Rain had been falling since the afternoon, drenching the windows of the towering apartment building in the middle of the city.
Nadia stood in front of the bedroom window, still wearing the white blouse she'd worn to the office. Her phone vibrated for the third time in her hand.
**Raka.**
The name appeared on the screen.
Nadia stared at it for a long moment.
She should have ignored the message.
Raka was her husband's coworker.
And tonight, her husband—Arman—was out of town on a business trip.
The phone vibrated again.
> *"You haven't gone to sleep yet?"*
Nadia sighed.
Her fingers moved before her mind could stop them.
> *"Not yet."*
The reply came almost instantly.
> *"I know."*
Nadia frowned.
> *"What do you mean?"*
The three dots appeared on the screen.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Then a photo came through.
It wasn't a vulgar photo. It was just Raka standing on the balcony of a restaurant, the collar of his black shirt slightly open, his hair wet from the rain. His gaze was fixed on the camera.
Too confident.
Too attractive.
And what unsettled Nadia most—she knew exactly who the photo had been sent to.
> *"I still remember the way you looked at me this afternoon."*
Nadia's heart began to race.
She set the phone on the table.
Then picked it up again.
> *"You misread it."*
Raka replied:
> *"Then why are you still replying?"*
Nadia fell silent.
That simple question felt far more dangerous than it should have.
She walked toward the mirror and looked at her own reflection.
"It's just a message," she murmured.
But she knew the problem wasn't the message.
The problem was that she enjoyed the attention.
Over the past few months, Arman had grown increasingly busy. Their conversations had turned into schedules, work, bills, and short questions like *Have you eaten?* or *When are you coming home?*
While Raka...
Raka always noticed the little things.
The way Nadia tied her hair.
The coffee she ordered.
Even Nadia's habit of tapping on the table whenever she was nervous.
And that kind of attention felt dangerous when someone felt invisible to the person they loved.
The phone vibrated again.
> *"Come downstairs."*
Nadia froze.
> *"What?"*
> *"I'm in the lobby."*
Nadia stared at the bedroom door.
For several seconds, she didn't move.
Then the sound of the elevator came from the apartment hallway.
Ding.
Her heart seemed to stop.
She knew she shouldn't go downstairs.
But a few minutes later, Nadia was already standing in front of the elevator, her hands cold and her breathing uneven.
The elevator doors opened.
Raka stood inside.
Black shirt.
Calm expression.
His eyes immediately found Nadia's.
Neither of them said a word.
Raka only gave her a faint smile.
"So," he said softly, "you really did come downstairs."
Nadia swallowed.
"I just wanted to tell you to go home."
Raka stepped out of the elevator.
Now only a few steps separated them.
"Then," he said, "why do you look nervous?"
Nadia was about to answer.
But the words vanished when Raka stopped directly in front of her.
The rain could still be heard faintly through the lobby windows.
And for the first time, Nadia realized something far more frightening than an affair.
She wasn't sure she wanted Raka to leave.