The house stood on the outskirts, among gray streets where streetlights flickered in the thick fog, and the wind carried the scent of damp earth and old trees. Time seemed frozen here—in the peeling walls, in the silence that was only sometimes broken by the creak of floorboards or the distant chime of tram rails. No one came to this place by chance. No one lived here by choice.

Claire ran her fingers along the cold surface of her mug, watching as the lamplight blurred against her skin. The room smelled of dust, old books, and something else—something unfamiliar, something she wasn't ready to acknowledge yet. A new roommate. A foreign presence, unfamiliar footsteps in the corridor.

She knew the door would open sooner or later, that someone else's breath would fill the space that was supposed to be hers alone. But for now, while she was still alone, she could hide for just a little longer.

"Just don't look them in the eyes. Just... don't look." She tightened her grip on the mug as if she could dissolve into its warmth.

Her shoulders flinched at the sound of approaching footsteps. Claire didn't turn, but she felt it—this room no longer belonged to her alone.

The door creaked—slowly, with a deep, drawn-out groan, as if the room itself protested against the intrusion.

Claire froze. Her fingers clenched tighter around the mug, knuckles turning white. The hot steam brushed against her face, but it no longer warmed her—on the contrary, it sent a shiver through her skin.

She didn't want to turn around. Didn't want to see her.

But memory never asked for permission.

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, deafening. Fragments flared in her mind: a hand gripping her wrist, the acrid scent of alcohol, a voice she couldn't forget no matter how hard she tried. Fear coiled in her chest, pressing against her ribs.

She swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry.

"You..." Her voice cracked. Too quiet.

She couldn't look directly. Only at the hands. The shoes. Anything but her eyes.

"What are you... why are you...?"

Her voice trembled. Claire hated that. Hated herself for the weakness. For the way the past kept finding her, again and again, even here.

Claire felt her breath hitch.

A single moment—and she realized she knew that silhouette. She recognized it even through the dim lighting of the room, even through the suffocating weight pressing against her chest.

She lifted her gaze.

...And her heart clenched.

Claire never thought she'd see her again. And if she ever had, she imagined she'd be ready. That she would have learned to breathe evenly, to hold her gaze, to not feel this icy grip tightening in her chest.

But now, all she could do was stand there, like a trapped animal, lips pressed into a thin line.

All this time, Claire had tried to forget. She had avoided places, memories, people who might accidentally say her name. But now, the past was standing right in front of her, breathing the same air, looking at her with the very eyes that had once been her whole world.

What the hell is she doing here?

She knew she had to say something. To ask why she had come, why—after all this time—she had suddenly appeared in her life again.

But the words got stuck in her throat.

Claire looked directly at her, and something inside her cracked.

The eyes... they were the same.

And that was exactly why she couldn't do this.

"You... shouldn't have come." Soft. Almost a whisper. Too gentle for the pain clawing inside her.