Elle stepped off the train into the quiet hum of evening. The station lights buzzed faintly, and the air smelled faintly of rain that hadn’t yet arrived.

The streets were unusually empty. The neon signs blinked half-heartedly in the misty air, and her footsteps echoed on the pavement. She passed the corner bakery that always smelled like warm sugar, though tonight the scent was faint, as if it too had grown tired. Elle’s apartment was only a few blocks away, a nondescript building with chipped paint and a flickering lobby light. She liked its anonymity; it asked nothing of her.

When she reached her door, she felt her chest tighten—something was off. The doormat was slightly crooked, and the air carried a tension she couldn’t explain. She slid her key into the lock and turned it slowly, her breath catching as the door creaked open.

The apartment was dark, save for the soft glow of a lamp she hadn’t left on. She paused, her hand still on the doorknob. The air inside felt heavy.

“Hello?” Her voice sounded foreign in the silence, swallowed by the stillness of the room.

She stepped inside, her eyes scanning the familiar contours of the space. The bookshelves, the small table by the window, the half-empty mug of tea she’d abandoned that morning—everything was as it should be. And yet, the feeling persisted.

Then she saw him.

A man was sitting in her armchair, his silhouette etched sharply against the warm light of the lamp. He was dressed simply, in a dark jacket and slacks, his hands resting casually on his knees. His face was calm, almost serene, as if he belonged there.

Elle’s breath caught in her throat. She didn’t move, didn’t speak. Her mind scrambled to make sense of the scene, to reconcile the impossible with the ordinary.

The man turned his head slowly, meeting her gaze. His eyes were dark, unreadable, yet strangely familiar. A faint smile played at the corner of his lips, the kind that hinted at secrets he wasn’t ready to share.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said, his voice low and steady.