Chapter I
He woke up before the alarm. He always did. Not out of restlessness, but more from habit, a natural alarm embedded in his being. He had a set time for everything, a ritual no one had asked of him, but one he followed religiously.
Getting out of bed wasn’t just a movement. It was an entry into the "day." He stretched his arms. He turned on the light. He looked at the walls, one by one, as if checking whether they were still there.
In the bathroom, the face in the mirror gave him a faint smile, effortlessly. Out of reflex.
He brushed his teeth with equal strokes, neither too hard, nor too soft. He opened the closet. Chose the right shirt. Always a different one, but always the same. Neutral. Clean.
In the kitchen, the coffee started flowing before he even turned on his phone. In truth, he didn’t drink it for the taste. He liked the ritual.
The sound of the machine, the bitter scent, the warmth wrapping his hands.
He unlocked his phone.
A message: “See you at 9, like always?”
The reply came naturally: “Of course! Can’t wait!” Emotions cost him nothing. He could compose them in an instant.
He was ready. Always ready.
On the way, he walked with measured steps. He already knew who would be on the 8:16 bus. The old man with the green bag, the student with oversized headphones, the frowning guy who never says sorry when he pushes past. He didn’t like crowds, but he understood them. They were predictable. They had rules.
At the office building, he activated his lower-pitched voice. Straightened his back a little more. Tightened his smile.
— Good morning, everyone!
His colleagues greeted him with the air of people who knew his energy. He was the organized one, calm, efficient. The man without moods, without chaos.
During the meeting, he noted exactly what was needed. Cracked a joke at the right moment. Nodded with the right tone. Answered without pauses.
He had no pauses.
At lunch break, he sat with two coworkers. Laughed about something like “the boss forgetting deadlines again.” The laugh was real… or at least it seemed that way.
The afternoon passed in between reports and emails, with an almost musical rhythm. When he stood up, it was 6:03 p.m.
He got home. Closed the door. Stood still. For a minute. And then, a soft sound, like the swish of a curtain, passed through his ears.
He looked around. Nothing unusual about the same four walls as every day.
In the mirror on the right-hand wall, his face looked paler. And for a second, he didn’t recognize himself.
