The Waiting Elevator

“My doors opened at 2:59 AM. She stepped in. Pressed every floor. And never came back.”

I remember the sound first, her quick footsteps, the soft rustle of a jacket.

She pressed six buttons in a row, like she couldn’t decide where to go.

For a moment, she stood still. Then she hid in the corner, eyes fixed on the

hallway, waiting. My doors refused to close. I don’t know why.

I just… waited with her. She peeked out twice. Whispered something. Someone passed by.

The air changed. Then she stepped out, and I stayed open, empty,

recording everything but understanding nothing. For nineteen days, I waited for that