered Michael a job with good pay, a free lunch, and the opportunity to exhibit his work in the cafe.

Michael was over the moon. Everything was working out wonderfully!

He worked at the cafe for several days. He enjoyed shooting, communicating with people, listening to the stories they told. He felt like a part of this place, a part of this life.

One evening, returning home after work, he got caught in the rain. The city seemed gray and dreary, but Michael felt warm and joyful inside. He thought about Lisa, her words, her smile.

He went into a small flower shop and bought a modest bouquet of daisies. He wanted to thank Lisa for her support and inspiration, to give her a little summer warmth on this rainy evening.

Approaching the «Venus» club, Michael saw Lisa standing at the entrance. She was smoking a cigarette, and the ember, flaring up and dying down, cast strange shadows on her face. She was in her usual attire: black leather jacket, ripped jeans, heavy boots. She seemed both strong and vulnerable.

He was a little nervous; he wanted Lisa to like this modest token of attention. He hoped the daisies, bought at a nearby stall, would brighten her gray days at least a little.

Seeing Michael, she smiled, but the smile was strained, as if painted over an old resentment. Something’s wrong, Michael thought.

«Hi, Michael,» she said quietly. «What are you doing here? Came to watch the nightlife?»

Michael, feeling awkward, handed her the bouquet. The daisies in his hand seemed too simple and naive for this place, for this girl.

Lisa looked at the flowers in surprise, her eyebrows slightly raised. Then she looked at Michael, and something like confusion flashed in her eyes.

And at that moment, a man burst out of the club doors like an angry bull. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a short haircut and a vicious expression. He was wearing a leather jacket and tight jeans. His whole appearance screamed self-confidence and aggression.

«Lisa, for fuck’s sake, where have you been? I almost killed everyone looking for you!» he roared, putting his arm around Lisa’s shoulders as if marking his property. He smelled of cheap beer and cigarettes.

His voice was loud, harsh, and rough.

Fear flashed in Lisa’s eyes, and she instinctively pulled away from Mark.

«Who’s this?» Mark asked, scorching Michael with his gaze. «Another admirer? Or just decided to hit on my girlfriend?»

Tension hung in the air, like before a storm. Michael felt his heart pounding, blood rushing to his cheeks. He wanted to say something, but he couldn’t. His damned muteness deprived him of the ability to defend himself, to explain the situation.

Lisa tried to say something, making excuses, but Mark interrupted her.

«Shut up, Lisa! I’ll handle this myself.» He snatched the bouquet from the girl’s hands, crumpled the flowers, and threw them on the dirty asphalt. «That’s where your daisies belong!» he said, smirking maliciously.

Rage boiled inside Michael, but he knew he couldn’t rise to the provocation. He just clenched his fists, trying to keep himself in check.

Mark took a step towards Michael, looming over him threateningly. «Listen to me, kid,» he hissed, «Stay away from Lisa. She’s mine. And if I see you near her again, I swear, you’ll regret you were ever born.»

Lisa, mustering courage, pushed Mark aside. «Enough, Mark! Stop it right now! He didn’t do anything to me.»

Mark looked at her contemptuously. «You’ll regret this, Lisa. You’ll dance to my tune yet.»

He spat at Michael’s feet and, turning around, disappeared into the club doors.

Lisa looked at Michael with a guilty expression. Tears welled in her eyes. «I’m sorry, Michael,» she whispered. «Mark… he’s just very jealous. I don’t know what came over him.»

Michael, unable to utter a word, just took her hand and squeezed it slightly in a gesture of comfort.

She turned away, trying to hide her emotions. What was left for him to do?

He looked at the crumpled flowers lying on the asphalt and felt a piercing pain in his chest. That bouquet contained his hopes, his feelings, his dreams. And it had all been trampled, ground into the dirt.

Taking out his notepad, he wrote: «Don’t worry. Are you okay?»

He tried to smile as best he could.

«I have to go,» she wrote in response. «Take care of yourself.»

He nodded, understanding there was nothing more for him to do here. He turned and walked away, trying not to look at Lisa so as not to see her pain.

He was leaving her with this man who didn’t value or cherish her. At that second, he began to hate her.

He walked through the night city, feeling empty and broken. His shoulders slumped, his step became uncertain, and a cold melancholy settled in his soul. It seemed to him that the whole world had conspired against him, that he would never find his place in this city, that his muteness was a curse that doomed him to loneliness.

