She was here again. Out on her balcony.
The night air carried a faint chill, brushing against her bare arms, tugging gently at her hair. The street below humd softly, a few cars rolling by, their headlights stretching long across the pavent before fading into quiet.
It has beco a habit. A little ritual after dinner.
She would step outside, rest her elbows on the cold railing, and let her mind drift. Sotis she thought about things that mattered, sotis about things that didn't. Most nights, she couldn't even tell the difference.
Her head turned to the right. A familiar motion, almost muscle mory by now.
But the neighboring balcony was empty. No one stood there tonight.
Was she expecting him to be there?
No… not really.
At least that's what she told herself. But still, so small part of her thought maybe she'd see him again, leaning there in his usual quiet, the faint glow of a cigarette between his fingers, that unreadable face lit by its end.
Talking to him had felt strange, different sohow. It wasn't like the empty conversations she had to force with everyone else. He didn't say much, but when he did, it felt like the silence around him actually ant sothing.
She hated to admit it, but it was better than being alone.
Her eyes drifted downward, back to the street. The light flickered again. Everything below looked half-asleep. The few parked bikes cast crooked shadows. A paper cup rolled lazily with the wind. Then sothing caught her attention.
A figure. Walking slowly along the edge of the road, just past the apartnt gate.
She squinted, leaning forward a little. The streetlight barely reached that far.
Who's that?
It was hard to tell from up here. The figure's movents were uneven, heavy sohow, like every step was dragging the body behind it.
"Maybe so drunk," she muttered under her breath. It wouldn't be the first ti soone staggered through the complex at night. She still rembered what happened a few nights ago, the chaos, the shouting, but this felt different.
She he couldn't look away. Sothing about the way that person moved tugged at her curiosity.
The figure turned toward the gate. Its hand reached out, pushing it open with effort. The sound of the tal hinge carried faintly through the air, creaking in rhythm with her heartbeat.
The person stepped under the flickering light. For a mont, it was like the night exhaled.
She leaned in closer.
Black t-shirt. Black jeans.
Sothing wrapped around the left hand. Sothing dark, soaked maybe. The figure's posture looked… wrong. Shoulders slightly slumped, like every muscle was giving up but still refusing to fall.
Varsha's pulse skipped. Her brows knitted.
She didn't recall anyone in the building who looked like that.
No one moved like that. No one she'd seen before—
Her breath hitched. It couldn't be, right?
The man lifted his head slightly, just enough for the streetlight to catch his face. For a second, the glow cut through the dark and laid his features bare. Tired eyes, pale skin streaked faintly with sothing darker, the sa black hair falling unevenly over his forehead.
Her hand covered her mouth before she even realized.
It was him.
Paul.
Paul tapped the worn button for the fourth floor.
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The light blinked red once, then stayed on. He didn't move. Just stood there, breathing quietly, each inhale shallow, each exhale slower than the last. The faint hum of the elevator filled the empty corridor.
When the doors slid open, he stepped inside.
tal walls. Faint reflection of himself. Eyes half open. The flicker of fluorescent light above him painted thin lines across his face. He didn't look at it. Just stared forward.
The elevator doors closed again. Nothing but silence.
The world felt like it was holding its breath with him.
A soft ring.
The doors opened.
Paul stepped out. The hall was empty. Only the distant hum of electricity and the low whistle of air through a half-open window. His shoes pressed against the floor, leaving faint marks of dust and blood no one would notice until morning.
He walked slowly, shoulders slightly hunched, body tilting just a little to one side. His left hand hung by his side, wrapped in sothing dark. The light above him buzzed weakly, stuttering every few seconds.
Room 398.
Room 400.
Room 402.
As he passed 402, his eyes flicked up.
Soone was standing further down the hallway.
Right beside the door of 404.
His room.
He stopped walking.
The world tilted for a second, like the floor had shifted under his feet. His breathing caught, the weight of exhaustion pressing deeper into his chest.
