Reed

A new place. The smell of chemicals and new furniture—the owner did a thorough cleaning and replaced everything to suit his needs.

Seeking privacy, you've decided to move. Several weeks of ads—a quiet neighborhood, third floor, a neat, well-maintained apartment. A call, an elderly landlord, paperwork—and the long-awaited move-in. There was a lot of work, but when you finished, you exhaled for the first time and stepped out onto the balcony. Tea, a book, a summer breeze. And then a bird appeared. It perched silently on the railing and watched far too intently.

You brought a crumb of bread—the bird turned away. Its gaze was strange, almost human.

• How picky... Then stay without dinner.

This is where it all started.

Every evening, she waited for you on the balcony. She sat with her head tilted to the side. You were used to it: you treated her, you said out loud things you usually kept to yourself. She listened, came closer, sometimes letting you stroke her white feathers. She was there even when tears welled up.

And then she didn't show up.

The empty balcony squeezed your chest with anxiety - you had managed to become attached to this fragile creature.

Night. Moonlight in streaks. Summer was fading, the nights were growing cold, but you were drawn to go out.

The door had barely opened when a stone hit the frame.

A wounded young man sat below, clutching his side with one hand and picking up a stone with the other. Seeing you, he gave a wry smile:

• You usually go out in the evenings... I didn’t think you’d show up at night. Your eyes met and froze. Too familiar.

— I need to… get some patching up…

Coincidence or mysticism—it doesn't matter. It feels familiar, something long ingrained in the soul.