He knew he had to move on, to keep searching for his truth, his path. But now he felt only tiredness and disappointment. He wanted just one thing: for someone to hug him and tell him everything would be okay.

He couldn’t find an answer to the question: what was this pain he was feeling? Was he sorry for the girl, or for himself in this situation?

He walked through the night city, soaked to the skin, like a beaten dog. The rain drummed on the sidewalk, reflecting the dim light of the streetlights, creating an illusion of an endless labyrinth. The trampled daisies, like a guilty conscience, haunted his thoughts. Michael felt overwhelmed by resentment, disappointment, and helplessness. It was as if he had fallen into a dark well with no way out.

«What the hell did I even come here for?» he thought, «Why am I trying to change this world if I can’t even handle my own life?» At times like these, muteness was not a gift, but a curse.

He wandered the streets, aimless. The city, which had recently seemed full of opportunities and hope, now pressed down on him with its gray walls and the indifferent faces of passersby. He wanted to run, to hide, to disappear.

Jean-Pierre’s words came to mind: «Pain is fuel for creativity.» But now he felt only burnout, emptiness, a complete lack of inspiration. It seemed to him he would never be able to pick up a camera again, that his talent had died before it had a chance to bloom.

Reaching his house, he went up to his room, locked the door, and collapsed on the bed without undressing. He lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to stop trembling. Thoughts of Lisa, Mark, the injustice of this world swirled in his head. «Why is it always like this? Why do good people suffer, and bad people thrive? Where is the justice?»

Suddenly, he heard a loud knock on the door. He didn’t want to see anyone, didn’t want to talk to anyone. All he needed now was silence and peace.

But the knocking continued, becoming more insistent and irritating.

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore and opened the door. Chloe, his eccentric artist neighbor, stood on the threshold with a bottle of wine in one hand and a huge bag of chips in the other. She was wearing a colorful bathrobe, a ridiculous unicorn horn hat on her head, and a mischievous smile on her face.

«Hi, neighbor!» Chloe shouted, almost falling on him. «Why the long face? I heard you’re in a bad mood. And I just happen to be having a party! Come on, let’s cheer up!»

Michael shook his head, indicating he didn’t want to go to the party.

«What a shame,» said Chloe, frowning. «You can’t just mope and be sad all the time! You have to let go of your problems sometimes and just have fun. You know, as my favorite artist Salvador Dali said, „Have no fear of perfection — you’ll never reach it.“»

She tried to squeeze into the room, but Michael blocked her way.

«Okay,» said Chloe, sighing. «I understand, you’re not in the mood for fun. But promise me you’ll at least get out of your den and get some fresh air. Otherwise, you’ll completely sour.»

Michael, to get rid of her, nodded. He knew he wouldn’t keep his promise, but he needed her to leave.

«Great!» Chloe rejoiced. «Then I’ll expect you in an hour! There’ll be music, dancing, heart-to-heart talks, and all sorts of goodies.» She winked and added: «And no sad faces! A party is the cure for all diseases!»

Chloe left, leaving Michael alone in his gloomy room. He fell back onto the bed and closed his eyes. He knew he didn’t want to go to the party, that it would only make him feel worse. But at the same time, he understood he couldn’t stay alone, that he needed to distract himself from his sad thoughts somehow.

An hour later, forcing himself, he finally got out of bed, pulled on his jeans and an old t-shirt. He took his camera, like a talisman, and left the room.

It was noisy, smoky, and crowded in Chloe’s apartment. Loud music shook the walls, people danced, laughed, drank, and had animated conversations. The air was thick with the smell of marijuana and cheap alcohol.

Michael felt completely alien and lost in this crazy crowd. He pressed himself against the wall and began to observe what was happening.

Soon Chloe came over to him. She was wearing a shiny dress and high heels. A bright smile was painted on her face, and her eyes sparkled with mischief.

«Hi, neighbor!» she shouted over the music. «I’m so glad you came! Why so sad? Where’s your smile?»

Michael pointed to his notepad, but Chloe waved it off. «Oh, forget your notepad! Today we communicate without words. Just relax and have fun!»

She took his hand and dragged him onto the dance floor. Michael resisted, but Chloe was persistent.

Finding himself in the middle of the crowd, he felt even more awkward. People pushed, stepped on his feet, accidentally elbowed him. He didn’t know how to dance, felt constrained and clumsy.

