Mara didn't sleep that night. Not really.She drifted in and out of half-dreams where Elias's voice threaded through the hum of rain, each syllable dissolving before she could answer. When she woke, the ceiling above her looked blurred, as if the night had pressed its fingerprints into the plaster.
Her body felt heavy, but her pulse betrayed her — restless, uneven.She'd spent hours lying there, watching the city breathe through her window, thinking of how close they'd come.How his hand had almost found hers in the dark.How she'd leaned in just a little too long.
But that wasn't what kept her awake.It was the sense that something in the air had shifted, like a door quietly opening somewhere she couldn't see.
By the time she sat up, dawn had already smudged its light across the curtains — thin and colorless. The air was stale, metallic. She pushed open a window, letting the coolness of morning spill in, but it didn't help. It still felt like someone else had breathed the air before her.
She moved through her small apartment on autopilot. Coffee. Shower. Loose bun. Lip balm instead of lipstick. Her reflection in the mirror was pale and calm, almost detached. She whispered, You're fine. You're fine.The mirror didn't buy it.
Down on the street, the city was slick from last night's rain. Cars hissed along the asphalt. Steam rose from a manhole cover, curling around her ankles as she walked. There was a hush in the world — not peace, exactly, but the kind of silence that follows a confession you can't take back.
She bought her usual coffee from the corner café, even though her stomach felt like glass. She sat by the wide window facing the street, the same spot she always chose. From there she could see her own reflection in the glass, ghost-faint and overlaid on the faces of strangers passing by.
That was when she noticed him.
A man in a dark coat across the street, half-hidden under an awning.He wasn't doing anything. Just standing there, his posture too still for the chaos of morning. His head tilted slightly — not enough to be obvious, but enough to make her wonder if his eyes were on her.
She told herself not to look again.Told herself it was nothing.
When she did glance back, he was gone.
Her chest tightened. She stared into her coffee, pretending to be absorbed by the swirl of cream breaking across the surface. Her phone sat face-down on the table beside her, a silent, rectangular reminder that Elias hadn't called.
The day dragged her forward anyway.By the time she reached the subway, the air had thickened with humidity and perfume. She stood wedged between strangers, the motion of the train making her sway. Every time someone brushed past, her skin jumped like she'd been touched by static.
At work, she drowned herself in the glow of her screen. Rows of numbers. Emails. Small talk that didn't stick. Her coworkers' laughter bounced off the glass walls like something mechanical. She smiled when required, but her hands trembled slightly each time her phone buzzed — always some app, never him.
No message from Elias.Not even a fragment of apology or caution.
Maybe he was pretending last night hadn't happened. Maybe he wanted to erase it before it became something real.
Or maybe someone else already knew.
By late afternoon, the sunlight turned sharp and gold, slicing through the tall windows of the office. The city outside looked both magnificent and cruel — the kind of beauty that dared you to survive it. Mara packed her things slowly, her pulse a dull drum in her throat.
When she stepped onto the street, the light burned her eyes.A car idled a few meters down, engine humming low. Same make. Same shade of gray as the one she'd seen near the café that morning.
Coincidence, she told herself. Cities were full of gray cars.
Still, she crossed to the opposite side.The back of her neck prickled, a crawling awareness she couldn't shake. She didn't look back until she reached the next block — and by then, the car was gone.
Her building loomed ahead, its bricks stained dark by the rain. The street was quiet, almost too quiet. She climbed the stairs with her key already in hand, heartbeat syncing with each step.
When she reached her door, she hesitated.Something white peeked from under the mat.
A plain envelope. No name. No stamp. Just paper, slightly damp at the edges.
She bent to pick it up, the world narrowing to the sound of her own breath. The faint scent of rain clung to it — and something else, something faintly chemical, like developed film.
Mara stood there for a long moment, staring at the envelope as the hallway light flickered above her, the bulb humming in a rhythm that matched her pulse.
Then she turned the key, stepped inside, and shut the door — the envelope still cold in her hand.