4:45 AM.
The alarm rang.
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Canora didn't move immediately.
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The sound continued.
Sharp.
Unnecessary.
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Her eyes were already open.
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She stared at the ceiling.
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Faint shadows rested along the corners.
The fan moved slowly—
not fast enough to make a sound.
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The room held the quiet of early morning.
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Outside—
the world hadn't fully woken yet.
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A distant vehicle passed.
Soft.
Then gone.
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Somewhere far—
a dog barked once.
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Silence returned.
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The alarm stopped.
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Canora exhaled slowly.
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Her hand moved toward the phone.
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The screen dimmed as she turned it off.
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For a moment—
she stayed still.
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"…Overtime today."
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The words came out quietly.
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Not planned.
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Just… ready.
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She sat up.
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The bedsheet shifted slightly.
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The room remained the same.
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Nothing had changed.
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Yet—
the morning didn't feel completely familiar.
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Not enough to question.
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Just enough to notice.
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She ignored it.
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A sound broke through the quiet.
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Her phone vibrated.
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Canora frowned slightly.
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"…How many alarms did I even set?"
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She picked it up.
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The screen lit faintly.
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A name.
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She stared at it for a second—
then answered.
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She didn't speak first.
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The voice on the other end began.
Calm.
Familiar.
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"—Canora, you didn't show up yesterday, and today—"
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"I was busy at the office," she said.
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No pause.
No hesitation.
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"My bad."
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Silence.
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The other side hadn't finished speaking.
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She pulled the phone away slightly—
and ended the call.
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The screen went dark.
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For a moment—
she looked at her own reflection on it.
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Unclear.
Faint.
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Then she lowered her hand.
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Silence returned.
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But this time—
it didn't settle the same way.
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The phone remained in her hand.
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The screen stayed dark.
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A few seconds passed.
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Then—
footsteps.
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Not rushed.
Not light.
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Measured.
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They stopped outside her door.
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The handle moved.
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The door opened.
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Sirumika stepped in.
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She didn't speak immediately.
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Her eyes went straight to Canora.
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Still.
Unmoving.
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For a moment—
nothing else existed in the room.
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Then—
a slow exhale.
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"You didn't go," she said.
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Not a question.
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Canora didn't answer.
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Her gaze shifted slightly—
not avoiding,
not confronting.
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Just… there.
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"He called me," Sirumika continued.
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A pause.
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"Yoga mentor."
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The words stayed simple.
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But the meaning wasn't.
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Canora lowered her eyes briefly.
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"…I was busy," she said.
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Same tone.
Same line.
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Sirumika watched her.
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Long enough—
to know it wasn't the truth.
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Another exhale.
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Not louder.
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Just heavier.
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"Busy," she repeated.
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The room didn't react.
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But something inside it—
tightened.
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Sirumika turned—
and walked out.
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The door closed behind her.
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Not loud.
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But final.
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Silence returned.
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Canora stayed still for a moment.
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Then—
she lay back down.
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Her eyes closed.
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Just for a second.
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Then opened again.
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"…I can't even sleep at my own place."
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The words came out low.
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Tired.
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She turned her head slightly.
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Her gaze fell on the wall beside her bed.
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A photograph.
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Old.
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Faded at the edges.
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A group of children.
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Smiling.
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Unaware.
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Her eyes stayed there.
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Not searching.
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Just… looking.
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For a moment—
her expression softened.
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Then—
it didn't.
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Something about it felt distant.
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Like she was remembering—
but not fully reaching it.
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The room remained quiet.
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But now—
it wasn't empty.
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Canora kept looking at the photograph.
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The smiles felt real.
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Simple.
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Untouched.
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For a moment—
she tried to hold onto it.
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Then—
it slipped.
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Not suddenly.
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Just… out of reach.
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She blinked once.
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And looked away.
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She sat up.
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This time—
without stopping.
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The floor felt cold under her feet.
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She stood.
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The mirror across the room caught her reflection.
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She didn't look at it directly.
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Just enough—
to know it was there.
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A few seconds passed.
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Then—
she walked out.
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The house was quieter now.
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Not silent.
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Just… moving slowly.
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From the kitchen—
the sound of utensils.
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Routine.
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Unchanged.
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Canora stepped toward the sink.
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Water ran.
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Clear.
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Steady.
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She washed her face.
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Cold.
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For a moment—
she closed her eyes.
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And stayed like that.
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Longer than needed.
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Then—
she turned off the tap.
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The sound stopped instantly.
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But something—
didn't.
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A faint pause.
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Not outside.
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Inside.
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She opened her eyes.
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Nothing had changed.
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Everything was normal.
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"…Right."
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She picked up her bag.
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Didn't check it.
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Didn't adjust anything.
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Just carried it.
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As she moved toward the door—
she stopped.
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Not because of something she saw.
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Because of something she didn't.
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A gap.
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Small.
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Undefined.
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She stood there for a second.
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Then—
left.
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The door closed behind her.
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The house returned to its quiet.
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But this time—
it didn't feel like it belonged only to the people inside it.
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Elsewhere.
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Not far.
Not near.
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Just… not here.
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The sky did not hold still.
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It shifted.
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Not like clouds.
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Like something rearranging itself.
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Light didn't fall—
it formed.
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Patterns.
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Then broke.
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Then formed again.
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No sound.
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No movement.
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Yet—
something was happening.
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And something—
was observing.
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Not from above.
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Not from a distance.
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Through.
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A pause.
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Then—
stillness.
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The pattern stopped.
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As if it had noticed something in return.
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Back—
where morning had already begun—
nothing seemed different.
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But it was.
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And whatever had started—
had not stopped.