Office Memo

He moved toward her.

But who drew the curtain?

Some say there is an exit at the end of the spiral.

If there is one—was it his?

Or hers?

GOING DOWN

He never liked smoking. He only liked the smoke—coiling, hovering, just above him, a downpour held in suspension.

He loved that suspension.

She never liked heels. She only liked the sound they made on the floor—tap, tap, tap.

Like the way her heartbeat quickened whenever she passed his desk.

She loved that quickening.

He liked getting to the office early, making himself a cup of coffee. He would lean back against the wall.

From there, she was in his line of sight—head bowed, lost in thought.

The monitor hid the other half of her face—what shape it might take.

She liked finishing lunch early, returning to the office—those few minutes belonged to her.

No one else was there.

From the coat rack nearby, she could catch his clean scent.

Sometimes, another scent hung there too. Sweet, heavy. The same perfume every time.

But today—it was her own.

Hey, we need to review the project status for Michael. Deadline’s coming up. Are you free this afternoon? 🙂

She hesitated half a second, deleted the emoji.

Sent.

12:55 P.M.

He saw her message. The office noise around him faded into the background.

Sounds good. 5 P.M.? The meeting room near Marketing is free.

A dull thud.

“Hm. Left it in too long.”

He walked to the microwave and cleaned up the spill.

Everything seemed the same.

4:58 P.M.

She stood, walked past him. He didn’t look up, only his throat moved slightly.

5:01 P.M.

The door clicked open. Her keys stopped clattering.

She looked up. A small smile.

He hadn’t brought his laptop. So, he sat beside her.

“Product description doc’s finalized?”

“Yeah. Michael just signed.”

“What about the tech specs?”

“Checked. All good.”

“Test report?”

“Signed.”

He heard her breathing—a little too fast. He leaned in—to read her screen.

She felt him approach.

That clean scent.

And underneath it—the old perfume.

It didn’t matter anymore.

“What’s next?”

She blinked, lifted her eyes from the screen—and met his.

A tremor in her lashes, amber in her eyes.

Red lips. Warm breath—sweet.

Familiar—until it wasn’t.

They closed their eyes. The hallway outside was quiet.

Too quiet.

They had to open their eyes again.

Bright office lights. Cursors blinking on screens.

Benchmark. Supplier. Font size 12.

The taste of his coffee on her lips.

Pitch. 03/2030. Venue TBD.

Her perfume on his palm.

Website update. Product info incorrect.

People were leaving, saying goodbye to her. Nothing in their voices gave anything away.

Word. PDF. Saved.

Her finger brushed the mouse. Smooth—like his skin.

Sent.

Finally, she looked toward him.

Empty chair, locked screen.

Tap, tap—

Heels on the floor suddenly stopped.

Then—no pause this time.

Tap, tap, tap, tap...

The elevator opened.

Black shoes, motionless. Heels stepped in, turned, and rested beside them.

The doors closed.

“Going down,” the speaker murmured—quiet as a spark in the dark.

BUZZ

“You’re not answering?”

Bzz—

She looked at him in the driver’s seat. The vibrating phone made the coins rattle.

“It’s fine. I’ll call her back later. She won’t say anything.”

Bzz—

She lowered the passenger window. Smoke slipped from her lips and rose straight out into the air.

The window caught the blue elevator sign. The elevator they had just left.

Bzz—Bzz—

The other her wasn’t stepping off.

So, he gently took the cigarette from her fingers, pressed his lips to the lipstick mark she left, and drew in deep.

The tip flared, hissing in the quiet. A thin layer of white haze filled the car.

The elevator dissolved.

When the haze at last cleared—a plate of salmon tartare sat in front of her.

Red, lush.

Dim restaurant lights. Guests sat in scattered pairs. Somewhere, faintly, Eric Clapton’s Autumn Leaves.

“Try this.”

He added a touch of mayo to her plate.

Soft fish. Silky fat. With sauce melting on her tongue.

The foie gras in front of him. Grey and white. The balsamic ink spreading wide.

Thick and dense. He never forgot its taste.

“The baked cod with lime sauce—for the lady. And the grilled tenderloin with black truffle.

Will you be staying for dessert this evening?”

Bzz—Bzz—

His phone again. A spell, a whisper.

“No, thanks. I probably won’t have room after the entrée.”

She smiled. Polite?

Hard to tell.

***

He got to the office early again.

The coffee machine hummed beside him. He leaned against the wall.

