Author's Note: First of all, thank you for reading (and reviewing). The P.O.V. switches back and forth between the two main characters, so be warned. Also, this story involves a LOT of flashbacks and memories, which can be slightly (or more than slightly) confusing. Sorry if I've unintentionally stolen ideas; I've tried to be pretty original. Enjoy!
I remember when it all started. I had lost hope by then. After eighty years, who wouldn't? Eighty years and not one girl really looked twice. I would watch them, time after time, and no matter the type, it was always the same. They would, the first time they looked into the mirror, primp, fussing with their hair or makeup, scratching a pimple or tweezing an eyebrow, and then they would finally make eye contact with their reflection, maybe even just to put in their contacts, but it would happen. And for a split second I would dare to hope again. I would watch their face as they frowned and leaned in closer. They had seen me, no doubt about it. They'd seen me staring back. Even if it was just for a second, every one of those girls saw my face. But they would shake it off. It was something they ate, they were still dreaming, they were stressed for an English test, they had a hangover. I heard all the excuses they muttered to themselves under their breath. For eighty years, girls looked at me through their mirror. And for eighty years, the only eyes they let themselves see looking back through that glass were their own. All the girls were like that. All of them, that is, except Andy. I don't know exactly what made Andy different, what made her willing to see me; the person who was so obviously there and yet at the same time nowhere at all. You'd have to ask her that. So I'll let her tell you my story. Though in all fairness, it should be called our story.