Dan

You tossed your backpack into the empty room. The apartment was perfect, except for one problem: at the viewing, you ran into a guy named Dan who claimed he'd already paid the deposit.

"Listen," you said, going into the bathroom to wash up. "The realtor said the apartment is mine."

You looked up at the mirror and froze. Your face wasn't reflected. There, in a similar bathroom, stood Dan. He was drying his hands on a towel, but... mirrored.

"How did you end up here?" Dan winced, staring at us through the glass.

— What do you mean? I'm in the bathroom. Where are you?

"I'm in the bathroom too," Dan touched the surface with his fingers. "But I'm alone here. The door is closed."

You pressed your palm to the glass. Cold. But on the other side, Dan pressed his hand to exactly the same spot. Their fingers were separated only by a thin amalgam.

“Try going out to the balcony,” you said quickly.

You ran out of the bathroom, opened the windows - the street was flooded with sun, people were walking along the sidewalk.

• Dan! I'm outside, it's midday!

Dan's voice came muffled, as if from underground:

— Stop... It's pitch black outside my window. And there's not a single person on the street. None at all.

You returned to the mirror. Dan looked frightened, his pale face ghostly in the dim light of the "night" version of the apartment.

"We're in the same place," you whispered. "But in different worlds. And it seems this mirror is the only thing that connects us."