From there, she was in his line of sight—the monitor covered the other half of her face, and still her gaze reached him, slightly lost.

“Two coffees today?”

“Yeah. Meeting with Michael later—I figured I’d bring him one.”

He turned to the coworker who’d appeared. The smile arrived before he did.

“Look at you. Model employee.”

The coworker lifted the cup toward him.

When the coworker left, he passed by her desk, returned to his own. She caught a scent—warm.

A cup of coffee was on her desk.

“Thanks.”

“Got home late yesterday?”

“Not really.”

“I could drive you next time.”

“No need. Plenty of coworkers live nearby.”

“Just like friends. Why worry about what others might say?”

“And if we’re not.”

“Hey! You two are early today!”

A coworker walked in. The moment slipped away.

Maybe for him. Maybe for her.

It was never a question anyway.

Maybe this was fine as it was.

So, in the days afterward, he still arrived early. She still finished lunch early.

Only—

his clean scent was no longer a noon-only privilege.

Should I get sushi from the same place for lunch?

I don’t know. Ever since Amanda in Marketing saw us in that room, she’s been asking stuff.

Didn’t we say we were on deadline and had to go over things at lunch?

Yeah. You know Marketing.

You’re overthinking. It’s just lunch.

And if she sees something? Anyway—no more lunches together.

He glanced at her desk—the lip balm he bought her that night was still there.

What about a movie tonight?

Her typing grew faster, keys clattering.

63 minutes later:

Tired today. Another time.

He still came in early. Still made coffee for two.

He leaned against the wall, her spot directly in his line of sight.

Three days passed. She did not appear.

“She’s out sick. Flu, I think.”

“Damn. Amanda told me she saw you two having lunch—hope you didn’t catch it.”

“It was like ten minutes. You know I usually come out fine.”

He smiled, returned to his desk.

Maybe rumors burn out on their own.

Feeling better?

2:21 A.M.

His phone lit up.

Much better. Glad it didn’t get to you.

 

ILLUSION

She liked finishing lunch early, returning to the office.

But those few minutes that belonged to her—held no appeal.

As if she had lost her sense of smell. Couldn’t smell that clean scent anymore.

Maybe the aftereffects of the flu. Better to stay and chat a little longer.

“Are you listening to his new song too? I’ve had it on loop all day.”

“That one, Illusion? Yeah, it’s catchy.”

“Right? My boyfriend’s taking me to his unplugged show next week. Really small venue.”

She smiled, asked this and that. As if interested.

This way, she didn’t have to look his way.

“You catch the game last night?”

“Yeah. 3-0 at halftime, then four straight the other way. Just insane.”

“Don’t even. My girlfriend goes, ‘It’s already 3-0, what’s the point?’ and just flips to her reality show. I missed the whole second half...so sometimes I think long-distance like yours might actually be easier.”

He gave a small laugh. His eyes drifted to where she’d been sitting a moment ago.

She was gone.

Are you free after work? I want to take you somewhere.

He sent the message, looked out the window.

Clouded sky. Rain in thirty minutes, the forecast said.

37 minutes later, his phone finally buzzed.

I have to work late tonight.

He stood. The chair scraped the floor softly.

Outside the building, he lit a cigarette. Smoke spread into the drizzle.

Tap...tap...tap...

Not her heels—just time itself, disguised in drizzle.

Bzz—

He took out his phone. Bowed his head, reading the message.

Smoke slipped out—with his smile slowly unfolding.

The afternoon stretched longer than usual.

She finally closed her laptop, stood, bag in hand.

“Leaving early today?”

“Yeah. Specialist appointment. Need to hurry.”

Tap tap tap tap...

He listened to her heels leave the office, enter the elevator.

26 minutes later.

He packed his bag. Coat in hand.

“You guys all heading out earlier than usual today?”

“Michael’s not here. Don’t you want to get home sooner?”

He grabbed his keys. Left the office. Entered the elevator.

Then, he saw the shadowed parking garage. The EXIT sign glowed green at the far end.

Tap...tap...tap tap tap.

Her heels stopped in front of him. Close enough that she could smell that clean scent again.

In the low light, he could still see her red lips.

“Where to?”

5:17 P.M.

The car stopped in front of a place called Fate Music. Through the window: electric guitars, acoustic guitars, basses—pale spruce, red mahogany, streaked rosewood.

Instruments glimmered under the warm light.

“So, this is the place.”

“I figured—here, you won’t have to worry about running into coworkers.”

He pushed the door open. Turned slightly, a small smile.

