I didn’t expect the temple to be open.
It looked closed from the outside — weathered walls, vines curling across a rusted gate, silence thicker than the air around it. But the moment I touched the gate, it creaked open. No effort. Just invitation.
The inside was colder than it should’ve been. Not temple-cold. Mirror-cold.
Long corridors. Walls lined with glass. Some clean. Some cracked. Some warped in strange directions. I could see myself from every angle — too many angles. I lost count of how many Lilas were walking beside me.
Some followed. Some got ahead. Some… didn’t look like me at all.
One paused when I paused. But didn’t move when I did.
She looked like I would’ve looked… if I never left Japan.
Hair neater. Eyes quieter. Backpack newer. Still.
We stared at each other for too long.
I tried to move on. But the hallway twisted. Every mirror reflected her now. And I could feel the weight of what could’ve been: The job. The apartment. The life that was safe.
But also: The loneliness. The missed sunrise. The map I never would’ve opened.
I stopped trying to walk. I stepped toward the nearest mirror. And whispered:
“Thank you for staying behind.”
She smiled. And vanished.
The mirrors stopped reflecting. All except one. It showed only the door I’d come through. And me — the me that kept going.
I walked toward her. And this time, she walked with me.
Not every version of you has to come along. Some exist only to show you what you chose. And that’s enough.