The rain had been relentless for hours, soaking every inch of us as we trudged through unfamiliar streets. The chill seeped into our bones, and our soaked clothes clung to us uncomfortably. Every step felt heavier as the night grew darker. The city around us was eerily quiet, the rain muffling any sounds of life, and the dim streetlights cast long, distorted shadows on the empty road. It was as though the world itself had folded in on us, leaving just the three of us wandering aimlessly.
Just as we were about to lose hope, our eyes caught sight of a building across the road. An old, dimly lit hotel stood there, its once-grand facade now faded with time. The neon sign flickered weakly, barely illuminating the name. It wasn’t the kind of place we’d typically choose, but with no other options in sight, we decided to take our chances. Desperation outweighed hesitation.
Inside, the reception area was as dated as the exterior—a single flickering bulb cast uneven light on the peeling wallpaper. The faint smell of damp wood lingered in the air. Behind the counter sat a woman with a peculiar smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her demeanor was cheerful, almost unnaturally so, given the late hour and the desolate atmosphere of the hotel. When she told us there was a room available, and at such a ridiculously low price, we didn’t question it. The thought of a warm room and dry clothes clouded any lingering doubts.
The journey to our room was oddly disconcerting. The hallways were long, dim, and unnervingly silent. The light from the occasional wall sconce barely reached the corners of the corridors, leaving patches of unsettling darkness. Each step we took on the creaky wooden floors seemed to echo too loudly, as though the building itself were listening. The stairs to the third floor felt endless, each flight groaning under our weight. By the time we reached our door, our exhaustion was overwhelming, and any strangeness about the place was pushed to the back of our minds.
The room itself was modest but clean. The dim lighting gave it a warm, if slightly melancholic, glow. The rain drummed steadily against the window, a rhythmic reminder of the storm we’d escaped. After drying off and unpacking, the three of us sank into the sparse furniture, grateful for the momentary comfort.
As my friends prepared for bed, I found myself restless. The quiet felt oppressive, the kind that presses against your ears until your own thoughts seem too loud. I decided to take a walk, my curiosity outweighing my fatigue. I assured my friends I wouldn’t be long and slipped out into the hallway. The air outside the room felt cooler, heavier.
As I wandered, I stumbled upon a staircase tucked behind a thick curtain. A small, weathered sign at the base read, Terrace—Do Not Enter. Something about the forbidden nature of it intrigued me. The silence of the hotel felt alive here, as though it were daring me to climb. And so I did, each step feeling both deliberate and inevitable, as though I were meant to be there.
The terrace was bathed in moonlight, the rain having subsided to a gentle drizzle. The city stretched out below, its lights muted by the lingering mist. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of wet earth and something floral, almost sweet. And then I saw him.
He stood by the railing, his back to me, the wind tousling his dark, unruly hair. His posture was relaxed, almost as if he belonged there, as if the world around him bent to his presence. Something about him felt magnetic, pulling me closer without a word.
When he turned, I forgot how to breathe. His face was unlike anything I’d ever seen, sharp yet soft, with a warmth that seemed to radiate despite the chill in the air. His golden-brown skin seemed to catch and reflect the moonlight, as though it had been kissed by the sun. His hazel eyes, tired yet captivating, held a depth that made me feel like he could see right through me. And that smile—soft, enigmatic, and achingly beautiful—made my heart race in a way I couldn’t explain.
“Hi,” he said, his voice low and smooth, cutting through the night like a melody.
“Hi,” I managed to reply, feeling my cheeks warm despite the cold.
Our conversation was easy, natural, yet every word he spoke felt heavy with unspoken meaning. He told me little about himself, instead listening intently as I spoke. The way he looked at me—like I was the only person in the world—made me feel both seen and vulnerable. The night slipped away unnoticed, the hours blurring into moments. I didn’t want it to end.
But then, my friends appeared, calling out to me. Their voices startled me, breaking the spell. When I turned to introduce him, he was gone. The terrace was empty, the wind colder in his absence. My friends scolded me for wandering off, but I couldn’t focus on their words. My thoughts were consumed by him, by the way he made me feel.
Later that night, thirst woke me. The room was dark, my friends fast asleep. I slipped out again, my heart guiding me back to the terrace. I needed to see him, to understand the pull he had on me.
This time, he was waiting for me. He stood in the same spot, his eyes finding mine as soon as I stepped onto the terrace. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t need to. His gaze was enough, full of longing and something deeper, something I couldn’t name.
He extended his hand, his smile soft and inviting. Without hesitation, I stepped closer, slipping my hand into his. His touch was warm, grounding, and I felt a strange mix of peace and exhilaration. His eyes locked onto mine, and for a moment, the world ceased to exist. But then, I felt a sharp tug on my other hand.
I turned to see my friends pulling me back, their faces pale with worry. I tried to explain, to tell them he was right there, but their words didn’t reach me. When I looked back at him, he smiled again, that same beautiful, haunting smile.
As his hand slipped from mine, a strange, unsettling clarity began to dawn upon me. Something felt off—no, wrong. My body tensed as a strange pull seemed to root me to the spot. I glanced down, feeling a strange heaviness in my chest, and what I saw froze the breath in my lungs.
There I was—me—perched exactly where he had been moments before, leaning against the edge of the railing. The cold metal pressed into my back, and the wind whipped past me, tugging at my hair and clothes. But how could I be standing there when I was still here, with my friends pulling me away? I stared at my own reflection—or was it a shadow?—trying to make sense of it. The figure looked like me, wore my clothes, but there was something wrong with her.
Her eyes—my eyes—stared back at me, but they weren’t mine. They glinted with an otherworldly light, brimming with something ancient, something beyond comprehension. And her smile… It was his smile, the same haunting curve of lips, beautiful yet sinister, as though she knew something I didn’t, something I was only beginning to understand. That smile wasn’t human—it was too perfect, too deliberate, too… wrong.
My friends kept pulling at my arm, their voices urgent but muffled, as if I were underwater. "Come on!" one of them shouted, their voice tinged with frustration. To them, I was there—standing beside them, as real as ever. They couldn’t see the other me. Or perhaps to them, that was the real me. The thought sent a cold shiver down my spine, even as I felt warmth from his touch lingering on my skin.
I opened my mouth to scream, to explain, but no sound came out. The figure on the railing tilted her head, her gaze locked onto mine, unblinking and piercing. It was as if she were staring straight into my soul, peeling away every layer until I was bare and vulnerable. The wind roared louder, drowning out everything else, and then I felt it—the sensation of weightlessness.
It wasn’t a jolt or a push; it was as though the ground beneath me simply disappeared. My feet left the railing, and for a brief, terrifying moment, I felt the freedom of flying. The wind rushed against my skin, cold and relentless, tugging at me with wild abandon. Time seemed to stretch, every heartbeat echoing in my ears like a drum. I watched as the world spun around me, the terrace shrinking above, the ground rushing up below. And yet, I wasn’t scared. I was numb—stuck in the moment where I had locked eyes with her, with me.
Each aspect of the story was hauntingly beautiful!