“I’m looking after this place for a friend. Let’s go to the practice room.”

She followed him into the room—two chairs, dozens of guitars on the wall.

“Do you know how to sing Illusion?”

“Me? I can hum along, I guess.”

He took off his coat, walked slowly along the wall of guitars.

“Hum a bit. I’ll see which guitar matches your voice.”

So she hummed the chorus. He stilled for a moment.

Familiar—until it wasn’t.

“I probably sounded awful.”

“No. Your voice—I like it.”

He took a guitar from the wall, fingers brushing lightly across the strings.

Bright tone, wet at the edge.

“Yeah, it suits your voice.”

He sat across from her. His fingers wandered over the frets. Back and forth.

She hesitated—then let her humming rise and fall with his right hand.

Her voice and his guitar—finally aligned.

He stopped playing. She stopped humming.

“I can teach you.”

“It looks hard.”

He placed the guitar in her hands and stood beside her.

“It’s not that hard. Soon, we’ll write songs together.”

He lowered his gaze to her.

Flushed cheeks, wet eyes.

Her breath caught. His hands remained over hers.

“It’s getting late. We have work tomorrow.”

“I’ll drive you home.”

ASYLUM

He got to the office early, making himself a cup of coffee. He leaned back against the wall.

From there, her spot was in his line of sight—

“The chord progression you mentioned last time... I want to try it tonight.”

He saw her beside him.

“Your fingers don’t hurt anymore?”

“I’m alright. I’ve already got calluses.”

“So...I’ll go first this time?”

7:21 P.M.

He stood alone at the hotel entrance, head bowed. Above him, the dim sign: ASYLUM. After a long while, he checked his phone again—no new messages from her.

Yet he opened his messages anyway.

5:32 P.M,

Michael pulled me into some last-minute networking. Can’t get out of it. Tonight’s plan’s canceled.

5:42 P.M.

Michael, I have an important report due tomorrow. Are you still in the office? Need your signature.

Already left for the networking event.

If you’re not far, I can bring it over.

It’s at Asylum. Pretty far. Let’s sign tomorrow.

He placed a cigarette between his lips and searched for the lighter.

Click.

The weak spark didn’t light the cigarette.

Click...click.

The traffic ahead blurred—lights dragging into long white smears.

Click click click,

The revolving door behind him felt ready to consume him.

Click click click click click—

“Sir, smoking isn’t allowed here. There’s a smoking area over there.”

A staff member smiled and walked away. Across the room, she cut into his vision. The hall lights pulsed in and out.

Red lips. Sweet scent.

He checked the time. It was...maybe 8:00 P.M.

She noticed a familiar figure in the distance. Picked up her glass. Paused. Then stepped.

“Hi.”

Dark red shirt. Loose, uneven hair.

The sudden appearance of the man startled her—a little red wine dotted the carpet.

“I saw you arrive with Michael. I’ve worked with your company for a long time.”

The man smiled, extending his hand. The dark blue gleam of his watch flickered in the light.

“Just call me Jason.”

She smiled back, shook his hand, and glanced toward where that figure had stood.

He was gone.

Only crowds drifting in and out like background noise. So she stayed and talked with Jason for a while.

“It’s getting late. I still need to talk to a few partners. If you want, you can head back first.”

Michael shook Jason’s hand and left.

Jason drained the last of his sparkling water. Set the glass down. Ice against glass—a crisp sound.

She checked her phone.

9:55 P.M.

Still no message from him.

“Do you want a ride?”

“No, thanks. I’ll call a cab.”

Jason lowered his head slightly, palm extended forward.

“Just keep in touch.”

At the hotel entrance, she opened his chat more than once, but her thumb kept drifting back to the app instead.

No driver accepted. Almost as if the world was mocking her. But then, a black car stopped in front of her.

“Still no ride?”

Jason lowered the window, leaned over, and opened the passenger door.

“Come on. Get in.”

She could almost smell that clean scent. Turned back. No one was there.

Asylums for the Feeling played quietly in the car.

Jason kept driving. The night road blurred, pulling her home.

She glanced at the rearview mirror. Her own dazed eyes looked back.

“You seem tired. Michael’s pushing deadlines too hard?”

“No... I just didn’t expect the networking today.”

“You don’t like it?”

She gave a wordless laugh and turned to the window.

The headlights behind were too bright. She frowned a little.

Jason slowed and eased the car over to the right.

“...let them pass.”

The car behind drifted back instead. The glare faded out into the dark.

