The Woman at the Window

A New Apartment

When Claire moved into her new apartment on the edge of the city, she thought the floor-to-ceiling windows would be her favorite feature. At night, she would sip tea, gaze at the skyline, and let the lights lull her into calm.

It was her first place alone. No roommates, no family, no one to share the fridge or the rent. Just her, her books, and the comfort of the tall glass panes looking out over the world.

The first week was bliss. Until she noticed the woman in the building across from hers.

The Silent Neighbor

It started casually. One night, while closing her curtains, Claire caught sight of a figure standing in the opposite apartment. A woman. Pale, thin, with long dark hair. She wasn’t doing anything unusual -- just standing by her own window, gazing out.

But the woman didn’t move. Not when Claire peeked again ten minutes later. Not even when the city lights dimmed into dawn.

The next night, she was there again. Same place. Same posture.

Claire frowned. “Strange neighbor,” she muttered. She told herself it was none of her business. Cities were full of odd people. But she couldn’t shake the image.

Patterns Emerging

Days turned into weeks, and the woman became a fixture in Claire’s evenings. Every night, between 11:00 and 3:00, the figure stood there -- silent, unmoving, a shadow carved into the window frame.

Sometimes, Claire thought she could make out her face. Pale, expressionless.

Sometimes, Claire waved, half-joking, hoping to break the strangeness. The woman never waved back.

The longer it went on, the more Claire’s unease grew. It wasn’t just weird anymore -- it was unsettling. Like being watched, even though she was the one looking.

The Research

One Saturday afternoon, curiosity got the better of her. Claire asked the doorman if he knew anything about the neighbor across the street.

He glanced at her strangely. “That building?” he asked.

She nodded.

“It’s been empty for years,” he said.

Claire laughed nervously. “No, I’ve seen someone there. A woman. Every night.”

The doorman shook his head. “Impossible. They never finished renovations. No one lives there.”

Her skin went cold. She wanted to argue, but something in his tone silenced her.

The Confrontation

That night, Claire sat in the dark, waiting. Midnight came. Slowly, nervously, she drew her curtains open.

The woman was there. Standing in the window, staring back.

This time, Claire didn’t wave. She didn’t move. She simply stared, heart pounding.

And then — for the first time -- the woman raised her hand. Not in a wave. In a slow, deliberate motion, she pressed her palm against the glass.

Claire gasped and stepped back. But she couldn’t stop looking. Because now, she realized something that made her blood freeze.

The woman’s apartment was a mirror of hers. Same walls. Same layout. Same window placement.

The woman wasn’t across the street. She was copying Claire.

The Reflection

The next morning, Claire tried to reason with herself. Maybe it was a trick of light. Maybe exhaustion made her imagine it.

But when she brushed her teeth, she noticed something else. A faint handprint -- the same size and shape as hers -- smudged on the inside of her own glass.

She hadn’t touched the window last night.

The Disappearance

A week later, Claire’s coworker stopped by her apartment after she missed two days of work. The place was unlocked.

Her mug still sat on the counter. Curtains open, tea gone cold.

The apartment was empty.

But from the street, if you looked up at her window at midnight, you could still see her. Standing there, silent, her face pale against the glass.