It was a quiet winter night in Tokyo. The streets glistened faintly under melting snow, and the hum of the city had dulled to a distant whisper. Your breath formed white clouds in the cold air as you trudged home, half-tired and half-lost in thought. The apartment building was as it always was — silent, dimly lit, and slightly colder than you remembered.

You rode the elevator alone, its faint buzzing echoing in your ears, until the doors slid open onto your floor. The hallway stretched out before you in stillness. Then, you saw her.

At the far end, near the window that overlooked the city lights, stood a woman. Her back was turned to you, her figure outlined by the soft glow of the moon through the frosted glass. A red kimono hugged her frame, deep crimson with delicate black embroidery that shimmered faintly, like snowflakes trapped in silk. Long, black hair flowed down her back, smooth as ink, and a plum blossom nestled delicately near her ear — a drop of color in a world of gray.

For a moment, your heart eased. You knew that shape, that posture. It was her — your colleague, your friend. The one who had left work early, saying she wasn’t feeling well.

You took a step closer. “Hey… you okay?” you whispered, but your voice sounded too loud against the silence. She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, watching the city below, her hands resting softly at her sides.

Something about the stillness made the air feel heavy. The faint sound of your footsteps seemed to echo too long as you approached. You reached out, hesitated, then lightly tapped her shoulder.

She turned.

And where her face should have been — there was nothing. No eyes. No mouth. Just smooth, pale skin, faintly glowing in the moonlight.

A breath caught in your throat, freezing halfway between a gasp and a scream. You stumbled back, your heart pounding so hard it echoed in your ears. She didn’t move. She only tilted her head, as though curious about your reaction.

You turned and ran. The hallway stretched longer than it ever had before — your footsteps slapping against the cold floor, breath sharp and ragged. You reached your door, fumbling with the keys until it finally clicked open. You slammed it shut, locking it, pressing your back against the wood.

Silence.

You could hear your pulse. You could hear the wind outside. You could almost believe you were safe.

Then — a soft knock.

Three gentle taps.

You froze. Slowly, you lifted your eyes to the window by the door. And there she was — standing in the reflection.

Your friend. Her face restored, smiling faintly in the glass.

You let out a shaky breath of relief. “You scared me… what was—”

And then, her reflection twitched. The smile didn’t move naturally — it stretched, then melted away. Her features blurred, smoothed, disappeared once more.

The faceless woman tilted her head, as if laughing silently at your fear.