An Accidental Encounter
Fatih sat on a bench in a small park near the police station. The rain had stopped, leaving behind damp air and sticky ground. He held a warm cup of coffee in one hand, and in the other, a photo of the latest victim from the case file he had just reviewed.
A woman. Early twenties. An ordinary face, but her eyes looked empty—even in the photo. Missing for three days now.
What was strange: this was the seventh case in the last two months, all within a 5-kilometer radius of his apartment.
All the victims disappeared at night. And all of them, according to their families, had complained about strange dreams before vanishing.
Fatih glanced at his phone. The CCTV footage from his apartment corridor showed the silhouette of someone standing in front of his door the night the locket moved on its own. But the figure was too dark to recognize. Even the face seemed... missing.
"You still like brooding in the cold air?"
A familiar voice spoke from behind.
Fatih turned. Natasha stood there—black leather jacket, hair tied tightly, expression sharp as usual. But this time, her eyes carried unease.
"Natasha," Fatih murmured.
"I'm investigating a missing persons case that's... a little off," she said, sitting beside him. "And as always, everything seems to lead back to you."
Fatih smirked slightly. "Am I the prime suspect now?"
"Not you. But something close to you."
Natasha handed him a digital tablet showing a list of names, a map, and handwritten notes. One name was circled: Keyla Nathania.
Fatih froze. "Why is Keyla's name on here?"
"She's either a target. Or bait. I'm not sure yet." Natasha looked at him closely. "Do you know who she really is?"
Fatih shook his head—but hesitated.
"She was admitted to a psychiatric hospital as a teenager," Natasha continued. "The records are sealed. But I know the reported symptoms: she once claimed she could feel other people's thoughts. As if they were speaking directly inside her head."
Fatih's breath caught.
Natasha leaned in. "And there's more. In every missing person case, one name shows up in witness accounts. A young woman. Long black hair. Blank stare. Sometimes there, sometimes gone. One witness swore the woman appeared... in a dream, before the incident."
Fatih remembered the night Keyla stood at his door—knowing about his job without ever being told.
"I don't know exactly who Keyla is," he said softly, "but I know she's not a criminal."
"Maybe not a criminal," Natasha replied flatly. "But maybe... a doorway."
"A doorway?"
"Between our world... and something trying to come in."
---
Meanwhile, Keyla sat on her bed, staring at her hands.
There was a small scar on her wrist—she didn't remember when it appeared. But every time she closed her eyes now, she could feel a fear that wasn't hers. A sorrow that came from someone she didn't know.
And when she opened her eyes again, sometimes... she wasn't sure where she was.
Sometimes, the world around her shifted—tables turned old and dusty, lamps hung like they were from another century, and crying echoed from inside the walls.
Keyla rubbed her face. She wrote a single line in her dream journal:
> "If I can enter someone's mind… can they enter mine?"
---
That night, Fatih returned with a grim expression.
"Keyla," he said when they met in the hallway, "we need to talk."
Keyla looked at him. "Me too."
They stared at each other in silence.
Between them, the locket around Fatih's neck felt heavier. As if reacting to something drawing near.
And far beyond the seventh-floor apartment window, a silhouette stood motionless on the rooftop across the street.
Faceless.
Only two pitch-black eyes, watching.