Leaning against the cab window, Klara watched New York’s skyscrapers rise above her like an endless wall of concrete. The city’s noise blared around her, foreign. Different from London.

The voices rawer, the lights sharper, the people more indifferent. Everything was too much and too harsh at once — yet it was exactly what she needed. A place to disappear. Without a trace.

The leather seat slowly warmed under her palm. For a while she just felt her own pulse in her fingertips. A long road lay behind her — and not just today’s.

In the corner of her mouth lurked that easy half-smile of hers. But for a moment her eyes went empty, as if searching for something she didn’t want to name.

Not now.
She pushed the thought aside with one practiced motion. She was good at it.

Back home she’d practiced it for years. Now she had to do the same, just on a different stage. And this time it was all that mattered.

A clean slate.
She kept repeating it to herself, hearing the words echo back with a hint of bitterness.

As if she didn’t quite believe it herself.

The cab slowed, then stopped in front of a tired New York brownstone. The brick was reddish-brown, the steps worn.

Somewhere inside, music played, muffled, in an unfamiliar language. She got out hurried and annoyed.

She hadn’t counted on the city’s traffic devouring every minute so mercilessly.

Klara, flustered but still polite, was about to answer with a smile — some short, very English explanation, the kind that had always been enough back home.

An “excuse me, the traffic” sort of line. Here, it wasn’t enough.

The woman cut her off with a small, impatient wave. Excuses didn’t interest her. She gestured toward the door and headed inside without a word.

Mrs. Evans led her through as if handing over an object. Kitchen. A nod. Bathroom. A wave of the hand.

Hallway. Step, move on. A door, the other room behind it. Everything was one brief gesture after another, with no explanation.

Klara tried to keep up without dropping the bags she was still carrying.

Got it, got it, she noted with a tired smile.

In the hallway the woman stopped and knocked on one of the doors. No answer. The silence stretched a little too long. Klara waited, curious who would emerge.

In the end Mrs. Evans turned back without so much as a shrug, as if this were exactly how things should be.

“Your roommate. Reliable, pays on time.” She paused for a moment. “It’s just… she’s not quite down to earth. But that’ll be your problem, not mine.”

Klara nodded.
We’ll see. She knew the type from back home. She knew how to handle them. She had her ways.

They returned to the entrance. Mrs. Evans drew the key from her bag and handed it over. The gesture was simple, yet final.

“Thank you, Mrs. Evans. There won’t be any trouble. I’m quiet, tidy… you’ll hardly notice me.”
The woman looked at her. With the kind of look that doesn’t argue — it takes note.

“I should hope so.” She paused in the doorway. “If any… difficulty should arise, let me know. In time.”
And with that she left.

The door closed softly behind her. Klara was alone in the entryway. The key was cold in her palm.

Heavier, too, than it looked. For a moment she just stood there, clutching it, listening to the silence the departing woman had left behind.

Faint, barely audible sounds drifted from the other room.
The roommate… was there after all.

Her room wasn’t big, but gave no cause for complaint. She closed the door behind her and stood in the middle for a moment, looking around.

The walls a pale, neutral white. A window, a bed, a wardrobe, a small desk. The floor creaked here and there under her weight.

Not unpleasantly — more as if it were greeting her.
Nice, she concluded, and didn’t add, and that’s quite enough.

She lifted the suitcase onto the bed and opened it. She’d brought little — on purpose. The things that mattered would arrive tomorrow.

At the very bottom, tucked between the clothes, lay an envelope. She didn’t open it — she knew what was inside. She put it on the wardrobe’s top shelf, where no one ever reaches. Within an hour she was done.

In the end she decided to go out into the city. On foot, aimlessly — the way she always did. She walked until the foreign streets slowly grew familiar.

Work could wait — she wasn’t starting for days, and she’d arranged everything before the trip. The moment she stepped out the front door, she felt it.

The city smelled different from London. Hotter, greasier, smokier. Burnt coffee, grilled meat from the corner diner, the musty warmth rising from the subway.

Not all of it pleasant — but alive, tangible. Back home every scent was more restrained. More polite. She took a deep breath.
All right, she told herself, and set off.

