Following Ayla

If I had a dollar for every time someone called me ‘too sensitive,’ I’d have enough money for the lifetime supply of tissues I apparently need. Examples of “too sensitive”: Ayla cries at commercials, Ayla gets weird vibes from strangers, Ayla feels sad when it snows because the freaking trees look cold. Yep, superhero material, right?

Today, some kid in the cafeteria was just laughing, but for some reason, it hit me the wrong way. It felt sharp… mean. I felt it in my chest like hot static. My eyes stung, holding back tears. Everyone else kept munching on their sloppy joes, and I sat there blinking like a total weirdo.

So instead of explaining why I was crying over nothing again, I dashed straight to the library, where nobody bothers you if you keep quiet.

I hid in the back shelves with a comic book concealed inside a large mythology book. Pro tip: D’Aulaires’ Book of Greek Myths makes a great disguise if you don’t want teachers to ask questions.

That’s when I saw it. My shadow. It wasn’t hunched like me. It wasn’t even pretending. It stretched tall and straight across the floor, head cocked as if it was watching me.

And then it whispered, “Can you keep a secret?”

I fumbled with my comic inside the book, nearly dropping it. My hands shook.

“Uh, yeah?” I said. Apparently, my fight-or-flight response included a third option: sarcasm. “Although… my gossip column is starving for content. All my readers will be disappointed,” I added for no real reason—except maybe that if I kept talking, I wouldn’t pee my pants in fear.

The shadow didn’t laugh. It simply rippled against the shelves, as if waiting to tell its secret but wasn’t allowed yet.

Then the overhead lights snapped off—the librarian’s way of saying closing time, ya’ little jerks. My shadow jumped back into place, and my heart jumped out of my chest. I raised my arm, and it raised its arm, a perfect mimic once again.

I shoved the comic into my backpack, acting like everything was normal. But it wasn’t. Something had changed. Was the shadow a part of me? Or something older—something that had been watching me all along? Or was I finally losing it?

Either way, I was already dreading tomorrow’s eclipse, and now that dread had intensified tenfold.

☾ ○ ☾

That night at home, I avoided mirrors as if they were portals to hell. The light in my bedroom cast a long shadow across the carpet, and I kept one eye on it while I typed on my laptop.

Sentient shadows speaking shadows. Myths and folklore about shadows. Symptoms of brain tumors…talking shadows?

Nothing more relaxing than searching for answers on the internet. Why was I torturing myself? It was probably just my anxiety and over-imagination.

Suddenly, my shadow wasn’t acting right again. I was bent over the laptop, chin almost touching the keyboard, but my shadow’s head? Tilted back. Like it was… listening.

Then it rippled—like TV static—and spoke again. This time, the words were clearer and sharper: “Ayla. You must listen.”

“Wow, creep points for using my name,” I muttered. “What’s next? Making the lights flicker?”

The shadow shivered, then… it sighed.

“Sorry. I’m having… communication issues. Hard to talk across dimensions, okay?”

I blinked. “…Excuse me?”

“Tomorrow, during the eclipse, the veil will thin. The Others will come.”

“Define ‘Others.’ Like… good others?” There were never good ‘others’.

“Creatures from the true dark. They slip through when the sun is swallowed. We stop them. That is our purpose.”

Yep, definitely not good ‘others’. Then, I laughed, actually laughed.

“You stop them? Great. Go nuts. Why are you talking to me?”

The shadow leaned closer, stretching longer. “We can’t. Not without you.”

That wiped the smirk right off my face. “Why me? I’m not helpful at all. I cry at Subaru commercials. I bought every hermit crab at the pet store because I didn’t want them to miss any of their friends.”

It paused. Then, like it was embarrassed to admit it: “Because… your feelings power us.”

I stared at the carpet. “Wow. Out of all the kids on Earth, you guys picked the crybaby? Cool.”

“Not crybaby,” the shadow corrected. “Conduit.”

I snorted. “Yeah, that’ll look great on a resume.”

The shadow didn’t argue. It flickered once and then went silent, copying me perfectly again.

“Where’d you go? What am I supposed to do? What do you mean by conduit?”

I slammed the laptop shut and pulled the covers over my head, but even in the dark, I could still feel it—watching, waiting.

☾ ○ ☾

The next morning, I woke up with one thought: Don’t think about the talking shadow. Spoiler: I failed within the first thirty seconds. I thought about it all day.

By the time I reached school, my brain had come up with about fifty explanations. The top five were:

Stress.

Low blood sugar.

Early-onset dementia.

Schizophrenia.

Good old-fashioned paranormal horror BS.

They were all fighting for first place.

The halls buzzed about the eclipse. Everyone had their special glasses. “Historic event of the decade,” Mr. Fernsby, my science teacher, said. Meanwhile, I was pretty sure I was experiencing the mental breakdown of the decade.

“Hey Ayla,” my friend Zoe said, sliding onto the cafeteria bench across from me. “You look tired. Didn’t see you much yesterday after you ran off. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I wasn’t feeling well,” I said, stabbing at my tater tots, annoyed that I always had the same excuse for running away. “My shadow and I aren’t syncing these days. Claims that I’m some Chosen One.”

“That’s… specific.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Obviously a weird dream.” Quickly realizing I sounded like a total freak. “Shadows don’t talk.”

Zoe snorted. “You’re so funny, Ayla.”

She laughed, thank goodness, and then the conversation shifted back to the eclipse, parties, and snacks. I chuckled too, as if I were normal. I smiled, like my insides weren’t churning, ready to implode.

Under the table, out of the corner of my eye, I saw it again. My shadow. Stretching just a little longer than it should, rippling impatiently.

Tomorrow had become today, and I had a feeling I didn’t have a choice in being a “hero”.

