Setting: A cozy café in Bergen, Norway. It’s raining gently outside, and the two friends—Lina, a warm-hearted but superstitious nurse, and Erik, a rational software engineer—are sipping coffee by the window.
Lina: (wide-eyed, whispering) Erik… you won’t believe what happened this morning. I accidentally knocked over the mirror in the hallway. Shattered. Into a thousand pieces.
Erik: Oh no, did you cut yourself?
Lina: No, no. Worse. Seven years of bad luck, Erik. Seven. It’s a cosmic curse! I’ve already started feeling it—I spilled my coffee right after, missed the bus, and guess what? I bit my tongue at lunch!
Erik: Lina, you’re more likely to be cursed by drinking too much of this café’s bitter coffee than by some old mirror myth.
Lina: (ignoring the jab) Don’t joke! You know what they say—breaking a mirror breaks your soul’s reflection. That’s not something you can just laugh off. My grandma told me a story about her cousin who broke a mirror and then lost her job, her fiancé, and her cat ran away all in the same year!
Erik: That sounds more like a bad plot in a soap opera than evidence of mirror magic. Honestly, it’s just a coincidence. I’ve broken two mirrors in my life. If the legend were true, I’d be on year 14 of misfortune by now.
Lina: Wait. That explains your dating life!
Erik: Ouch. I walked right into that one.
Lina: But really, Erik—why would so many cultures have the same belief if there’s no truth to it?
Erik: Because humans are pattern-seeking creatures. We like stories. The whole “seven years” thing probably came from the Romans—they believed life renewed every seven years. Add a little mirror mythology and boom, you’ve got a superstition stew.
Lina: So you’re saying it’s all made up?
Erik: More like misunderstood. Back then, mirrors were rare and expensive. Breaking one was a huge deal financially. So maybe they scared people into being careful by saying, “If you break it, you’ll suffer for years.” Practical, not paranormal.
Lina: Hmm. So like how we tell kids if they don’t eat their broccoli, the troll under the bridge will come for them?
Erik: Exactly. Fear as a teaching tool. But you’re an adult, Lina. You can handle broken mirrors and broccoli.
Lina: But it still feels real, Erik. I mean, bad things do seem to follow these little omens. My aunt swears that every time she forgets to toss salt over her shoulder, someone in the family gets sick.
Erik: Or maybe people just remember the hits and forget the misses. It’s confirmation bias. Like when you think of someone and they text you—suddenly it’s “telepathy,” but you forget the hundred times you thought of them and nothing happened.
Lina: That’s true… I do forget a lot. Like where I put my keys. Or my logic.
Erik: Hey, we’ve all got quirks. I still knock on wood sometimes, but it’s more for fun than fear. Rituals can be comforting—as long as they don’t control you.
Lina: So you’re not saying I have to stop believing… just maybe not let it rule my life?
Erik: Exactly. If you broke a mirror, clean it up, get a new one, and maybe treat yourself to a cinnamon bun. It’s Norway. We’re practically powered by baked goods and optimism.
Lina: Fine. But if I get hit by a rogue seagull tomorrow, I’m blaming you and your science.
Erik: Deal. But if nothing happens for the next seven years, I want full credit.
Lina: Deal. And maybe I’ll keep a tiny mirror in my bag… just in case.
[They clink coffee mugs. Outside, a glimmer of sunlight breaks through the clouds — reflected in the café window.]
Science Vs Superstition 
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