Jason pressed the gas. The car moved toward what was already decided.

Outside the window, scenery dissolved into streaks, rushing backward. Finally—the light she called home came into view.

“You live in a nice neighborhood.”

“Yeah...a few coworkers live nearby too. Really—thank you for today, Jason. Otherwise, I don’t know when I would’ve gotten home.”

“Of course. Gotta take care of the VIPs. Get some rest. Coffee sometime?”

“Sure. My treat.”

She entered her home. The air was stale. She walked to the balcony and drew in a deep breath of the night.

11:11 PM

Still no message from him.

She looked up. Jason’s tail lights were already gone.

The networking and the drive had worn Jason out.

Maybe it was home ahead. Maybe it was running into her. Jason shook his head and smiled.

He parked in front of his house and killed the engine. Looked around. The neighborhood was silent.

The world seemed to hold only him.

Jason got out of the car. Footsteps approached behind him.

Slow, measured.

“Excuse me. I think I’m a bit lost.”

Jason turned. A man stood there, smiling—softly.

Thud.

Tomato juice spread across his shirt. He put down the knife and picked up a wet towel to wipe. But the red stayed—like a brand.

No matter how he rubbed, it wouldn’t come off.

He shook his head, returned to the cutting board.

Slice.

The tomato split clean in half.

Slice.

The banquet hall—

her back to him—

a slow slide of another man’s hand on her body.

Slice, slice.

They kissed in the corner, fevered, as if no one else existed.

The man opened his eyes. Looked at him, mocking.

Slice slice slice.

A car beneath her building. They lingered in the car for a long time.

The slight rocking of the car—his stomach turned.

Slice—thud.

A piece of tomato flew and hit the floor. He bent to pick it up—and saw sand. He wiped it clean. Then aligned the cutting board to the edge of the counter.

He smiled.

REVERB

She liked finishing lunch early, returning to the office.

Those few minutes belonged to them—with no one else around.

His clean scent was beside her. The extra coffee on the desk had become something he gave her every afternoon.

And neither of them mentioned the music store anymore.

Sometimes, the scratch of his pen—almost the sound of fingers on guitar strings.

As if a gaze were there again.

Bzz—Bzz—

“Hello.”

Tap tap tap tap—click

First her heels. Then the booth door.

Through the glass, he saw—pale knuckles, tight fists.

The fabric at her wrist quivered.

She finally hung up and looked toward him.

Red eyes, trembling lips.

His reflection on the glass–on her side of the booth.

***

“What's your relationship with the deceased?”

The detective tapped Jason’s photo with his finger.

Dark red shirt. Loose, uneven hair.

She saw Jason waving to her from the café—

the dark blue gleam of his watch.

“We didn’t know each other before that night.”

“You were with him for... how long, that night?”

“About three hours.”

“In those three hours, anything unusual about him?”

“...No. Everything felt normal. We only talked about work.”

“Just work...no personal talk at all?”

She shook her head.

The recording light blinked—too bright.

“Let me put it another way. Does he strike you as someone who’d take his own life?”

Tap.

Again on the photo.

“...He was kind. Warm. Thoughtful.”

“Warm. Thoughtful. Not exactly your typical suicide profile.”

The detective placed another photo.

Jason’s car door open, facing the sea. Wallet and keys on the dashboard.

Gulls circling far off.

“All preliminary signs suggest suicide.”

Another photo.

Several footprints leading into the waves.

“But something feels...off.”

More photos.

His home was clean.

A bookmark halfway through a thick book. Fridge full of eggs, meat, sugar-free cola, low-fat cheese.

“We found a note in his bedroom.”

Printed. Precise. Emotionless.

“...the weight of work, the emptiness of living, the hypocrisy of people...”

The detective studied her face.

“That’s all for today. Thank you.”

Tap, tap—

In the lobby, he heard her heels. She saw his figure clearly now.

She quickened her pace toward him. When she reached him, she leaned a bit into his arm.

Barely visible to anyone.

He saw the detective behind her.

“Hi. And you are...?”

“A coworker.”

He offered his hand first.

“You drove her here?”

“We have a trade show tonight...Is she alright?”

“For a first time, it wasn’t bad.”

She didn’t notice him smiling.

—tsss.

The ceiling light flickered. A mosquito caught in a web.

At least his clean scent was still here.

***

She still finished lunch early, returning to the office.

Those few minutes belonged to them—with no one else around.

His clean scent was beside her. The scratch of his pen—steady, close.

This afternoon’s light lay across her face—almost the brush of his hand.