☾ ○ ☾

Everyone rushed onto the football field with their paper eclipse glasses, buzzing as if it were the Super Bowl. Teachers barked reminders not to look directly at the sun or you’ll go blind, while kids shoved each other to get a better view of… the sky.

I slipped away to the bathroom, claiming I was having “girl issues”. Translation: I didn’t want to have a freak-out in front of half the student body. My emotions swirled around me like an angry cyclone.

I rounded the corner behind the gym. That’s when my shadow moved again. It wiggled and warped, like an inflatable tube man outside a car dealership.

“Leave me alone,” I muttered, trying to sound annoyed instead of terrified. “I can’t help you.”

The shadow quivered, like ink bleeding across paper before forming back into itself again. “It begins soon. You must be ready.”

“Ready? I didn’t even pass the Algebra quiz yesterday. What makes you think I’m qualified for… whatever this is?”

A pause, then, “Because you feel. Strongly. Enough for all of us.”

I let out a sharp laugh. “Congratulations. You picked the girl with the “big feelings”. Excellent plan.”

My shadow leaned closer, stretching across the ground until it touched my sneakers. “Not weakness. Fuel.”

“Fuel… so you’re using me,” I said. “How do I know you aren’t the bad guys? You show up and act all creepy and cryptic. Is that just how you shadows speak?”

“Okay, I’m sorry. I’ll be real with you. I’m scared too. I am you—a part of you that is. We are connected, living parallel lives. I was given this task, and I need your help. I don’t have time to explain everything, but I promise we’re the good guys.”

“Why should I believe you?” I asked, my throat going dry.

“Because we’ll die if you don’t,” shadow Ayla said. For once, I had no comeback. “I wasn’t even supposed to communicate with you,” my shadow continued. “But I found a way to save us both. You just have to promise to trust me when the time comes.”

A whistle blew, and I could hear the crowd start oohing as the first sliver of the moon slid in front of the sun.

I looked down. My shadow was normal again, but I knew it wouldn’t stay that way for long.

I made my way back to the field and stood on the edge of the bleachers. The crowd was gasping as if the sky had just performed a magic trick. “Glasses up!” teachers yelled over the noise.

Me? I wasn’t looking at the sun. I was watching the ground.

Shadows stretched long across the concrete, thin as spilled ink. Everyone else’s stayed connected, but mine peeled away, as if it was coming loose from me, slipping free.

And then it stood there. Faceless, next to me.

Nobody noticed. Everyone was too busy murmuring and staring at the sky. Meanwhile, my lungs had abandoned me.

“It’s time,” my shadow said. Calm and clear.

“Oh, cool, thanks. Good talk,” I muttered, agitated and totally unsure of everything. “Maybe some tips?”

It didn’t respond. It just pointed toward the edges of the field. That’s when I saw them. I should’ve gone to the bathroom earlier.

The Others.

Shapes darker than the shadows around them, if that was possible, slinked in irregular angles, twitching like broken dolls. The air bent around them, and my stomach did a somersault. I blinked hard. Darn, they were still there and getting closer.

“You must feel,” my shadow urged.

“Feel? Ha! I feel scared as hell. That’s all I do is feel. I wish I could stop “feeling”. I’m sick of feeling. I’m weak …”

“You’re not weak. We aren’t weak. We were chosen because we’re the strongest.”

I laughed until it cracked into a sob. “So let me get this straight. The entire world relies on me, ugly-crying so much I could power you like some kind of magical battery?”

“Yes.”

Of course.

The Others moved closer, edging toward the bleachers. No one else noticed. Just me. Lucky, “too sensitive” me.

My shadow reached out to my hand. “Trust me. Now.”

I shut my eyes and let it happen.

Every humiliating tear, every pang of shame, every stupid crush, every time I felt too much—all poured out of me, raw and unfiltered. My chest burned, as if it was tearing open from the inside.

My shadow grew larger, glowing with a dark-bright light, and the other shadows surged alongside it, towering like guardians. They met the Others in silence, clashing in shapes too sharp and strange for my mind to understand. Dark against darker, the field was alive with battles that no one else could see.

As the sun started to set again, the Others faded away into nothingness. My shadow bowed before me once more, eyes it didn’t have fixed on mine.

“Thank you,” it whispered. “Can you continue keeping our secret?”

I forced a smirk, though my chest felt scraped hollow. “Sure. No one would believe me anyway.”

And then it slid back into place, a perfect mimic once more.

The light returned. The crowd dispersed. And that was it. No cheers for the hero. No medal ceremony.

☾ ○ ☾

By the last bell, everyone was still freaking out about the eclipse. Zoe kept saying how “cosmic” it felt.

I smiled and nodded on the outside, but inside? Hollow. Like someone had scooped me out and left an empty shell behind.

When I got home, Dad asked if I wanted pizza for dinner.

“Sure,” I said. My voice sounded normal enough, even though something had changed. Not broken, exactly, but dulled. The volume had been turned down, and my colors… my emotions were muted all the way to grayscale.

I went upstairs, closed my door, and slumped onto the bed. My room looked the same—K-Pop posters, a messy desk, my laptop blinking in sleep mode—but I wasn’t the same Ayla.

I looked down at the floor. My shadow stretched out on the carpet, looking normal again. No flickers. No glitches. Just a boring patch of darkness following me around.

But I knew better.

I pressed my palm flat against the floor, matching the outline of my shadow’s hand. For a second, it almost felt real.

“Thanks for nothing,” I muttered. I had complained my whole life about my stupid feelings, and now all I felt was resentment.

To everyone else, it was an eclipse, not a war. But I knew. I’d saved them. And nobody would ever know what it cost me.