THE APARTMENT OPPOSITE
✨ Some neighbors wave to say hello. Others wave to warn you. But what if the one waving… wasn’t human at all?
Part 1: The Reflection Game
Maya always thought her high-rise apartment was her safe little cocoon above the chaos of the city. At twelve stories up, she felt untouchable, as though the world below couldn’t reach her.
But tonight felt… different.
It was almost midnight when she finally put her laptop away. The silence of her apartment felt heavier than usual. Outside her massive window, the glow of streetlights pooled on the pavement, flickering slightly in the breeze.
Maya grabbed her phone and scrolled through Instagram reels, trying to distract herself from the unease creeping into her chest. She chewed on the edge of her thumbnail, her reflection faintly visible against the glass.
That’s when she noticed it.
A flicker of movement.
Across the street, in the opposite building’s window, stood a figure. Still. Silent. Watching.
Her breath hitched. Maybe someone else couldn’t sleep, she reasoned. The figure was too far to make out clearly, just a faint outline in the dim light.
She tilted her head.
So did they.
Maya frowned and leaned closer to the glass. “Weird,” she murmured under her breath. On a whim, she raised her hand and waved hesitantly.
To her surprise, the figure waved back.
A laugh slipped from her lips. “Seriously? Are we… playing mirror games now?” she asked the empty room. It felt silly, like she was waving at herself in a reflection, but the glass in that apartment seemed too dark to reflect her image.
Curious, she stepped to the side. The figure copied her.
She ducked low. So did they.
Her amusement grew, overriding her earlier unease. Maybe it was just a bored neighbor messing around. Or maybe this was one of those viral TikTok trends where people interacted with strangers from their windows.
“This is kind of fun,” she whispered.
But then she noticed something strange.
The window across the street wasn’t glass. It was open.
And yet… she could see her reflection perfectly.
Her smile faded as a chill ran down her spine. She leaned closer until her nose almost touched the cool glass of her own window. Her heart thudded painfully as she whispered, “That’s… impossible.”
Suddenly, her phone buzzed in her hand, making her jump. She fumbled it slightly before reading the message on the screen.
An unknown number.
“Stop moving.”
Her stomach dropped.
Slowly, she raised her eyes back to the opposite window.
The figure was gone.
Maya’s pulse hammered in her ears. She scanned the high-rise frantically, her hands clammy. Nothing. Just rows of empty, darkened windows staring back at her like hollow eyes.
And then she heard it.
The softest sound—barely audible—from inside her apartment.
Footsteps.
Maya’s blood ran cold.
The steps grew louder, slow and deliberate, coming from the hallway that led to her bedroom. She was frozen in place, clutching her phone as her mind screamed at her to run, to call for help, to do something.
Before she could move, her phone vibrated again.
Another message from the same unknown number:
“Don’t turn around.”
Her body stiffened. She felt the weight of someone’s presence behind her.
Then she felt it—warm breath on the back of her neck.
End of Part 1
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