Maybe Jason was just a stray sound from the wrong string. The melody would continue the way it was.

Bzz—

You have a new email from Michael.

She looked up. He wasn’t there.

...He’ll be assigned to HQ for six months. Please coordinate with him to ensure continuity of the project...

Bzz—

No new messages. Only the ringing stayed in her head.

6:42 P.M.

Hazy street lamps. Her shadow stretched long. A vein stood out along her arm. Her fingers kept rubbing over it. Leaves rustled softly under her steps.

His shadow kept pace with her.

“Why are you still following me?”

She turned—

Too loud. Not like her.

Wet lashes, trembling lips.

He placed a hand on her shoulder.

“It’s just six months at HQ.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? If Michael hadn’t emailed us today—”

“I didn’t want you upset.”

“You didn’t want me upset? What about your girlfriend? Does she know?”

She shook off his hand, then walked ahead.

Autumn air—fresh, rotting at the same time. The future no longer felt kind.

“Fine, I won’t go.”

She stopped. Turned. Eyes wet.

A faint streak of light, somewhere far off, crossed the sky.

Her breath caught—shoulders rising and falling, uneven.

“I’ll tell Michael tomorrow. I’m not leaving.”

He stepped closer. Stopped in front of her.

She leaned directly into him, her shoulders shaking silently. Her tears warmed his shirt. His hand moved slowly over her shaking back.

Warmth rising between them.

“Hey, hey. Don’t cry. I’m not going anywhere. Come on—let me drive you home.”

“I don’t want to go home tonight.”

Another leaf fell. Autumn exhaled.

KEY

She got to the office early, making herself a cup of coffee. She leaned back against the wall.

From there, in her line of sight—

his desk was still the same, only a different badge with a different face.

She finished lunch early, returning to the office. Those few minutes belonged to her alone.

His clean scent was gone.

She no longer had to hold a smile that hurt.

Every evening, she fell with the elevator—hollow.

She leaned against the wall of the parking garage and lit a cigarette. A dark cloud hung over her head.

Today, a bucket sat beside the wall. A damp, sour smell rose from the mop.

Hiss—

The tip flared as she inhaled.

Exhale—

Another cloud gathered.

Hiss—

“He resigned? So suddenly?”

Exhale—

“He’d already given up the HQ transfer, which was strange enough, and now this?”

“Beep. Beep. Beep. The person you are trying to reach is unavailable. Please try again later.”

“Beep. Beep. Beep. We’re sorry, the number you have dialed is no lon—”

She lowered her head, took out the envelope the front desk gave her earlier.

Sender: Fate Music.

Inside were a key and a piece of paper. On it, a short chord progression:

Cmaj9-Amadd9-Fmaj7/A-G7

Her chest rose and fell, her breathing growing heavy. She lifted her head.

At the end of the parking garage, the EXIT sign glowed green.

She dropped the cigarette. Slammed the car door shut. Started the engine. Pressed down the accelerator.

Driving toward the exit of this nightmare.

If nightmares had exits.

The key shook in her hand. She dug her nails into her palm, teeth clenched, eyes shut—turned it.

When she opened them again, under the cold moonlight, the apartment was just as it had been that night.

A little more dust. A little less warmth.

She walked to the bedroom doorway. Heat rose to her face.

She exhaled. Walked a few steps through the empty rooms.

Then sat at the table.

The same place where he had poured her a drink that night. But the glass was gone.

Only a photograph remained—

A man and a woman, smiling at the camera. Her arms around his neck, her face buried in his shoulder.

The woman looked a little like her.

She knew her.

“When Mom said you were trying to reach me, I...honestly, I didn't believe it at first.

It’s been years. I mean... I broke up with him forever ago. Why? You said you were working with him?”

“He...already resigned.”

Her sister’s voice came through the line, and her tears dropped—

one, two—onto the table.

“...Tell me the truth. Did something happen? This is just... too strange.”

“Nothing...”

She sniffled. Couldn’t say another word.

“I’m not trying to get involved again. I’m not going back to...to what happened last time.

I just want to say this: the longer I stayed with him, the more... scared I became.

I couldn’t even say ‘break up.’ The words just... wouldn’t come out. In the end, I had to get my friend to help me leave him. Actually, leave him.”

Her sister’s voice faded away. She stared blankly at the cold moonlight slanting across the cushions on the couch. On one of them was a deer—its chest punctured, white stuffing peeking through.

When she hung up, only the watch on the table kept ticking in the silent room.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

“...You okay?”

