The surface of Cayuga Lake Inlet was a mirror, reflecting the rising moon and the last whispers of twilight. I, Natan, was alone with my camera, capturing the stillness. That’s when I saw him across the water—Neven, my mirror image in the flesh, a doppelganger whose presence defied logic.

He stood still, a silhouette against the water, a perfect reflection of my posture and form. I raised my hand, and so did he. A chill ran down my spine. The moon hung above the hill, as indifferent to this anomaly as it is to its reflection.

I spoke, my voice barely above a whisper, “Who are you?”

He responded, his words a mimic of mine, “Who are you?”

Frustration rose within me, a tide that matched the gentle lapping of the water against the shore. I wanted to shout, to demand answers, but the serenity of the place held me in check. Instead, I walked along the edge of the water, my steps cautious and my heart pounding loud in the silence.

As I moved, so did Nevan, a ghostly echo of myself. The moon climbed higher, and I felt a strange pull, a connection that was as unnerving as it was undeniable.

I stopped, and so did he. We were close now, close enough to see the details that made us distinct yet disturbingly similar. The same hair color, the same height, the same questioning look in our eyes.

I mustered the courage to speak again, “Are you real?”

He replied, “Are you?”

It was a standoff, a conversation of echoes. I considered the impossible, that perhaps in some fracture of reality, I was looking at myself from another world, a world where the moon rose at a different pace and the water flowed in the opposite direction.

Then, I heard footsteps behind me, and I turned to see a figure approaching. It was Neven, not across the water, but here, on my side, real and as solid as the trees that lined the trail. I spun back to the figure across the inlet, but it was gone, vanished like mist at the touch of dawn.

“Do you see him?” I asked, my voice steady but my mind reeling.

Neven, the one beside me, nodded, “I did. But he’s gone now.”

“Was it you?” I demanded.

“It was,” he said, “and it wasn’t. I am Neven, and I saw you, Natan, across the water as well.”

We stood side by side, the moon our witness, pondering the phenomenon. The night was silent save for our breathing and the rhythmic sound of water meeting land.

“Maybe it’s the moon,” Neven suggested, “or the stillness of the water that brought us together.”

I considered his words, thinking of reflections and realities, of moonlight and mysteries. The night offered no answers, only a canvas upon which our questions hung, suspended and unanswered.

In that moment, under the gaze of the full moon, we accepted the encounter for what it was—a fleeting connection, a brush with the inexplicable. We parted ways, our footsteps echoing along the Cayuga Waterfront trail, leaving behind the still water and the memory of a meeting that defied explanation.

As I walked home, the images captured on my camera were the only proof of the encounter. But even they seemed insubstantial, a dream caught on digital film. Yet, the feeling lingered, a thread that connected me to Nevan, to the moon, and to the silent, watching trees.

The encounter would remain with us, a story to be told in hushed tones, a mystery to puzzle over in the quiet moments when the world seemed too ordinary. For we had seen the impossible, had spoken to our own reflections, and had been left with more questions than answers. And somehow, that was enough.

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