In the mornings, the lobby smelled like floor cleaner and coffee.

  Someone had spilled a little sugar by the machine. It made a rough, sticky patch under my shoe. I stepped to the side and wiped it against the tile. The security desk had a small fan on it. It was pointed up toward Somchai’s face. He was eating something from a paper bag. The top of the bag was folded down and stained with oil.

  “Morning,” he said, chewing.

  “Morning,” I said.

  He swallowed, then reached under the desk for the kettle. He poured hot water into a cup of instant noodles. The steam lifted up and fogged his glasses. He took them off and wiped them on the hem of his shirt.

  “You here for 19B again?” he asked.

  “Just checking in,” I said.

  He nodded. “They asked about you.”

  “Who?”

  “The wife. The quiet one.”

  He picked up his phone and looked at the screen. Then set it down again.

  “She stands by the mirror in the elevator sometimes,” he said. “Like she’s waiting for someone else to get in.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  He stirred the noodles with a plastic fork. The cup made a soft scraping sound against the desk.

  “People get nervous in tall buildings,” he said. “It makes them see things.”

  The elevator arrived and I stepped inside.

  The mirror in the back wall was wide. It showed the whole car, bright and clear. I watched myself for a second. Then I looked away.

  On 19, the doors opened.

  May was there.

  She held a small bag of takeout in one hand. The paper was thin and damp at the bottom. She shifted it carefully, like something inside might fall. When she stepped into the elevator, the smell of broth came with her.

  “Hello,” I said.

  She nodded. “Hello.”

  She turned toward the mirror.

  Her hands adjusted the strap of the bag. Then stopped.

  The elevator was quiet except for the low hum of the motor. I could hear someone coughing far down the hall. A door closing. Then nothing.

  May leaned closer to the mirror.

  She lifted one hand slowly, like she was about to fix her hair. Her fingers hovered in the air. She tilted her head, just a little.

  Then she lowered her hand.

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  “Do you see it?” she asked.

  “What?” I said.

  She looked at the glass. Then at me.

  “My reflection,” she said.

  I stepped beside her.

  The mirror showed me clearly. It showed the takeout bag. It showed the lights and the walls.

  But where May stood, there was only space.

  The elevator doors closed and the numbers began to move down.

  “Maybe the light is strange,” I said.

  She nodded, but her eyes stayed on the mirror. Her shoulders lifted slightly. Then settled.

  “It happens at home too,” she said.

  She pressed her palm flat against the mirror. The glass didn’t fog.

  “I thought it was just this building,” she added.

  The elevator reached the lobby. The doors opened.

  Somchai looked up from his desk.

  “Going out?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Just for a little.”

  He glanced at the mirror inside the elevator, then back at her. His mouth opened like he was about to say something. Then he just nodded.

  “Have a good day,” he said.

  Outside, the air was warm. The street vendors were setting up. One man was slicing fruit at a cart. His knife moved in quick, neat motions. Another was heating oil in a large pan. The surface shimmered and made a low, bubbling sound.

  May stood there for a second, holding her bag. She looked at the reflection in the glass door of the building. Her face appeared faintly. The bag did not.

  “Do you ever get used to it?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure,” I said.

  She nodded.

  “I’m meeting my husband,” she said. “He wants to talk about the unit again.”

  “Are you still interested?” I asked.

  “I think so,” she said. “It’s quiet.”

  A man bumped into her lightly as he passed. She stepped aside. He kept walking.

  “Do you hear it?” she asked.

  “Hear what?”

  She paused. Her fingers tightened on the bag. The paper crinkled.

  “Nothing,” she said.

  She walked toward the corner.

  I watched her go. A bus passed between us. When it cleared, she was gone.

  Back in the lobby, Somchai was still eating his noodles. He had added a small boiled egg and was peeling the shell. The pieces fell onto the desk.

  “She asked if the mirrors were new,” he said.

  “Are they?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Same ones since I started.”

  He put the egg in his mouth. Chewed slowly.

  “Maybe she’s just tired,” he said.

  A resident came in with a dog on a leash. The dog’s nails clicked against the floor. Somchai waved them through and went back to his phone.

  I took the elevator back up.

  The hallway on 19 was still. The lights buzzed softly overhead. I walked past 19B and noticed the door was slightly open. Just enough for a thin line of darkness.

  Inside, I could see the table from the day before. The folding chairs. The fruit container still sitting in the center. A toothpick had fallen and rested against the plastic lid.

  I knocked lightly.

  No answer.

  I pushed the door open with my fingers.

  The air was cool. The windows were shut. The kettle on the stove was empty now.

  In the bedroom, the mirror on the closet reflected the doorway. I stepped closer.

  I could see myself. The empty room behind me. The city beyond the windows.

  I looked for May.

  She wasn’t there.

  The takeout bag sat on the kitchen counter. The bottom was wet and had left a dark circle on the surface.

  I stood there for a moment, listening to the quiet.

  Then my phone buzzed.

  A new message from Narin.

  “Did you meet my wife this morning?”

  I looked at the mirror again.

  “No,” I typed back. “I didn’t.”

  The message showed as delivered.

  I put my phone away and left the unit, closing the door gently behind me.