She blinked back into the room. The clock hung on the yellowed meeting room wall.

Maybe it was the clock. Maybe it was the ringing in her ears.

It was surrounding her.

“The project application—do you have it?”

The reflection on Michael’s glasses was too bright. She thumbed through the thick folder.

“Here.”

She tried to pull out the paper. But other pages slipped loose and scattered across the table.

“Sorry.”

She began gathering the mess.

A hand—snap.

Michael pressed down on the stack beneath her fingers.

“Are you sure you’re alright? If you need a few days—”

“I’m fine. Really.”

He looked at her the same way the detective had.

“...Alright. Then let’s continue. Their request this time is—”

Tick—Tock.

Maybe, given enough time, things would return to normal.

Before sleep, she took the bottle, shook out a few pills, swallowed them, and let herself sink into the couch.

Tick—tock.

The black second hand moved across the white clock face.

Maybe tonight she wouldn’t dream of him.

“Look here.”

He lifted the camera. A dark blue watch on his hand.

Click.

She looked down. Her hand held the photo of her sister and him.

She raised her head—the detective again, that same unblinking face. Driving beside her.

So, she tried to run. Sirens in every corner of the room. She opened her mouth to breathe—no air.

“I’ll take you home.”

Dark red shirt. Loose, uneven hair.

Jason held out his hand.

She gasped awake—skin ice-cold, as if dragged from the bottom of the sea.

In the dark, only the clock remained:

Tick—Tock.

She jumped to her feet. Tore through drawers, found the envelope again, spilled out the key.

“How...how could it...”

She grabbed her coat and ran to the freezing car. A few seconds later, she was driving back to him.

At his door, her hand trembled again. Her breath echoed down the hallway. And she clenched her jaw, turning the key.

The truth had been waiting for her. On the table: a watch.

Glowing dark blue.

Something inside her was screaming. But who could she tell? She’d be the mad one, talking about a dream.

If nightmares have no EXIT—then let it be.

EXIT

“How’ve you been sleeping this week?”

Dust drifted in the pale light of the therapist’s office.

“The new haircut suits you. Really. Being able to change is a good sign.”

The therapist noticed her staring at the lamp, and smiled.

“When was the last time you thought of him?”

Her gaze flickered. The thermometer on the table read 22°C.

“Breathe with me. Slowly. Inhale.”

Hiss—

His scent.

Exhale—

His hand over hers on the strings.

Hiss—

At the edge of his bed. His fingers on her buttons.

Exhale—

Jason’s face blurred in the light. Blood dripping on the floor.

Hiss—

Hiss—Hiss—

“No—no—stop—please—”

Her eyes shut tight, voice breaking—begging the nightmare to let her go.

The therapist wrapped an arm around her, offering a box of tissues.

“...only if you want to...But eventually...”

She tossed the used tissue into the bin.

When she looked up again, she was already on her sofa at home.

Frozen air. Cold light.

As if the whole world were quietly rotting somewhere in the vast dark.

She picked up the pill bottle. Shook out a few tablets. Swallowed. Closed her eyes. Lay back.

Tick—tock—

The black second hand kept moving. She got up, took the clock off the wall, pulled the battery out, and lay down again.

Maybe after tonight, she wouldn’t dream of him anymore.

“Hi, I’m Jason.”

A hand closed gently over hers.

She looked up—and it was him.

“No, that’s the wrong string. It should be...here.”

She looked down. An old typewriter was playing the chords she knew by heart. The paper slid out, covered in:

Illusion. Illusion. Illusion.

She lifted her head. Jason’s face was covered in blood. Still smiling.

Pointing behind her. The watch on his wrist glowed dark blue.

She tried to turn, but her body would not move. Water flooded her mouth. She was already underwater.

Light above her broke into cold blue. She reached up—but touched nothing. She tried to scream—but no sound came.

Only the drowning.

Then—A hand pulled her up.

Light. Too bright to open her eyes.

“You’re fine. Nothing serious. Your sister is outside.”

The nurse switched off the penlight, wrote a few notes on the chart, and pulled the curtain closed again.

Sharp pain pulsed in her forehead. The taste of alcohol and disinfectant mixed in her mouth.

In a daze, she pulled open the curtain beside her. More white curtains. Muffled groans coming from inside them.

Not far away, a red sign glowed: EMERGENCY.

When she stepped outside, she saw her sister—swollen eyes, hair a mess.

“Oh, come on, it’s not such a big—”

Slap.

