She looked at the mirror. The crack right down the middle always symmetrically partitioned her face, when she stood right in front of it. And Kaya did just that repeatedly, remembering the day six months back when that happened. She asked herself many times “was the mirror cracking like that a sign, a foreboding of things to happen later that morning?” Never did she find the answer to her questions. She remembered those events as clear as yesterday.
After the mirror cracked her mother begged her not to go out. She just laughed it off as another one of her mother’s superstitions. “Anyway I can’t be late today, forget about missing work,” she told her mom. As she dressed in her favourite blue dress, she thought of the impending appraisals. She knew she would do well; it was just a matter of formality.
She waited at the bus stop, and a bike whizzed by. She did not see the colour or make of the motorbike, or even the two people that were riding it. All she remembered is feeling her face burn and, lots of pain and that she fell unconscious. When she woke up she was in a hospital, Kaya had lost half her face to acid burns.
The police later told Kaya, that the people responsible for the attack mistook her for someone else. She was wearing a blue dress and standing two feet away from her. Kaya smiled at the memory. “Maybe she should have listened to her mother; maybe she shouldn’t have worn the blue dress, maybe she should have taken the cracking of the mirror as a warning sign that something would go wrong, so many maybes,” she sighed. None of them could change the fact that looking into the cracked mirror she saw glimpses of both what she used to be and what she is now.