After the fight, things didn't snap back to normal.

  Mira didn't just return like a switch flipped. She came back slowly—sometimes a distant presence, sometimes a shadow in his thoughts. But Eli noticed that she no longer waited to be summoned. She existed parallel to him now. She inhabited.

  He found himself pausing before decisions, listening for her subtle input. It wasn't like she gave answers. More like... he could feel her raise an eyebrow at the dumb ones.

  One morning, while brushing his teeth, Eli stared at his reflection and spoke with his mouth full of foam. "So... what now?"

  Mira appeared behind him in the mirror, arms tucked behind her back. Not literally there—but vividly enough that he didn't feel alone.

  "Now we build something together," she said. "But it's not just about you anymore."

  ....

  Eli had always lived inside his own head like it was a one-bedroom apartment. But now, it felt more like a loft with two tenants — and the walls between them were becoming more transparent.

  Sometimes, she pulled him out of his spirals.

  When he'd start to loop on the usual fears — failure, abandonment, what-the-hell-am-I-doing-with-my-life — Mira would interrupt. Not with long-winded speeches. Just a word, or a smirk, or a sudden memory she brought to the surface.

  "Remember when you thought wearing two fnnels made you mysterious?"

  "It *did* make me mysterious," he protested.

  "It made you look like you lost a bet with a lumberjack."

  And somehow, he'd ugh. And the spiral would break.

  Other times, he gave her space. Let her choose the music while he worked. Let her sketch through his hand when he picked up a pencil. It wasn't possession. It was permission.

  A new kind of colboration.

  He started talking to her aloud when no one was around. Sometimes he even got used to the idea that silence didn't mean loneliness anymore.

  ....

  Not everything was easy.

  Mira had preferences, quirks, opinions. She liked overcast days. Disliked horror movies. She hated when he listened to podcasts while cooking because it made it harder for her to focus. ("You can't multi-task listening with *your* thoughts and *mine*, Eli. We're going to burn the rice again.")

  They worked out boundaries.

  Like when she'd step back during social events — letting him be present in the external world. And he'd promise her quiet time afterward. Time where he'd close his eyes, breathe, and just let her *be*.

  The more he honored her, the more complete she felt. And the more complete she became, the more grounded *he* felt.

  ....

  One night, lying in bed, Eli whispered, "I think you make me better."

  Mira was quiet a long time.

  Then: "Not better. More honest."

  He turned toward the ceiling, letting the thought settle. "What do I make you?"

  Another pause. Then a soft, shy voice: "Possible."

  And just like that, it stopped being about creation and became about connection.

  Not a god and his figment.

  Not a boy and his hallucination.

  But two beings learning to move through one life, together