Moving In
The apartment was on the seventh floor—high enough to see the city glitter at night, but low enough to still hear the never-ending honking of traffic.
Fatih carried the last box up the emergency stairs. The elevator was broken. Again. His shirt clung to his sweat-soaked skin, hair messy, and his expression… far from the tough detective look you'd see in movies. He slumped against the corridor wall, taking a long breath.
"First time living alone again," he murmured softly.
The apartment was small, but enough. One bedroom, a tiny kitchen, and a large window facing west. An old building, but still livable. The previous tenant had left suddenly, leaving behind some furniture. According to the leasing agent, the electric kettle was still warm when they found it. Strange—but Fatih didn't care. He'd lived in far worse places.
As he unpacked the box, his hand brushed against his mother's locket. This time, it was truly stored safely—not mysteriously moving around like in his strange dreams. He stared at it for a moment before tucking it under his shirt.
The doorbell rang. Three quick chimes.
Fatih frowned. He hadn't met anyone around here yet.
When he opened the door, a girl stood on the threshold. Her hair was tied loosely, her eyes bright, and in her hand was a glass of mango juice.
"Welcome, New Neighbor!" she said cheerfully. "I'm Keyla, from next door. You look like you could use some vitamins."
Fatih raised an eyebrow. "Vitamins?"
"Your face looks like you just fought with a rusty fridge," she said, handing him the glass.
Fatih accepted it slowly. "Thanks. I'm Fatih."
"Such a weighty name," Keyla commented as she stepped in uninvited. "Fatih. The opener. Sounds like someone who opens... doors to the past?"
Fatih turned quickly. "What do you mean?"
Keyla laughed. "Kidding. I'm a psych major. I overanalyze people for fun."
She wandered around the room, eyeing the sparse furniture. Her gaze lingered on a dusty table.
"Don't you think this place feels... off?" she asked suddenly.
Fatih paused. "Off how?"
Keyla shrugged. "Sometimes I feel like someone's watching from the window. And sometimes I wake up at night feeling deeply sad for no reason. But maybe that's just a broke student's overthinking."
Fatih gave a faint smile. He wasn't ready to tell her about the locket that moved on its own. Or the dream about the old house and the faceless shadow.
Not yet.
"Anyway," Keyla said, raising two fingers in a mock salute, "if you ever need anything—noodles, water jugs, or someone to dump your emotional baggage on—I'm next door. Just don't come by at midnight. I turn into a starving monster."
"Noted," Fatih replied, smiling for the first time that day.
Keyla waved as she walked backward toward the door.
"Good luck rebuilding your life, Mr. Detective."
Fatih froze.
He never told her he was a detective.
The door closed before he could ask.