The boy in the mirror has been watching her again. He's cuter than he used to be, with unblemished skin and a haircut that looks intentional (so unlike the disaster his hair used to be!), but still undeniably a boy, still undeniably there.
She never wanted to see him again.
She made that quite clear.
It worked for a time, for long enough that she started to forget what it was like, for long enough that when she saw him out of the corner of her eye she thought she was just imagining things again—
But after a few weeks of seeing him lingering there, just on the edge of the frame, drifting through the background of the too-reflective shop windows that she's never been able to help looking into, she can't deny it. He's back, filling the space where her reflection isn't.
At least he looks vaguely apologetic this time around.
It doesn't make things better, but ... well. If a monster is going to haunt you then it's better that it feels bad about it, right? It's better that it pretends to have regrets, even though she knows that he doesn't.
It's a small consolation, but she'll take what she can get.
And at least he hasn't started trying to talk again.