Peter Mallett

I stopped the car in front of Akiko’s apartment building. Light was coming from the window of her room. As if in a shadow play, her form was silhouetted against the blind. I think she was playing the piano.

I got out of the car and dialled her number. There was no reply. As I stood waiting a change in the intensity of light falling on the pavement caused me to look up. She was staring down at me, frozen to the spot. When she saw me look up, she stepped backwards. A few seconds passed and I caught her face once more at the window before the blind was dropped suddenly, separating us again.

The door to the entrance was locked. I tapped in Akiko’s room number, 311, though I knew there was no point. She didn’t answer. But I had to be inside; this was where it all finished.