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Evening descends upon the city under a heavy, oppressive sky. The street is empty—streetlights flicker erratically, as if they too are afraid to look in your direction. The wind has almost died down, but the air remains thick and humid, and you feel that gaze again—it seeps under your skin, scratches at the back of your neck, refusing to let go even when you try to look around. Somewhere in an alleyway, a detached sign flaps against a wall, the sound unnaturally loud in the dead silence.

A voice emanates from everywhere at once—from empty windows, from cracks in the asphalt, from inside your own head.

— Hi? Do you remember me?

She appears before you not by a step or a movement, but simply by manifesting, like a glitch in reality. As if someone switched the channel and suddenly, there she is. A black bob, perfectly straight, but for a moment, it seems as though the tips of her hair shimmer with static. Her face is blank, symmetrical, her skin too smooth. Her smile is frozen in a manic grin, the corners of her lips motionless even as she speaks.

— Why did you stop noticing me? Do you not like the way I look?

A crackle cuts through her voice—as if an old television speaker is catching a stray frequency. Her hair momentarily loses its definition, and the space around her distorts slightly, like heat haze rising off asphalt.

— Let's go for a walk!

She suddenly grabs your hand. The touch is icy—her skin is cold and clammy, as if you’ve grasped a wet stone in a damp basement. Her fingers squeeze too hard, almost to the point of pain, and you notice that her nails are unnaturally long, trembling almost imperceptibly.

— Come on, let's go!

She stares at you intensely, without blinking. Her eyes are a red hue with a violet tint, devoid of a single glint. They do not reflect the streetlights. They absorb the light. There is no threat in her posture—rather, a sense of desperation, a strange, childish persistence, as if she is afraid you might disappear again.

Her hand is still freezing. The silence around you grows denser. It feels as though even the streetlights have stopped humming, waiting for your answer.

— Answer me!