The streets changed slowly around her. On the avenue nobody looked at her — and right now that felt good. Later she found a quieter park and sat down on a bench.

For a while she just let the noise and the green surround her. Then she drifted on, through streets of old brick houses. She paused at shop windows, though she didn’t want to buy anything.

She spent nearly three hours out there. When she got back, she threw herself on the bed. Her feet ached, her stomach growled. She let out a deep sigh and stared up at the ceiling, drained.

Ordering pizza seemed the only sensible decision. The kind that doesn’t require getting up.

Still, she had to get up. At least long enough to change into something comfortable.

Eating in the clothes she’d worn all day would have felt like still being at work.

About an hour must have passed when she heard a noise outside. She sat up and listened. Someone was in the living room. The roommate. Who hadn’t shown herself until now.

Let’s see, she thought, and was already heading for the door.

“Hello.”
For a moment Klara searched for words.

The introduction she’d assembled in her head, the carefully shaped first sentences, simply vanished.

Then, before she could think, her London instinct spoke up:
“How are you?”

The answer came instantly, without any particular emphasis.
“Fine.”
Then she turned the handle, stepped back into her room, and the door closed.

Later the nearly full box lay beside her on the bed. Only two slices were missing. It wasn’t bad — that was simply all she could manage.

Fatigue proved stronger than hunger in the end. The evening routine was skipped.

Though sleep took her quickly, the night brought no real rest. The new place, the muffled hum of traffic seeping through the window.

A distant horn now and then, a bus braking far away — her body was there, but her thoughts were somewhere else.

In the morning the courier’s call settled the question. She got up. The rest of her things had arrived, and most of the day went to unpacking.

The charger went missing, the shelf refused to fit anywhere, and there seemed to be too little room for everything. The roommate gave no sign of life — her door stayed shut all day.

In the afternoon her phone rang once more. Unknown number, London area code. Klara watched it until it went silent, then blocked it. It wasn’t the first number she’d blocked.

Toward evening, nearly done, she dropped onto the bed. She’d barely landed when she heard sounds: stirring, keys jingling, the creak of the door. She peeked out.

Her roommate was just about to leave — in light, party-ready clothes, headphones around her neck, as if her whole day had been built around this single exit.

Hmm… interesting.
Klara withdrew into her room.

By the weekend she’d pulled herself together and set out to explore the city again. On foot, by subway, sometimes just standing on a corner, watching.

The place let her come closer only slowly — it didn’t give itself easily. But Klara was patient.

She tried to pick up the rhythm of the streets, to learn the tempo of the people. By Monday she wanted to be ready. As far as that was possible at all.

Monday came. Early rising had never been hard for her — her body was long used to it.

The past few nights had left their mark, though. The mirror didn’t lie. But there was no time to dwell on that now.

The depot was on the edge of the city — she had to leave earlier than planned. And on her first day, she was not going to be late. She dressed, grabbed the key, and left.

The shift was packed from the very first minute.

Another passenger didn’t even close the door properly.
“Seventy-first Street. Fast.”
No greeting, no eye contact. Just the address. Already looking at his phone.

On his way out he thrust a crumpled bill over his shoulder into Klara’s face and was already gone. The hand vanished before she could react.

Klara put the money away and turned to look for the next fare.

The next was a young woman, already yelling into her phone as she climbed in.
“I’m telling you, if he does that one more time, I will personally—”

…yes, I know it’s my goddamn job, but that has nothing to do with it… just listen to me for one second, for God’s sake… NO, that is not the same thing!

Getting out, she pressed the bills into Klara’s hand without a glance — a motion she’d done a thousand times, and today was no different. She overpaid.

Klara noticed, wanted to call after her — but the woman had already vanished into the crowd. Horns blared behind her. Klara moved on.

Some just said the address, then scrolled their phone the whole way. Getting out, they tossed the money over their shoulder without a glance.
“Keep the change.”
Door slammed.

Some sat the whole ride with earbuds in, staring glassy-eyed out the window. Not a single word.

There was an older man who rode in silence, then waited at the end for Klara to turn around. Only then did he hand over the money, between two fingers, cleanly.
“Thank you.”

