Not a comeback.
A recall.

Some places don’t exist in space.
They exist in you.


LYRICS// 
This isn't a story, it's a return
I didn't write to entertain, I wrote to burn
Versions of me in mirrors, smoke, silence deep
Which one's real? Which one do I keep?

A boy, a man, a car, a key
But it's you, dreamer, wandering free
Each chapter a whisper from a place unnamed
Imagined, remembered, or just unchained

We are all one, reflected in the glass
Lost in the reading, good, it means you're close

If you feel lost, that's the sign, my friend
This book's awakening what you might defend
You're the reader, but the story's in your head
The key's in your hand, the door's not dead

Take your time, read slow, listen between the lines
We are all one, just reflected differently.

Let the strings cry out over a churning rhythm

Percussive fireworks take the stage, wild and unchained

Everything comes crashing down, the echoes fade to black

The Reflection Of One

The Return

Ø: Mirrors is the opening threshold of The Reflection of One.

A slow awakening.
A fractured memory.
A door appearing where none should exist.

This track is not meant to be understood, but entered.
It introduces the listener to the first reflection the moment where identity begins to crack and the journey inward starts.

Listen in silence.
Listen without expectation.
The mirror is already watching.
LYRICS //
Before the mirrors broke into eight,
before the child trembled in the dusty car,
before the old man whispered the truth, I spent a lifetime avoiding
there was only silence. 
A silence older than stories,
older than fear,
older than me.
Tonight…
 I return to it.
To the one who opened this book,
who walked with me through smoke,
through dawn,
through grief,
through laughter that hid wounds,
through questions sharper than blades
thank you.
You carried the weight of every chapter
as if it were your own memory.
Maybe it was.
Maybe nothing we read is ever truly separate.
Maybe stories choose us
because they recognize something sleeping inside.
You saw me pray at Fajr,
breathing cold air that reminded me
of my grandfather’s hands
steady, warm, unbreakable.
You walked with me through university halls,
rushed mornings, forgotten exams,
Gregorio’s jokes dissolving my fear,
Google’s silence teaching me more
than any lecture ever did.
You sat with me in rooms full of smoke,
where words unlocked doors
I didn’t know existed,
where Z revealed
what I thought I wasn’t ready to hear.
And through every door,
every memory,
every version of myself
you stayed.
Through broken mirrors,
through shifting timelines,
through the sea hissing my name,
through love that burned beautiful
but never stayed,
through Angel’s fragile promise
we both knew would shatter
you stayed.
And because you stayed,
I survived myself.
You followed me
to the room with many doors,
where identities hung like coats
waiting to be worn again.

You listened
when silence grew heavier than words,
when X trembled,
when Y drowned,
when Z awakened,
when Ø waited in the shadows
for me to remember
what cannot be forgotten.
You saw me fight illusions
I carved with my own hands.
You watched me break,
and un-break,
and break again
until breaking became becoming.
So hear me now,
as I close the circle
we opened together:
Every chapter was a mirror.
Every mirror was a door.
Every door led to one truth:
There is no “I,”
no “you,”
no “them”
only reflections searching
for the courage
to return to Ø.
To the reader
thank you.
For turning these pages with tenderness.
For questioning what you feared.
For seeing yourself
hidden between my lines.
For giving me the honor
of being a part of your inner world,
even if only for a moment.
Books end.
But what they awaken…
never does.
Before you leave,
I leave you this:
Every reflection meets its origin.
Every origin hides a question.
And every reader…
is also being read.
If all the versions were me…
and the silence was Ø…
then who were you
while reading me?

The Reflection of One

Ø: Mirrors

N'joy! 

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Camela Cabello - OMG Ft. Quavo (Dynamite Remix)

Music, words, inner worlds.
The Reflection of One
Sound is placed, not played.
Silence is never empty.
What you hear is not a voice,
but a shift in perspective.
Figures appear, then dissolve.
Names don’t matter.
Only angles do.
Nothing stands above this world.
Meaning emerges where attention rests.
If something unsettles you,
pause.
That’s the point.

The Return

Tarik Msaouak

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