I think it was a Tuesday morning. Honestly it could have been Monday, as the week was already a blur. I went to buy bread from the small shop down the street. The one where the woman never gives you notes, always coins. My pocket felt like a toolbox with all that change.
I was just walking back, not thinking about anything. That’s when I noticed it.
The afternoon sun pressed down on me, and my shadow stretched thin along the road. Up ahead, at the corner, a man stood still like he belonged there.
He had this old black coat, too heavy for the weather. But he wasn’t looking at me. He was staring at my shadow.
I slowed down. My first thought was just keep walking, ignore him. But something felt wrong. And when I looked again, my shadow wasn’t attached to me anymore. It was at his feet.
“Hey!” I shouted. Too loud. People turned and stared. A woman holding her baby frowned at me like I was disturbing her peace.
The man looked up finally. His face was looking pale like he hadn’t slept in weeks.
“Give it back,” I said. I felt stupid immediately I said it, but my mouth kept going.
He blinked. “Do you even want it?”
“What? Of course I want it, it’s mine.” I was gripping the bread so hard the bag crinkled.
He pointed to the shadow. “It’s heavier than you think. Always following you. Always watching.”
“I don’t care,” I said. My throat felt dry. “It’s mine.”
He almost smiled, not in a mean way. More like he pitied me. “You’ll thank me later.” Then he turned and walked away. And my shadow followed him.
I just stood there, speechless, as there wasn't any logic behind this. Cars honked, a bike nearly hit me, someone yelled at me to move. My feet wouldn’t.
That night I couldn’t sleep. My room felt too big, like half of me wasn’t in it. I called Rob, my neighbor.
“Rob,” I whispered.
“What?” He sounded annoyed.
“Someone took my shadow.”
Silence. Then laughter so loud I thought he’d wake the whole block. “You’re serious?”
“I’m serious. He was standing there, in a coat. My shadow went with him.”
“Jason, go to bed,” he said.
“I’m telling you, it’s gone.”
He sighed. “Shadows don’t get stolen. You probably had the sun behind you or something.” Then he hung up.
The next morning, I checked in the mirror. My reflection was there. My messy hair, my red eyes. But no shadow on the floor. The sun came through the window, hitting me and the wall. But nothing.
The cashier at the grocery store kept staring at my feet. She finally asked, “where’s your shadow? Or are you a ghost?"
A little boy pulled his mother's sleeves and pointed in my direction. She pulled him close and turned his face away.
After a few days, I just stopped going out in daylight. At night nobody notices.
Then a week later, I saw him again. Same corner. Same coat. My shadow was still there, walking with him like it belonged.
I ran to him. “Enough. Give it back.”
He looked calm, like he’d been expecting me. “I told you. It’s heavy.”
“I don’t care. I want it.”
He tilted his head. “It remembers everything. All the things you’ve done. All the times you wished you were different. You really want to carry that again?”
I laughed, too loud, too sharp. People turned to look. “That’s life,” I said. “Everyone carries that.”
“Exactly,” he said softly. Then he kept walking.
For a moment I thought I saw it. Two shadows, his and mine, tangled together. Then it snapped back to him.
“When do I get it back?” I shouted. My voice cracked.
He raised a hand, not quite a wave, not quite anything. He never turned around.
I stood there until the sun went down. The lights came on, people went home, the street emptied. And still, nothing stood beside me.
Now, every day, I check. Pavements, walls, mirrors, puddles. I don’t see myself anywhere.
Sometimes I dream about it. My shadow whispering with him, like they’re making plans. And I wake up thinking, what if it likes him more?
I told Rob again. He poured me a drink this time, didn’t laugh. But I saw his eyes flick down to the floor, to my feet, like he was checking.
So I keep checking too.
Because if it’s gone forever, then what am I?