Every night, she would lean against her window, listening to the sorrowful music rising from the apartment below. The piano melodies pierced the silence and filled her heart with something mysterious—a blend of warmth and unease. She didn’t know who was playing, but it felt as though those melodies were threads connecting her to something deeper than just music.

One day, as she was returning from the store, she ran into one of the neighbors—a quiet man who smiled at her and said: “You always seem lost in thought by the window… are you waiting for someone?” She chuckled softly and replied, “No... I’m just listening.”

The following night, the music stopped. A heavy, unfamiliar silence settled in. Then the news hit like a cold slap: one of the men in the building had been found dead under mysterious circumstances. It was him... the very man she had spoken to.

Days passed, and she remained unaware that the one who had been playing those gentle melodies wasn’t some secret admirer, but her false lover—someone who had woven a tender illusion around her to hide the screams he tried to silence. His music wasn’t love—it was a veil, masking the cries of the men he tortured... simply for daring to speak to her.