The light above flickered again harshly. It blurred everything for a second. He raised his head slowly, adjusting his eyes.
The shape at the end of the hall ca into focus. Still like.
Mia…
The na slipped out, barely a whisper. His voice cracked dry in the silence.
He took another step forward. Then another.
The shape sharpened, clearer now. His sight steadied against the bright glare spilling from the ceiling.
No.
Not Mia.
The figure wasn't outside his door. It was the next one.
405.
Varsha.
God… Varsha said under her breath, almost running toward him. "What happened to you?"
Paul didn't answer. He didn't feel like he needed to. His eyes were half-open and unfocused, like he was there but not really.
She stopped beside him, scanning his body from head to toe.
Blood was dripping from the cloth wrapped around his left hand, dark against his skin. His face was blank, but pain carved itself there in quiet lines. His black shirt clung to him, soaked through with sweat and dust.
Varsha hesitated. She didn't even know why she was here. She could've just ignored him, turned around, and gone back into her apartnt like nothing happened. She didn't owe him anything.
But then she rembered. He had helped her once. Maybe this was just repaynt. That's all.
She reached out, trying to lift his arm, to steady him.
Paul jerked it away. "Don't need help."
Then he stumbled.
Varsha caught him by the waist before he hit the ground. "Oh… cheez. Don't give that, alright? You can barely stand."
She shifted his weight onto her shoulder, grunting as she adjusted his arm over her back. "And for the record, I'm only doing this to repay the favor. That's all."
Paul didn't argue. Maybe he couldn't.
They started walking, slow steps toward his room. Each one sounded heavier than the last.
"Ew," Varsha said suddenly, wrinkling her nose. "You're drunk, aren't you? Your breath slls like a whole bar."
Paul turned his face toward the wall, not replying.
"So what, you fell on the street or got in a fight with soone?" she asked, glancing sideways at him.
"Just tripped," he murmured.
"You don't even know how to lie properly, do you?" she said, half teasing, half worried. "You look like soone folded you up and threw you in a washing machine."
She didn't know why she said that. Maybe to break the silence, maybe to keep herself from asking the real questions
Like who did this to you?
She rembered the night she'd seen him fight before, the cold precision in his movents, the way he didn't flinch even when things got ugly. Back then, he'd looked untouchable.
But now…
Who could have done this to him?
They reached Room 404. Varsha carefully eased his arm off her shoulder, letting him lean on the wall. His body swayed slightly. His jaw clenched, holding back a groan that slipped through anyway.
"You sure you're gonna be fine?" she asked, her tone softening. "Should I call soone? Maybe a doctor?"
"No." Paul's reply ca sharp, fast. "I'm fine. Don't need help. You should go."
Varsha flinched back at the tone. She took a small step away, watching him quietly.
Paul reached into his back pocket, pulling out the small key to his room.
"You know," she said, her voice turning lighter, trying to defuse whatever wall he'd built up.
"You'd make a great headline. 'Silent kid found drunk outside his apartnt, body folded like old laundry.' Sounds catchy, doesn't it?"
Paul didn't react. He fit the key between his fingers, raised it toward the lock. He knows she won't tell anyone.
Anyone? You sure she won't tell?
The thought cut through his head.
She wasn't scared, unlike her. Who knows what'll happen? What if she tells soone tomorrow?
Better shut her up. Don't take any chances. Once words start spreading, it's over.
The key slipped from his hand, clinking softly against the marble floor.
He stood still for a mont silently. Then slowly turned.
Varsha was still there, looking right at him.
He raised his head, lips parting slightly, but she spoke first.
"You can ask for help, you know?" she said quietly. "But… I don't think you will. Will you?"
Paul didn't respond. His throat tightened. He bent down, reaching for the fallen key.
The hallway lights buzzed faintly above. His head started to feel heavy. The edges of the world blurred, pulling away like a curtain.
He grabbed the key, trying to straighten up.
Then everything went blank.
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