The office building looks the same as it always does.
Tall. Gray. Unremarkable.
If someone asked me to describe it, I probably couldn't say much more than that. It's the kind of building people walk into every day without thinking about it.
Functional.
Forgettable.
I step inside and the familiar hum of fluorescent lights greets me immediately. The lobby smells faintly of coffee and printer ink. Somewhere nearby, a machine whirs steadily, working harder than anyone inside the building.
People move through the lobby in quiet streams.
Most of them look half-awake.
Monday mornings always feel like this.
Although… I pause for a second.
Is it Monday?
I reach into my pocket and check my phone.
Tuesday.
Right.
For some reason, the mistake annoys me more than it should.
I walk toward the elevators, joining a small group of coworkers waiting nearby. I recognize a few of them by face, though I don't know most of their names.
Office life tends to be like that.
You see the same people every day, yet they remain strangers.
The elevator doors open.
We step inside.
No one speaks.
A man in front of me presses the button for the 7th floor, which happens to be my floor as well. I notice his hand shaking slightly as he presses it.
He looks nervous.
Or maybe tired.
The elevator begins to rise.
For some reason, I suddenly feel like I already know what's going to happen next.
The elevator will stop at the 4th floor.
Someone will step in.
And they will drop their phone.
The thought appears in my mind with strange clarity.
Not like a guess.
More like a memory.
The elevator passes the 3rd floor.
Then it stops.
4th floor.
My chest tightens slightly.
The doors open.
A woman steps inside, holding a phone and a cup of coffee at the same time.
The moment she turns, the phone slips from her hand.
It hits the floor with a sharp plastic sound.
Everyone glances down.
She quickly picks it up, laughing awkwardly.
"Sorry," she mutters.
The elevator doors close again.
No one says anything.
But my mind feels strangely quiet.
Like something inside it just confirmed a theory.
I stare at the numbers above the door as they continue climbing.
How did I know that would happen?
Maybe it was coincidence.
People drop their phones all the time.
Still… the certainty I felt before it happened lingers in my thoughts.
The elevator reaches the 7th floor.
The doors open.
I step out into the office.
Rows of desks stretch across the large room, separated by low gray partitions. Computer monitors glow softly in the dim lighting. Some coworkers are already sitting at their desks, typing quietly.
Others stand near the coffee machine, discussing something in low voices.
It all feels very normal.
Yet the strange sensation from this morning returns again.
That subtle feeling that something is slightly out of place.
I walk to my desk.
My computer screen is already on.
That's unusual.
I'm certain I turned it off yesterday.
I sit down slowly.
The screen shows a document open on the desktop.
A report I was working on.
For a moment I feel confused.
I don't remember leaving it open.
Maybe the computer woke up from sleep mode.
Yes.
That must be it.
I move the mouse.
The screen brightens fully.
Something about the document immediately catches my attention.
There's a sentence at the bottom of the page.
A sentence I don't remember writing.
It reads:
"You noticed him again today."
I stare at the words.
My mind tries to process them.
They don't belong in this report.
This report is about quarterly numbers.
Not… whatever that sentence is.
I scroll up.
The rest of the document looks normal.
Charts.
Numbers.
Paragraphs of analysis.
Nothing strange.
Just work.
I scroll back down.
The sentence is still there.
"You noticed him again today."
A quiet uneasiness spreads through my chest.
Did I write this?
Maybe late yesterday afternoon when I was tired.
But that doesn't make sense.
Why would I write something like that in a work report?
I look around the office.
Everyone seems busy.
Typing.
Talking.
Drinking coffee.
No one is looking at me.
No one seems concerned.
Slowly, I place my hands on the keyboard.
I highlight the sentence.
Then I delete it.
The empty space where it used to be somehow feels more unsettling than the words themselves.
I sit there for a moment, staring at the screen.
Trying to remember if anything unusual happened yesterday.
My mind searches through the memory.
But the memory feels… blurry.
Like trying to recall a dream hours after waking up.
Fragments appear.
Walking home.
Watching television.
Eating dinner.
Normal things.
Nothing strange.
And yet…
Something about the memory feels incomplete.
Like an important piece is missing.
I lean back in my chair.
Across the office, I notice one of my coworkers walking past the windows.
He pauses for a moment, looking outside.
For some reason, I feel compelled to follow his gaze.
I turn my head toward the street below.
People move along the sidewalk far beneath the building.
Cars pass slowly through the intersection.
And then I see him.
The man in the gray coat.
He stands on the opposite side of the street, looking directly up at the building.
At this floor.
At this window.
At me.
Our eyes meet.
The distance between us is too great for me to see his expression clearly.
But something about the way he stands there feels deliberate.
Like he has been waiting.
Watching.
For how long, I don't know.
A moment later, a bus passes between us.
When it moves on, the sidewalk is empty.
The man is gone.
I stare at the spot where he stood.
My reflection in the window stares back at me.
Behind me, the office continues its quiet routine.
Typing.
Phones ringing.
Coffee machines humming.
Everything feels normal again.
Except for one thought that refuses to leave my mind.
The sentence I deleted earlier.
The one I don't remember writing.
"You noticed him again today." 🧠