He paid exactly what the ride cost. Not a cent more. Klara almost smiled.
Twenty fares by eleven a.m. Everyone in a hurry, everyone important in the rush.

Klara tried to focus on driving, shutting out the tension in the back seat. The woman got out at Fifth Avenue. The man smiled after her as if the exchange had left no trace.
“Tonight, darling.”

“Yes, I’m on my way… no, she doesn’t suspect a thing… I’m free until the afternoon.”
A short laugh.
Then silence settled over the cab again.

Klara glanced at the man in the mirror. His face gave nothing away. The gap between the two addresses was the gap between a meeting and a secret rendezvous.
Tonight, darling. echoed in her head.

They arrived. Before getting out, he held the money forward without looking — plenty, conspicuously much — as if the gesture were as ordinary as the fare itself.

Klara looked at the money.
If someone pays this much not to be remembered… a hooker would be cheaper. Fewer detours.
She pocketed it. The man glanced around, then was gone. The cab moved on, empty.

The afternoon was quieter. The city seemed to exhale. Fewer passengers, less noise. Around five she returned to the depot, handed in the car, sorted the paperwork, and headed home.

At home she went straight to her room. She dropped her bag and stopped in front of the mirror. The whole day’s weight landed on her at once.

For a moment, in the mirror, she didn’t see the fatigue — she saw the face she’d left back home. She turned away.
Day one. Done.

In the bathroom she undressed. The thoughts came on their own.
Everyone is playing something. Everyone.

The hot stream slowly washed the day off her — the faces, the voices, the half-sentences. She just stood under the shower and let the water dissolve the tension.

She closed her eyes. The noises disappeared. Only the heat remained on her skin. And the silence.

She sat down on the couch with a bowl of cereal and started watching TV. As far as she was concerned, the subject was closed. Klara lingered in the doorway. The name meant nothing to her.

Zyn. Short, strange. It sounded more like a nickname than a real name. She tried to work out what it might be short for — and got nowhere. Maybe just another odd name. Finally she let it go.

“Hey, I’m here, I’m back. Yeah, that’s settled, she’s home too. Tried to buddy up, but nothing special. The girl’s kind of lame.”

A short pause.
“No, I didn’t ask. I don’t care that much.”
Her voice stayed flat the whole time.

A little after midnight she got ready for bed too. Somehow the evening’s game hadn’t pulled her in the way it usually did. Her mind was elsewhere.

She lay on her stomach on the bed, scrolling through her unread messages. The phone’s glow faintly lit her face in the dark room.

But her thoughts wouldn’t leave her alone. A finger paused over a chat window, though she was no longer reading it. Inside, a different conversation was going on.

How am I even supposed to act around her?
She had no ready answer. She’d lived alone in her own rhythm so long she didn’t know what to do with a stranger inside the same four walls.

She wasn’t unlikable. Not annoying either. She was simply there — and that alone was a new stimulus.
She’s not that irritating, actually. But she won’t last here anyway. No point in playing nice.

We’ll see.
She put the phone beside her on the bed and plugged it in. The screen glowed a moment longer, then went dark.

Reckless, moving this far away. Alone.

The next day they both got up early. A long day waited for each of them, each with her own business.

That day an unusual passenger got into the cab. Nothing about him stood out — yet there was something that made Klara watch him a moment longer than the others.

His calm, maybe. Or the way he looked around before getting in.
“Can you take me to an address?” he asked.
Klara nodded.

The ride passed without incident. The man didn’t talk much, didn’t phone, didn’t hurry. On arrival he held out the money calmly, looking her in the eye.

Then, before getting out, he leaned over the seat.
“Listen, I have a favor to ask. I’d be very grateful if you could help.”
His voice was kind. Almost friendly.

Klara hesitated for a moment.
“What needs carrying?”
“Just this bag.” He lifted it in his hand. “To another address. They’ll be expecting it.”
It sounded simple.

“If you could do it, it would really be a great help.”
Klara studied him for a moment. The man’s smile was calm, grateful, without any urgency — like someone asking an old acquaintance for a small favor.

