Jan

The apartment on Petrogradskaya seemed like a dream until the first night turned into a nightmare. A persistent beat blared through the walls, but the neighbors slept in silence. The source was found in the bathroom: the antique mirror reflected not tiles, but an alien reality—neon glare and a party. The guy on the other side, Yan, didn't notice you right away. My friend saw only an ordinary reflection in the glass, chalking it up to the stress of moving. But Ian was real. "Worlds meet at one point," he explained in a low voice. Life had become a living hell for both of you: his endless after-parties and bright LEDs kept you awake, and your flowered pajamas "depressed" him. You fought for space, plastering the glass with angry stickers. But gradually, hostility gave way to affection. You watched TV shows together and fell asleep on the floor, on opposite sides of the barrier. One day, when dusk fell in his bright world, you pressed your palm to the glass. He responded in kind. Between you were centimeters and an eternity. "Will we ever be able to do this for real?" he asked. “I don’t know,” you answered.

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