A sharp blow across her cheek—followed by her sister’s cold embrace, shaking with sobs.

She froze for a moment. Then shoved her away.

“What the hell? I’m already hurt!”

Blood seeped through the bandage on her head.

“You come home once. Once. And on Christmas night you can't just stay home? You HAD to get on his damn bike?”

“Where is he?”

Her sister didn’t answer. She frowned.

“It doesn't matter. He’s not even really my boyfriend...Where’s Dad?”

She leaned out, looking down the empty hallway. Only the buzzing of the lights.

Her sister still didn’t answer—only stared at her, crying.

“Come on. Let’s just go home. Worst case...he yells at me.”

She turned to leave—but her sister’s cold hand gripped her hard.

“Dad’s here.”

Before she could react, her sister pulled her along. Their footsteps echoed down the hospital corridor.

When the door marked MORGUE came into view, she collapsed—folded into her sister, sobbing until she couldn’t breathe.

“Dad was...was coming to find you...his car—it was so dark...and the road...was icy...”

Outside, on the hospital lawn, two snowmen leaned into each other.

Still waiting for Santa Claus.

“Sir, his family is right there. Do you want to go talk to them? You were the one who brought him in.”

“If I’d just driven faster...”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“...I should go.”

A young man approached the two sisters sitting on the floor and cleared his throat.

“...I’m...sorry for your loss.”

She finally managed to lift her head. The bandages split her vision into pieces. Against the light—she saw the person in front of her,

with that loose, uneven hair.

She gasped awake.

Morning light. Birdsong outside the window. A trace of salt on her lips.

She sat up slowly, reached for the headphones on the table, put them on and pressed play.

The same melody. The same chords.

Illusion.

***

They would meet after work at the music shop.

The first to arrive would choose a guitar, tune it, switch on the warm lamp,

then wait.

5:21.

6:12.

It didn’t matter.

One of them would start to sing.

If one day he was gone, at least the chords remained.

Only—no one expected it to end like this.

5:20 P.M.

Winter nights came early. The storefront was wrapped in iron chains.

A dark blue watch on her wrist.

Frost on the sign—FATE MUSIC. A FOR SALE sign stood by the door.

She walked around the building. Found an unlocked window.

The same stacks. The same corridor.

As it once was.

Guitars were gone from the practice-room wall. Cobwebs and dust remained instead.

A graveyard no one visited.

Her footsteps creaked across the wooden floor.

At the end of the store—a staircase spiraling downward.

She drew a slow breath. Turned on her phone’s flashlight. Descended slowly.

A metal door waited below. Behind it, the faint, sour smell of rotting wood.

A keypad. Four lights.

Illusion!

Those chords were etched onto her soul.

The first one—

Cmaj9.

She pressed down—

3-2-4-3.

A soft, ambiguous chord sounded inside the lock. The first light blinked green.

She exhaled, her heartbeat quickening, and tapped in the rest of the code.

All four lights turned green.

The door released with a small, final click.

She stepped into the cavernous workshop. The flashlight swept across piles of warped wood and silent hulks of machines.

Metal plates. Screws. Harsh light.

She moved deeper inside.

The door behind shut. She turned. No one was there.

“I wondered when you’d come.”

His voice rose from somewhere outside the reach of the light, closing in around her in the empty workshop.

She stepped back a bit, shaking. The phone slipped from her hand and hit the floor.

His footsteps approached. The flashlight beam tilted upward, catching his calm face rising from the dark.

“So...you know now. All of it.”

He moved toward a table saw, turning back with that quiet, practiced smile.

Cold air pooled at her ankles and climbed up her spine.

Then he stepped closer. She kept giving ground.

“I was going to leave. But these days...”

Her heel caught on a coil of cable. She lurched, her back brushing hard against the machine. He reached to steady her.

She jerked her arm away.

“Watch out. Dangerous machines everywhere.”

“What do you want from me?”

His gaze softened—the kind of tenderness that didn't belong there.

“You know...There was never any girlfriend. And I quit. I’m not tied to anything anymore.

We could just—go back. Like before.”

“Before what?

Before you used me?

Before you owned me?”

The sound of her own voice, unreal.

“You know what I’ve been living through? These days? These nights?”

The girl from that Christmas night stared back at her from the dark.

“I can’t even look at myself.”

He watched her break down. Something almost like empathy settled on his face.

“I was wrong. I’m sorry. We can start again.

I can make it right.”