But gradually, giving in to the rhythm of the music, he began to relax. He closed his eyes and let go of all his thoughts, all his worries. He just moved to the beat, feeling his body fill with energy.

While dancing, he accidentally made eye contact with a girl standing off to the side. She was smiling at him.

Michael didn’t recognize her at first, but then remembered he had seen her before at the cafe. She had been there with friends. She seemed sweet and friendly to him.

He went over to her and smiled.

«Hi,» the girl said, and Michael felt her voice, a little hoarse from cigarettes and laughter, penetrate his heart. «You dance well! You got so into it, like it was your last dance.» Her eyes, the color of sea waves, looked at him with genuine interest, without a trace of judgment or mockery. She smelled of a mixture of caramel, vanilla, and something rebelliously elusive, like a forbidden pleasure.

Michael, unaccustomed to compliments, was embarrassed and lowered his eyes. He always thought dancing wasn’t his thing, that he was too clumsy and stiff for it. But her words sounded so sincere, so encouraging, that he felt warmth inside.

He reached for his notepad, but the girl stopped him with a gesture. «Don’t,» she said, «let’s try without words. Sometimes silence speaks louder than any phrases.»

Michael looked at her in surprise. How did she know about his muteness? How had she understood him so quickly?

The girl smiled, as if reading his thoughts. «I saw you at the cafe,» she continued, «you were working there. You’re a photographer, right? You have a very expressive face, you know. I feel like there’s some secret living inside you.»

Michael nodded, feeling the blood rush to his cheeks. He liked that she was showing interest in him, that she saw him not just as a silent stranger, but as something more.

«I love photography too,» the girl said, «Though, I prefer being in front of the camera. Maybe you’ll show me your work sometime? I’d be really happy. You know, as my favorite photographer, Helmut Newton, said, „The most important thing in photography is not the depth of field, but the depth of feeling.“»

Michael felt a surge of gratitude. He took out his notepad and wrote: «Of course. I’d be happy to show you my work. What’s your name?»

«My name is Emily,» the girl said, offering her hand. «And yours?»

Michael wrote his name, and she read it aloud, slightly drawing out the vowels. «Michael… A very beautiful name. Like an angel’s.»

They got talking. Michael learned that Emily had come to the city from a small provincial town, just like him. She dreamed of becoming an actress but was working as a waitress in a bar for now to make ends meet.

«This city is full of dreamers,» Emily said with a sad smile. «Everyone comes here to achieve success, to become famous, rich, happy. But only a few manage it. Most are left with nothing, with broken hearts and empty pockets. But you have to believe in yourself, you have to fight for your dream. Otherwise, what’s the point of living at all?»

Michael nodded, agreeing with her words. He understood that life wasn’t always a fairy tale, that the path to success involved overcoming many obstacles and disappointments.

«You know, as they say, „The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.“ The main thing is not to stop, not to give up, even when it seems like all is lost,» Emily added, as if reading his thoughts.

Michael looked at her and smiled. She was right. He shouldn’t dwell on the past; he should look to the future with hope and optimism.

«Art is a reflection, you see?» she continued. «It reflects the world we live in, our dreams, our fears, our hopes. But it’s not a simple mirror reflection. It’s a reflection filtered through the prism of the artist’s soul. It shows not only what is, but what could be. It gives us a chance to look at the world in a new way.»

At that moment, Michael remembered Lisa, her cold gaze, her jealous boyfriend. He felt sadness again. In one moment, he remembered Lisa’s words: «I already have someone, and I don’t want to lose him,» and this phrase struck him like thunder.

Emily, noticing his confusion, gently touched his hand. «Hey, why so sad? Did something happen?»

Michael shook his head, trying to hide his feelings.

«Come on,» said Emily, smiling. «You’re a bad liar. It’s all over your face. But you know what? Today we won’t talk about sad things. Today we’ll have fun, dance, and enjoy life. Forget all your problems for just one evening. Promise?»

Michael looked at her and nodded. He realized she was right. He shouldn’t dwell on the past; he should live in the present.

They talked all evening, danced, laughed, exchanged opinions about movies, music, and photography. Michael felt light and free, as if he had dropped a heavy burden. He felt good with Emily; he felt comfortable and calm around her.

When the party ended, Emily suggested Michael walk her home.

