The voice was harsh. Too harsh for a simple hallway.
A metallic echo seemed to vibrate against the walls, as if the space itself had changed shape.
— You think you are someone, huh?
Aïcha stood still, frozen in place, her breath tight.
A cold, inexplicable smell lingered in the air, a mix of damp stone and old metal, like a place sealed away for a long time.
In front of her, a blurred silhouette spoke to her as if she were nothing.
But this time, it wasn't just blurred.
It seemed to absorb the light around it, as if the hallway itself was losing its color in its presence. Its shape shifted slightly with every flicker of light, too stable to be normal, yet impossible to focus on.
The words came in chains, sharp and fast… not giving her time to respond.
She tried to open her mouth, but no sound came out, as if something was blocking her throat.
A faint buzzing filled her ears, like an invisible pressure.
— Always playing the victim… always disturbing others…
In the distance, a door creaked open slowly on its own, even though no wind was present.
Around her, the walls seemed to slowly close in.
The hallway was no longer the same. It had become suffocating, almost crushing.
A pale flickering light trembled on the ceiling, like a dying bulb, casting unstable shadows.
She stepped back, then another step, never taking her eyes off the silhouette, instinctively searching for an exit.
But behind her, there was nothing anymore. The hallway seemed to have closed itself off.
Even the ground felt colder under her feet, almost damp.
The silhouette moved forward again, slowly, with icy confidence.
Its footsteps made no sound, yet every movement echoed inside Aïcha's mind.
— Even your presence is disturbing.
Aïcha's heart tightened violently. Her breathing became uneven, short, hard to control.
She tried to scream, but her voice broke before it could even come out, as if it was being swallowed from within.
An invisible pressure pushed her back without contact, as if even the air rejected her existence.
— Get out.
The voice was now final, emotionless, almost empty.
It echoed as if it came from everywhere at once, and nowhere at all.
A door suddenly burst open behind her with a sharp crash.
The sound of wood cracking echoed violently through the hallway.
And without understanding how, Aïcha was thrown backward.
The world tilted. The floor disappeared.
She opened her eyes abruptly.
07:12.
Her body shot up from the bed, as if ripped out of the dream.
She was breathing fast, too fast, instinctively searching for air.
A faint metallic taste still lingered in her mouth, like a trace of the dream still stuck to her.
Her small apartment was silent… slightly dark, with half-closed curtains letting in a pale morning light. The walls were simple, slightly worn by time, and the air always felt cold, even without air conditioning. A smell of old wood and slightly damp fabric filled the room.
In the distance, a dog barked faintly in the street, followed by the sound of a motorcycle starting.
Aïcha stayed still for a few seconds, unable to tell whether she was still inside the dream or back in reality.
Her heart was beating hard, too hard.
boom… boom… boom…
She placed a hand on her face, then slowly ran her fingers through her messy hair, pushing it back as if trying to regain control of herself.
— …
The fabric of her bedsheet still felt cold against her skin, as if the night had never fully left her.
On a small table near the bed, a half-empty glass of water and a phone lying face down sat frozen in silence. The phone vibrated slightly for a second, then stopped, with no visible notification.
She stared into the room, lost.
The faint ticking of a wall clock echoed softly, steady, almost too calm.
Why did this dream still feel real?
In the kitchen, Aïcha forced herself into her usual routine. A light tea, a piece of bread.
The sound of boiling water filled the space briefly, hissing in an uneasy calm.
She ate without appetite, simply because she had to.
The taste of the bread felt almost absent, as if her senses were still somewhere else.
She then leaned against the wall, motionless, her gaze empty, as if part of her was still trapped in that hallway.
A chair creaked slightly when she shifted her weight, then silence returned immediately.
In front of the bathroom mirror, she looked at herself longer this time.
The light above the mirror flickered faintly before stabilizing.
Her reflection looked almost unfamiliar. Tired. Fragile.
Her eyes seemed darker than usual, as if they had seen something they were not meant to see.
A tear slowly rolled down the corner of her eye without warning.
She immediately felt the cold line on her skin.
Startled, Aïcha blinked quickly and wiped it away with her fingers, as if refusing to acknowledge it.
She took a deep breath, the sound slightly echoing in the small bathroom, then looked away from the mirror.
A few minutes later, she left her apartment.
The soft click of the door echoed through the hallway.
The building corridor was already alive. Neighbors were talking quietly, others opening their doors. A smell of coffee and soap floated in the air, mixed with the slightly closed-off hallway scent.
Eyes turned toward her as she passed.
Aïcha felt them, but didn't look up. She simply tightened the strap of her bag and kept walking.
Whispers followed behind her.
— That's her…
— The one from yesterday…
— Always causing trouble…
A chair scraped slightly behind an open door, intensifying the awkward silence.
She didn't respond. She walked faster.
07:48.
Outside, the air was already warm for the morning. A humid heat lightly stuck to the skin within seconds.
The sky was clear, slightly veiled by a light haze, letting through a soft but present sun.
In the street, the African neighborhood was alive: vendors setting up stalls, metallic cooking sounds, motorcycle taxis honking, voices blending into a familiar chaos.
— Fresh fish! Fresh fish!
— Hot bread here!
— Taxi! Taxi, let's go!
A radio crackled in the distance, music breaking through static.
Aïcha walked without slowing down.
She wore a simple light top, comfortable dark pants, and flat sandals. Her hair was tied quickly, but a few strands still fell across her face. Her bag stayed tight against her shoulder like silent protection.
Her gaze was low, lost in thought.
The world around her seemed to exist without her.
A group of teenagers passed nearby, laughter briefly exploding before fading away.
— Look at her… she's weird…
— Leave it, we don't know her story…
Aïcha clenched her jaw slightly but kept walking.
Then she heard it.
A voice.
Not loud. Not close.
But perfectly clear to her.
As if it was right behind her ear, despite the crowd around her.
— Aïcha…
She stopped abruptly.
Her body froze instantly.
Her heart skipped a beat.
boom.
Her fingers tightened around her bag strap.
The street kept moving around her, but everything inside her slowed down.
A distant horn sounded, muted, as if sound itself had become irrelevant.
The voice wasn't repeated. It wasn't shouted.
It was spoken calmly. Too calmly. As if coming from someone who truly knew her.
A shiver ran down her spine.
And for the first time that morning… it wasn't just fear from the dream.
It was real.
Aïcha stayed frozen a second too long.
Then, slowly, she turned her head…