Dean sat in his office at the major tech company where he worked, the bright neon lights filling the space, casting faint reflections on the white glass surfaces.
The office was pristine, as if life never entered this place. But deep within Dean, there were other shadows—shadows that had been in his soul for a long time, sneaking into his mind with every passing moment.
Dean's fingers moved automatically toward the keyboard as he was busy reviewing some documents.
The thought of work was far from his mind, just as his colleagues' ideas about teamwork and celebrating after work didn't touch his heart Nothing seemed of value to him, no one, nothing… except for the emptiness that filled him.
Mark, his colleague, approached, smiling at him with a practiced grin, and said:
"You're not here just for work, are you? Come on, Dean, we need a break. It's gloomy here. Have you tried going for a walk? We need something other than these screens all day."
His tone was hesitant, as if trying to convince himself before convincing Dean.
Dean glanced at him with a hint of boredom and replied in a deep, calm voice:
"I think I'm fine. I'm not in the mood to go out today."
Mark tried again, but Dean kept his eyes fixed on the screen, lost in meaningless little details. After a few moments of silence, Mark turned and left the office, but Dean was left with a strange feeling, as if something was missing. He felt it deep inside, but couldn't quite pinpoint what it was.
The hours dragged on slowly, as if time itself could feel the weight of the loneliness Dean lived in. Finally, the clock chimed, marking the end of the workday, and Dean prepared to leave. He grabbed his bag and slowly left the office.
The weather was foggy, as though the city itself felt the isolation. He walked through the streets of New York, a city always filled with movement, but today, it felt darker than ever.
Dean lit his first cigarette of the evening, inhaling the smoke slowly, as if that moment of solitude was all he needed.
The city around him was drowning in an invisible shadow that no one could escape.
He passed by an electronics store where the display screens at the front showed a series of troubling news. The news anchor on the screen was describing the situation in the United States:
"The suicide rate continues to rise, with a surge in delirium episodes among residents. Analysis indicates an abnormal increase in cases of psychological violence. Things have spiraled out of control."
But Dean didn't pay much attention to this, for the world had become a mere foggy place to him.
All those crises, all those tragic stories were just side details that didn't concern him.
He continued walking on the wet sidewalks, his eyes moving between the faces walking beside him—tired faces and dull eyes—as if everyone were in a collective slumber.
Suddenly, his attention was drawn to a woman standing in the middle of the street.
She was in an unusual position, staring at the sky with a deep, strange smile.
A smile that was inexplicable, as if she knew something that no one else did.
Dean approached her slowly, as if something strange was pulling him toward her. But he felt something unusual.
His heart began to beat faster, and a strange feeling crept into his mind. The closer he got to her, the woman's expression suddenly shifted. The smile disappeared, replaced by a look that embodied everything dark in this world.
She screamed loudly, high-pitched screams filled with terror, and her movements became erratic. Life around him seemed to stop for a moment, as if it had disappeared, and his eyes couldn't understand the sudden change in the woman's behavior.
Dean tried to run toward her, trying to scream for her to get out of the middle of the street, but it was too late.
A massive truck was approaching at a reckless speed. Dean only had a few moments to watch the accident unfold before his eyes.
A powerful crash. An explosion. A shattering sound.
Dean ran toward her quickly, trying to help, but he felt his hands had become unnaturally heavy.
Blood was spread across the pavement, and the woman's body was motionless. He began to scream for help, but no one was close enough to save her.
But before life left her eyes, she spoke in a faint voice, her eyes still fixed on Dean:
"He is the reason."
Dean didn't understand. Her words were like a curse he couldn't explain.
The police arrived a few minutes later and began questioning him. He felt his mind unravel, as if everything around him had become distorted.
He still held her hand, which had gripped him tightly until the last moment.
The police officers tried to ask him some questions, but they all seemed uninterested in the truth, only concerned with routine procedures.
One of the investigators, who appeared to be in a state of confusion, looked at him and said:
"Do you know this woman? Were you involved with her?"
Dean simply answered, his eyes silently filled with tears:
"No, I've never seen her before."
After a short conversation, it was clear that there was no connection between Dean and the unknown woman, and they let him leave.
Dean returned to his gloomy apartment on the upper floor. The apartment was dark, and despite the bright electric lights, the shadows filled every corner. He threw his bag aside, then collapsed onto his bed, lost in dark thoughts. That woman, that moment, still haunted him, as if it was an unforgettable instant. Her words echoed in his ear:
"He is the reason."
He didn't know why, but he felt deep inside that something had changed.
Something profound inside himself, something strange connected to that moment he still didn't understand.