A small, sharp laugh escaped her, as if she’d just heard something absurd. Then the laughter broke loose—wild and unchecked.

His face flushed under the phone’s weak light. For a moment, his features warped—animal, feral.

Then the calm returned the way it always did.

He walked to the wood chipper beside her. Ran his hand over the metal casing.

“That night...it took some effort to get rid of him.”

Her laughter cut off. She dropped to her knees, gagging.

“Why...why? Why would you—”

“Why? Come on. He was in the way. Obviously.

He wanted you. Please. Why else talk to you? Why else offer to drive you home?”

“You—that night—you were there...the whole time...”

He studied her face. A self-satisfied smile crept across his mouth.

But then—his gaze caught something. A flicker of blue on her wrist.

“Why...are you wearing his watch?”

His face twisted. A wounded animal, snarling.

He lunged—grabbed her wrist, yanked at the watch, tearing at her skin.

She struggled backward, breath broken, trying only to get away.

“Oh, you want him so badly? Fine. I’ll send you to him. You’re not far—”

His foot caught on the same coil of cable.

He fell. His head slammed into the machine. A metal spike drove straight into his right eye.

A wet, slicing sound.

He screamed. Warm blood sprayed across her face.

No time to feel it. She snatched her phone from the floor and ran for the door.

She struggled to force the door open—but it didn’t move.

Not an inch.

His screams didn’t stop.

Left. Right.

Echo—or he was actually changing position.

She killed the flashlight. The workshop sank into darkness. Only the faint glow of her phone screen—and she held it as if her life depended on it.

His screaming stopped short. Just her breath—ragged.

She slipped away from the door.

One step. Then another. No sound. In the weak screen glow, the camera lens stared back—as if the dark itself were amused.

Her throat moved on its own.

“My sister...she’s...she’s outside.”

“Liar. I saw you come in alone.”

He was closer—the smell of blood hit her, turning her stomach.

“She’s...at a café nearby. She—she told me to come first.”

She spoke while her hands searched blindly.

Then—a sting in her fingertip.

A screwdriver.

“Take me to her.”

“To her? Sure...sure. Let’s just...just get out of here first, okay? Your eye—you’re bleeding—”

“I don’t need your pity.”

He was suddenly there—the bleeding socket, a black void, as if it could pull her in.

“I...I loved you, you know.”

“Loved me? You call that love? Then why—why did you bring that guy in?

That stray you picked up to go against me? I treated you well.

You didn’t have to think about anything—I took care of everything.”

“We... we can go outside first...”

“Why are you trying to leave? You want to walk out again? Being with me still isn’t enough for you?”

“I...I...”

She kept backing away, as if safety existed only where the phone’s light couldn’t touch him.

“What are you hesitating for?”

But he came forward anyway, into the light—his face smeared with blood.

She didn’t recognize him anymore.

“You just want to be with someone else!”

He lunged at her. Her body locked.

Everything in front of her dropped into slow motion.

Maybe this is easier.

Maybe this could just—stop.

But only for a second. A grunt—low, wet, forced from a throat.

His weight fell away from her.

She collapsed too. The floor hit her hard.

Her hand was gripping something so hard it hurt.

The screwdriver.

Blood on it. And on her.

She dropped it.

Her trembling arms folded around herself, fingers tracing up and down her sleeves.

The silent sobbing lasted longer than the night.

“...perpetrator himself getting killed by his...ex-colleague? Former something? Anyway.”

“Well, first of all, our condolences to the families of both deceased. But I do want to say—responsibility here isn’t one-sided. This colleague, as they're calling her—she’s not exactly innocent either. Let’s all just—okay, calm down—what I’m saying is—”

She turned off the radio.

Took a drag from her cigarette, flicked it out the window.

Bzz—

Unknown number.

She frowned, declined the call, and powered the phone off.

She pushed the car door open.

A cemetery.

Bright sun. Birds singing somewhere. The snow on the ground had already begun to melt.

She got out, two cups of coffee in her hands. Walked to a grave.

Set one of the cups down.

“Jason. This is the coffee I owe you... Thank you.”

She stood there for a long time.

A cold wind moved through, and she pulled her coat tighter, took a sip of the coffee.

A little bitter. But warm.

Maybe it was time to go home. Christmas was in a couple of days.

It had been ten years since she had sat at the table with her family on Christmas night. She wondered if her sister’s mashed potatoes were still just as lumpy.

She smiled, faintly, and got back into the car. The GPS said home was still miles away.

It’s fine. It’ll pass.

All of it will pass.