The Window on the Third Floor

Since moving into her new apartment, Daria had formed a quiet ritual. Every morning, she'd sip her coffee on the balcony, staring across at the old building opposite hers. It was nothing special — chipped paint, cracked windows, and crooked balconies. But one thing stood out: the window on the third floor.

At first, she didn’t think much of it. The window was always shut, the curtains drawn. But one morning, it was wide open. Behind it stood an elderly woman, her white hair tied neatly in a bun. She was staring directly at Daria — not blinking, not smiling. Just watching.

Days went by. The woman kept appearing. Always at the same time. Always watching.

Daria began to feel uneasy, as if caught in a silent game she hadn’t agreed to play. She asked the neighbors about the woman, but everyone said the same thing:

"That apartment’s been empty for years."

One evening, unable to resist, Daria crossed the street. She climbed the old building’s dusty stairs and stood in front of the third-floor door. It was slightly ajar.

She pushed it open.

The room was empty. Covered in dust. No furniture. No signs of life. Just a cracked window... facing her own balcony.

Daria turned to leave — but before she reached the door, she caught her reflection in a shard of broken mirror.

Behind her, in the glass, stood the woman.