That morning, on my way out to the university, I found the landlord at the gate. A small suitcase stood beside him while he waited for a taxi. He greeted me with the same calm smile as always.
"Going on a trip?" I asked, adjusting the strap of my backpack."Something quick," he replied, tapping lightly on the suitcase. "I'll be back tomorrow afternoon. Family matters."
Before I could wish him safe travels, he added:
"If you need anything, ask my son. He's at home."
I nodded without commenting. It was curious: I had been hearing about this son for days, yet he seemed more like a shadow than a real person.
Classes went by quickly. A professor canceled the seminar, and I left earlier than expected. Excited about the unexpected free time, I planned to drop off my backpack, grab a snack, and take a walk around the neighborhood.
The apartment was silent. I dropped my notebooks on the table, ate some fruit, and left without hurrying. The streets smelled of freshly baked bread, children played in the fading daylight, neighbors closed their gates. I walked until evening settled in, letting every detail of the place root itself in me.
When I returned, the sky was already dark, windows glowing against the empty street. I decided to shower before opening my books. I turned on some music on my phone and let the warm water run.
That's when it happened.
A sharp crack, followed by a flash. The shower sparked and the light went out. Everything was swallowed by darkness. The scream escaped before I could hold it back.
Loud knocks rattled the door. A male voice, urgent:
"What happened?"
My stomach dropped. It was him. The landlord's son.
"The shower…" I stammered. "It sparked… the lights went out."
"Open the door. Now."
I hurriedly wrapped myself in a towel and opened the door slowly.
The shock wasn't from electricity—it was from recognition.
There, in the dark corridor, stood the face I had already seen at the university. The cold gaze of the boy from the rumors. The same one who had grabbed my arm before the coffee could burn me.
And at the same time, the invisible son of the landlord—the one I'd watched from a distance, coming home late at night through the gate.
They were the same person. They had always been.
He entered the bathroom without asking, pushing me gently aside as he flipped the main breaker.
"You could have been electrocuted," he said, his voice low but harsh.
The house was plunged into darkness. The music on my phone still played, oddly alive in the silence.
He breathed heavily, and the only other sound was the water dripping from the shut-off shower.
I leaned against the corridor wall, frozen, clutching the towel like armor.
When he left, he closed the door behind him. Passing by without stopping, he let out a short command:
"Don't touch anything until I finish checking."
I obeyed, still speechless. I ran to my room, threw on a loose shirt and sweatpants, and only then sat on the edge of the bed, trying to steady my heart.
He returned a few minutes later, the beam of his phone's flashlight cutting through the dark.
"I shut off the main breaker. I won't turn it back on until the shower is replaced," he said firmly. "It's dangerous. If you try to use anything now, it could short again."
I nodded, unable to form a reply.
As he was about to leave, words slipped out of me:
"Could you… stay for a bit? Just until I calm down."
He sighed but pulled a chair closer, sitting by the door, arms crossed.
"Only for a few minutes."
Time dragged slowly. The drip of water in the bathroom, the distant sounds of the street, and his presence filling the silence.
"It's strange to see you home at this hour," I said, trying to sound casual.
"Strange why?"
I swallowed hard.
"I thought you were always out at night… Guess I was lucky you were here today."
He looked at me for a moment before replying:
"My father's away. I don't like leaving the house alone."
We fell silent after that. Me on the edge of the bed, him in the chair, both enveloped in the dimness.
But inside me, the revelation had already taken root.