They say he lived between shadows, in the fog that slithered through the streets. They say if you listened closely at night, you could hear him. A single breath of sound, like the edges of a voice curling at the end of a whisper.

And they say that if you truly wished for something—if your heart ached for it enough to give something in return—he would come.  A ‘something’ that seemed laughably small.

Just your smile.

Not your soul, not your blood. Simply the curve of your lips, the spark behind your eyes. People thought, ‘What’s the harm in that?’ Until they realised too late that the moment he took it, true happiness was gone forever.

Of course, most people dismissed it as a ghost story to keep children from making reckless wishes. But not her—not entirely.

Because there was something off about the town at night. Nobody spoke of it in the daylight, but when the darkness fell, in hushed voices and behind closed doors, they admitted that some people got what they wished for.

And they never smiled the same way again.

Lory wasn’t the kind of person to scare easily. She had a sharp tongue and a sharper sense of humour.

“Oh, no! The fog is creeping in again. Guess it’s time to hand over my last shred of joy.”

She joked. She always joked.

But deep down, she believed it. Even if she never admitted it out loud, she had always been careful never to make a wish she couldn’t take back.

That was until her grandmother fell ill. 

Until the doctors said there was nothing they could do.

Suddenly, she didn’t care if the whispers were real. She didn’t care what the price was. Because there was one thing she wanted more than anything in the world. And she was willing to give anything in return.

That night, when the town was still and the mist clouded thick against her window, Lory sat before her bedroom mirror.

She knew what she had to do. She had heard it a hundred times before, passed between hushed voices, half-dared and never truly tested.

To summon the Smile Collector, you had to make your wish in a whisper—just a breath of sound against a mirror at night. The warmth of your words would fog up the glass.

And in that fog, you had to trace a smile.

Her fingers trembled as she leaned in, breath ghosting over the surface.

“I wish for my grandmother to be well again.”

The words curled into the stillness, vanishing as soon as they left her lips. Slowly, she lifted a finger and drew a simple, curved smile into the misted glass. The moment she finished, the air in the room shifted. The temperature dipped. The lights flickered. And in the mirror, where only her reflection should have been, something moved.

Her pulse hammered in her ears, but she didn’t dare turn around. The whispers thickened, circling her like unseen hands brushing against her skin.

Then—nothing.

The air lightened. The weight lifted.

Then, the next morning, her grandmother woke up… completely healed.

Lory should have been ecstatic. She should have wept with relief. She did, at first… But as the day wore on, something gnawed at the edges of her joy.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t smile. Her lips curved when they should. She laughed when prompted. But beneath it, past the surface, there was nothing.

A hollowness. A space where something vital had once been.

She should have been happy. But she wasn’t. And for the first time, true fear settled in her bones because she finally understood. She had given away her happiness.

That hollow feeling didn’t fade. Not the next day, not the day after.

Lory went through the motions—laughing when she should, smiling when it was polite—but it was all wrong. Like she was watching someone else wear her skin.

She should’ve been overjoyed. Her grandmother was alive and healthy. But when she sat by her bedside, listening to her laugh, there was no warmth in Lory’s chest. Instead, she just felt a distant sort of knowing feeling.

At night, the mist outside seemed heavier. The shadows stretched a little longer. Sometimes, when she wasn’t looking directly at it, she swore up and down she could see him. A figure standing at the borderline of the fog, too far to make out, too close to ignore. Lory knew what she had to do. The stories never mentioned a way to undo the deal. But they all agreed on one thing:

The Smile Collector was always watching.

And if you wished for something hard enough… He. Would. Come.

So, once again, she sat before her mirror. She took a slow breath. Let it fog up the glass. This time, she didn’t hesitate. With a steady hand, she traced a smile. And she whispered,

 “I wish to see you.”

The room exhaled. The air turned heavy. But, there was… Nothing.

The mirror only showed her reflection, her own tired eyes.

Her heart pounded. No. No, she did everything right.

“Come on,” she muttered. Her fingers curled into fists. “I know you’re there.”

Rage bubbled up in her chest. The weight of all she had lost—it all snapped at once. She grabbed the nearest object and hurled it at the mirror. The impact shattered the silence. The mirror exploded outward in a web of cracks, fragments scattering across the floor.

And in a heartbeat—

She turned. And this time—He was, indeed, standing in her room.

A dark figure. A silhouette more shadow than man. But beneath the flickering haze of his form, she could see him watching her.

He tilted his head slightly. "Clever," he murmured, his voice a whisper woven into the air. "No one has ever asked to see me."

 Lory took a breath. "I want my happiness back."

The Smile Collector remained still. "You lost the one thing you can use to trade with me."

Her fists clenched. "Why? Why do you do this?"

He didn’t answer. Instead, the fragments of broken glass at her feet trembled—then, they rose. Suspended in the air like shards of frozen time.

And within them, flickering like dying candlelight, were memories. But not hers. His.

A boy, watching others laugh from the sidelines. A young man, reaching for something, someone, only to be left behind. A shadow of a life spent watching, but never feeling.

A final moment—a wish made before death.

To understand true happiness.

Lory’s breath hitched. His voice, soft but firm, cut through the images. "True happiness is not a possession. It’s not something that can be weighed or measured. It is powerful beyond comprehension. That’s why I seek it."

The realisation settled over her like a dawn breaking after a long night. At that moment, Lory understood.  The Smile Collector couldn't fulfil his wish. True happiness cannot be stolen, but it can be shared.

Lory exhaled, hands on her hips. “Oh my god! You-you’re just a ghost with FOMO (fear of missing out)!”

He tilted his head, confused. “A what?”

She sighed. "Dude, you could’ve saved yourself centuries of work by just… getting therapy."

Then, before she could second-guess herself, she stepped forward and hugged him.

His body went rigid. Stiff as a board.

"...Excuse me?"

Lory smirked. "Hey, do you know why ghosts are so bad at lying?"

A long pause. He did not move. "...Why?"

"Because you can see right through them."

The snort was immediate.

They both stood frozen, staring at each other, wide-eyed. The snort was his, not hers.

And then—laughter.

 His laugh was deep, loud and unrestrained.  He laughed like an old grandpa finally remembering what joy felt like.

The shadows around him wavered. His form flickered. Pieces of him—smoke, mist, whispers—began to drift away.

Lory’s chest tightened. He looked at her, softer now.  "Clever," he said again. His voice was almost fond. "Thank you… for letting me feel it."

His form dissolved, scattering like dandelion seeds in the wind.

And just like that,

Lory stood there, staring at the empty space he left behind. Then, she felt it. A warmth grew in her chest, and she touched her face.

She was smiling.

And this time, it reached her eyes.