I was at the Peace Memorial Museum alone. Late afternoon, most tourists already leaving. I wandered into one of the smaller side corridors they don’t really advertise, more archival stuff, old photographs behind glass.
I was looking at one of the photos — a street scene, 1944 maybe — when I noticed the reflection in the glass.
Behind me. A soldier standing maybe two meters back. Full uniform, cap, the whole thing.
I turned around to apologize for blocking whatever he was looking at.
The corridor was empty. Nobody there.
I turned back to the glass.
He was still in the reflection. Same spot. Watching me. And the reflection — it took me too long to understand what was wrong with it. His reflection had a face. I could see it clearly in the glass. But the face wasn’t looking at the photograph.
It was looking directly at me. Into the glass. Eye contact.
I walked out of that corridor very fast and didn’t stop until I was outside in the daylight with people around me.
I’ve looked at that memory so many times trying to find the rational explanation. Trick of light. Someone who moved. Anything.
But you don’t make eye contact with a trick of light. You just don’t.