They walked through the night streets, illuminated by the flickering light of streetlamps. The rain had long stopped, and bright stars shone in the sky. The air smelled of freshness and wet leaves.

When they reached her house, Emily stopped and looked at Michael. Her eyes shone in the moonlight.

«Thank you for this evening,» she said quietly, «It was really nice to meet you. You’re a very interesting and talented person.»

Michael was embarrassed and lowered his eyes. He didn’t know what to say.

Emily came closer, touched his cheek, and kissed him. It was a light, weightless kiss, but a wave of warmth ran through Michael’s body.

«Until tomorrow, Michael,» she whispered. «I hope we see each other soon.»

She went into the house, leaving Michael alone on the street. He touched his cheek, where her kiss still lingered, and smiled.

He no longer felt lonely and lost. A new hope, a new interest, a new love had appeared in his life. He knew he had something to live for, something to create for.

On the way back, he saw his reflection in a shop window. He looked at himself carefully and smiled. He saw in the reflection not a scared and insecure guy, but a strong and confident man ready for new challenges and victories.

He fell asleep with a smile on his lips, anticipating a new day and new meetings with Emily. He couldn’t wait to pick up his camera and start shooting.

This time, he wanted to shoot not pain and suffering, but joy and hope.

Returning home, Michael felt as if he had returned from a long and exhausting journey. Emily’s words, her sincere interest and support, were like a fresh sip of water in the desert. He no longer felt the oppressive emptiness and loneliness that had haunted him in recent days. Now hope lived in his heart, and timid dreams of the future were in his head.

He walked through the night streets, and it seemed to him the city was smiling back at him. The lights in the shop windows twinkled like stars, passersby hurried about their business, and the intoxicating aroma of nightlife hung in the air. He no longer felt like a stranger in this city. He was beginning to feel that this place could become his home.

He remembered Emily’s words about art as a reflection of the soul. It suddenly became clear to him that he didn’t want to shoot pain and suffering anymore. He wanted to shoot beauty, hope, love. He wanted to tell stories that inspired, that made people smile, that gave them faith in a better future.

Going up the stairs to his room, he heard the sounds of a saxophone coming from Bill’s apartment. The music was quiet and melodic, like an old forgotten song. He couldn’t make out the melody, but it held a special sadness, a deep longing.

Michael stopped and listened. He wanted to talk to Bill, share his experiences, ask for advice. He felt that this old musician, with his rich life experience, could help him find answers to many questions.

Entering his room, the first thing he did was take out his camera. He looked at it for a long time, like an old friend. He remembered Jean-Pierre’s words that the camera was his voice, his way of communicating with the world. And he decided he would no longer be silent, he would speak through his photographs, he would share his thoughts and feelings with other people.

Remembering Emily’s request to show her his work, Michael began sorting through his photographs. He took a long time choosing which ones would be best. He wanted to make a good impression on her, to show her his talent, his soul.

Finally, he selected a few of his best shots and went to bed. He fell asleep quickly and soundly, like a little child tired after a long day of play.

Waking up the next morning, he felt a little better. He no longer felt the hopelessness and anguish that had tormented him in recent days. He decided to follow Chloe’s advice and distract himself from his problems.

He called Bill and suggested they meet, go for a walk, get some fresh air. Bill gladly agreed.

They walked the city streets for a long time, chatting about this and that, sharing their thoughts and feelings. Bill, as always, was wise and insightful; he knew how to find the right words to support and encourage.

After meeting with Bill, Michael felt even more confident. He realized he needed to stop listening to Aurora and start listening to his own heart. He knew there was good and evil, light and darkness in the world. But he believed that good always triumphs over evil, that light always dispels darkness.

Michael took his camera, went outside, and started shooting. He shot the city, people, nature. He shot everything he saw around him. He tried to see beauty in every moment, in every face, in every landscape. He wanted to show the world what he felt, what he saw, what he believed in.

Standing in front of the door to his room, Michael felt an icy cold running down his spine. Not just cold, but a premonition of something inevitable, inescapable. Behind this door was not just a room, but his past life, his hopes, his dreams, his disappointments.

He stood for a long time, not daring to open the door, as if afraid to find out what awaited him on the other side. Fragments of phrases, fragments of memories, fragments of thoughts raced through his head. He remembered Aurora’s words, Chloe’s words, Bill’s words. Each of them said something different, but they all agreed on one thing: he needed to change something in his life.