Night fell, making the city's bustling traffic seem especially vivid. Vehicles streamed endlessly down the streets, their headlights flickering in the twilight to form a flowing river of light. Roaring engines, blaring horns, and advertisements mingled together, making the city even more irritating. Pedestrians hurried along the sidewalks, their steps quick and disordered, each seemingly bound for some urgent destination.
An apartment. A bedroom.
The bed was so immaculate that it looked as though no one had ever slept in it. The bedding was folded without a crease, and even the wrinkles on the pillows had been carefully ironed out. The wallpaper was an understated beige, a color that should have felt warm and comfortable, yet here it seemed excessively rigid and cold.
An elegant dressing table stood in the corner of the bedroom, covered with cosmetics and jewelry. Yet none of these items seemed to have ever been used. They were arranged in perfect order, with not a speck of dust permitted to settle. The small sofa beside the dressing table was spotless, its surface showing no signs of use.
A dull, oppressive atmosphere filled the bedroom, as though everything were shrouded in an indescribable indifference. The curtains were pale blue, a color that should have been soft and tranquil, but now they seemed to absorb all the warmth and vitality in the room. There were no decorative paintings or family photographs on the walls, only a mirror hanging silently. The space it reflected seemed even emptier and colder in the stillness, as though it were constantly reflecting the room's loneliness.
The bedroom furniture was arranged with meticulous rigidity, lacking the warmth and ease of a lived-in space. Several books sat on the bedside table, but they were lined up far too neatly, without the slightest sign of having