The Balcony That Watched Back

Liam had always loved mornings. The kind of mornings where the first sunlight crept lazily over the horizon, painting the city in pale gold, and the distant hum of traffic was gentle enough to be comforting rather than annoying. From his apartment on the 16th floor, the skyline looked like a painting, a perfect vista that made him feel both small and infinitely expansive at the same time.

He stepped onto the balcony, a steaming cup of coffee in hand, inhaling the crisp air. Everything seemed perfect. The city sparkled under the early light, the river glinted like molten silver, and even the old church on the corner looked picturesque against the awakening sky.

Yet, as he gazed further, something tugged at the edge of his awareness. A feeling he couldn’t quite name. The buildings seemed slightly… wrong. Not structurally, not visibly, but in some subtle, unnatural way. He shook his head. Maybe it was too much coffee, too little sleep.

He settled into his chair and opened his notebook. Liam was a writer, though lately, the words felt trapped somewhere between the idea and the page. He tried to focus, but the city outside kept intruding—its perfection almost accusing him of his own mediocrity.

Then he saw it.

A small figure standing on the rooftop of the building across. A woman. Or at least, she looked like a woman at first glance. She was wearing a flowing red dress, hair catching the light like fire. She didn’t move, didn’t blink. Just… watched.

Liam froze. His hand tightened around the coffee cup. “Maybe it’s a reflection,” he muttered to himself. He adjusted his glasses, rubbed his eyes. But when he looked again, she was still there, staring.

Instinctively, he waved. Nothing. He called out, “Hey!” Silence.

The city felt impossibly quiet. The birds that had been chirping minutes ago were gone. The cars below moved, but their sounds seemed muted, distant, as if they existed in another layer of reality. Liam’s heart started to race.

And then, he realized something worse: the figure wasn’t moving because it wasn’t alive. Or at least, not in the way humans were.

His apartment had always felt safe, an oasis above the chaos. But now, from this perfect view, he felt a creeping unease. It was as if the city was watching him back through her eyes.

He blinked. She was gone. Just empty rooftop, just the glinting city. The moment passed.

“Too much coffee,” he whispered, sinking back in his chair.

But then, the feeling returned. Something in the pattern of the streets, the way the shadows fell, the way the river curved… it was wrong. Not big enough to see, not obvious, but present. And worse, it was deliberate, as if the world itself had been rearranged to deceive him.

For the next few hours, Liam tried to shake the feeling. He wrote, stared at the skyline, made tea. But every glance toward the building across brought back that same flicker of awareness, a hint of being watched.

By afternoon, the light had shifted, and with it came something more tangible. The streets below seemed to pause at random moments. A dog frozen mid-leap. A bicycle suspended in mid-air. People walking, then stopping, then walking again like puppets on a string.

“Impossible,” he muttered. And yet, he could see it. Every minor anomaly made the city seem… unreal. But the view was still beautiful, still perfect. That was the cruel part: the city looked serene, untouched, idyllic—yet under its flawless exterior, everything was manipulated, controlled, unreal.

Liam wanted to leave, to escape, but the elevator was broken. He called the building manager. No answer. He went to the stairwell, and even that seemed… off. Each step he took was slightly displaced from the last, as if the stairwell itself had been rearranged.

Hours passed—or maybe minutes; he wasn’t sure. Time had become inconsistent. The city’s perfection was now a trap, a façade. And the woman in red? She appeared again on another rooftop, or maybe the same one—he wasn’t sure anymore. Her eyes met his, and this time, he felt an undeniable pull.

She didn’t speak, yet he understood. It was a warning. Or maybe a challenge.

By nightfall, the city’s lights were sparkling like diamonds. Liam stood at the balcony, exhausted, frightened, yet unable to look away. The view was still perfect. Gorgeous. Picture-worthy. But now he knew the truth. Perfection was an illusion. Beauty could hide danger. Calm could hide chaos. And from far away, everything looked better—but up close, everything was… off.

The woman in red disappeared once more. Liam didn’t sleep that night. He couldn’t. The city hummed, but this time it hummed for him. Watching. Waiting. Perfect, yet broken.

And as the sun rose again, Liam realized the cruelest truth: some views are only beautiful because they hide the things you’re not meant to see.