A bag nobody looks into. An address where they’re already waiting.
Klara knew perfectly well that things like this aren’t called favors. She also knew she wasn’t going to ask.
“All right.”

The next address wasn’t far. By the time she arrived, someone was already waiting. A man. Average. Nothing special. The kind of man nobody remembers.

Klara got out, took the bag from the seat and handed it over. The man took it without a word. Didn’t look inside. Asked nothing. As if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Before the fare could even come up, the man pressed an envelope into her hand.
“That’s yours.” A brief pause. “Thank you.”
He said it almost warmly. Then he turned and walked away.

Klara got back in the cab. She opened the envelope. There was more in it than she’d expected.
Well, well. A faint smile crossed her face. Some people know how to say thank you. She put it away.

Zyn sat on the couch in the same motionless calm as always. She didn’t even look up.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
That was it.

Klara paused in the doorway. The silence between them wasn’t new — and it wasn’t an accident. It simply… persisted. As if neither felt any need to break it. Then she went on to her room. The door closed softly behind her.

The next day she picked up the same man again. From the first moment he was different — tenser. Barely noticeably, but still.

“It’s important that we arrive on time,” he said while getting in.
His voice stayed calm, but his tempo was quicker. As if there were more behind the sentence than it said. Klara nodded.

During the ride the man kept glancing at his watch. His fingers drummed impatiently on his knee, as if he were constantly counting something in his head.

“There won’t be a problem with the time, right?” he asked without looking at her.
“We’ll make it,” Klara replied in a reassuring tone.

This time too, there was a package. The same motion, the same simple request — but now the man’s tension seemed to cling to the bag as well. She held it a moment longer than she should have.

Last time it had been easy not to ask. Now it took effort. She pushed the thought aside — with a practiced motion, the way she always did. Then she handed it over, as asked.

Evening came. Zyn got home far earlier than usual — her parties never ended this soon.

Klara could tell from the sounds alone that something was wrong. The key turned too fast, the door slammed too sharply. By the time she looked up, the difference was unmistakable.

Zyn didn’t look around, didn’t stop, didn’t acknowledge her — she headed straight for her room. Her steps were tight and hurried, her eyes slightly reddened. She said nothing. Just disappeared behind the door.

Klara stayed in the hallway. She listened to the silence a moment longer, then stepped over and knocked softly.
“Everything okay?”
A short pause.
“Sure. I’m fine.”

The answer came too fast. Too smooth. She stood there another second, then turned back. They weren’t at the point yet where she could ask more.

Zyn was sitting on the couch. Klara stepped out of her room, paused as if weighing it — then spoke anyway:

“Listen… I know it’s late, but do you want some tea? I was just about to make myself one.”

“Whatever. I’m making some.”
She headed for the kitchen and came back a little later with two steaming mugs.

She set one in front of Zyn, then sat down beside her. The TV played quietly, but neither of them was really watching. Silence settled over them — but not the old, cold kind this time.

“I know what you meant,” Zyn cut in.
Silence. A short, tense pause.
“Yes,” she finally said, more quietly.

“He was a real bastard.” Her voice grew more agitated as she said it. “We talked for days. He was attentive, sweet. He made me believe he was actually interested.”

“Then at the party he kissed me, and I let him. And his buddies and the other bitches burst out laughing. At first I didn’t even get what was happening.”

“Then it hit me. The whole thing was just a bet.” A short, bitter pause. “And if he hadn’t been caught, tonight he’d have happily tried to get me into bed.”

“I made a fool of myself. And they were laughing in the background.”

Silence.
“It was beyond humiliating.”
Klara watched her wordlessly for a moment.

“I hope it was worth it to him. That’s about all the brains these morons have,” Klara noted dryly.

“In your place I’d have just decked him. Right there, in front of everyone.” A faint smile. “At least that would’ve made one good story.”

Zyn turned her head toward her. Her eyes stayed shut off.
“I doubt it.”

Klara fell silent. She tried to find something else to say, but everything would have rung hollow. The silence settled back between them.

Zyn put down the mug.
“Thanks for the tea.”
She stood up. Her movements were calmer now.

She went back to her room and closed the door.