I climbed the stairs to the second floor. The hallway was darker than before, the shadows longer. The light bulb at the end of the hall flickered once, twice, then steadied. I passed Ada's room. The door was closed. I heard her voice inside, low and soft, talking to someone—or maybe talking to herself. I couldn't make out the words.
In my room, I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the six small paintings on the wall. The cat in the painting—the one that matched Loki's pose from last night—seemed to be looking at me now. Its painted eyes followed me as I moved my head from side to side.
Impossible, I thought. Paintings don't move.
But then again, fish didn't show you other people's memories. Cats didn't speak with their eyes. And houses didn't breathe.
Or maybe they did. Maybe they always had, and I had just never noticed before.
I didn't sleep that night. Or maybe I did. Time in this house had become as unreliable as a broken clock. I lay on the bed, fully dressed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of the house settling around me.
The wood creaked. The pipes groaned. The wind outside pressed against the windows like a living thing trying to get in.
And Loki watched me.
He sat on the desk again, in the same spot as the first night, his green eyes reflecting the faint glow of the streetlamp outside. He didn't move. He didn't blink. He just watched.
"You can't sleep," his eyes said. It wasn't a question.
"No," I whispered. "I can't."
"You're thinking about Odin."
"Yes."
"You're thinking about the train station. About the woman who came too late."
I swallowed. "How do you know what I'm thinking?"
Loki blinked slowly. "Because I've been here longer than you. I've seen what happens when memories change. I've felt what happens when they don't."
He jumped down from the desk, landing silently on the floor. He walked to the door and looked back at me over his shoulder.
"Come," his eyes said. "the food is ready."
before i go down I saw Odin in Ada’s room He told me thank you , but he was shook from hearing his real sound.
I petted him and said, "Don't be afraid."
People are sometimes afraid of becoming better, because some pains run so deep that they become part of their identity.
One of the windows cracked open, and a real breeze entered the house. The scent of real grass—wet from the rain—was easily noticeable. I went down the stairs. The picture frame showing the train station was now complete—but not a train that was arriving, rather one that was leaving the station.
Odin had finally let the train go.
The feeling of anticipation in the picture had been replaced by departure. The foggy atmosphere of the photo was sad, but real.
I heard the ticking of my wristwatch; it was trying to move, but slowly.
When I reached the ground floor, Loki was waiting for me. With his strange behavior, he tried to make me feel guilty, but I had caught Odin’s real feeling—and that was enough for me.
"You know you're doing something that might make us lose Odin." Loki said
"I'm not deleting. I'm freeing the imprisoned emotions stuck in the past." Nooshin said
"But when a picture frame is completed, do you know what that means?"
"It means the house no longer protects it. It means it no longer belongs here. It means it has to leave." Loki said
And he shouted, repeating the same things again.
It was dinner time. The yellow light of the kitchen had dimmed, but still, the aroma of lentil soup and grilled chicken quickly drew me to the table. Without preamble, I started eating.
Ada looked at me with a mix of delight and surprise and said, "If someone sees this much eagerness for your food, they won’t think my cooking is good—they’ll think I've been working you from morning till night, which is why you’re so hungry."
She pointed toward the ceiling.
The crack had gotten smaller, as if a layer of putty had been spread over it, but it was still visible. Maybe it needed to dry.
While hastily slurping the soup, not caring that I was burning my lips and palate, I asked, "When did you make this? How?" Nooshin said
"Don’t be difficult. I know you tried to make it while I was asleep. But don’t bother yourself. Anyway, another crack has appeared on the wall by the living room window. We need to do something serious." Ada said
"We can’t just grab putty and seal a crack every day. Maybe I should wallpaper the whole house. Wrapped like a gift, it might stay safer."
Loki was eating, but Odin wasn’t there.
"Where is Odin?" Nooshin said
"Still asleep in my room. I think he played too much today and got tired. I didn’t wake him. If he gets hungry, he’ll come." Ada said
But no food had been poured into his bowl. It was as if no one except me was waiting for Odin.
"This exhaustion isn’t from work. It’s from sleeping just a few minutes and dreaming a thousand different genres—connected and disconnected. I get more tired in sleep than when awake." Nooshin said
"Sometimes I dream too. You know, before, I used to dream more. But now either I dream less or I don’t remember. Still, I wish I could remember. Sometimes I even forget the feeling of the dream. You know, in the past, I used to sleep just to dream, but now sleep is absolute."
"Sleep is a strange process too. Think about it—you go to bed and wait to switch off." Ada said
"But for me, it’s not like that. I don’t switch off. I connect." Nooshin said
She laughed at my words, but overall, she was saying interesting things tonight. Still, I was worried about Odin and just waited until I was full so I could quickly check on him. But as if a knife had stuck in my stomach, I couldn’t get full.
My eagerness for food wasn’t natural. I knew something was stopping me from checking on Odin, but even though I knew, I couldn’t control it.
With difficulty, I tore myself away from the dinner table and Ada’s chatter to check on Odin. Because it was clear from Loki and Ada that his absence didn’t matter to them. I was surprised by their lack of attention, but this was the least unusual thing in this house. In this house, you could never be sure of anything.
The hallway upstairs was darker than ever—not because a light was off, but because the house seemed to have lost part of its light.
Ada’s room door was half open. Odin was always lying on the bed, but this time the bed was empty.
I gently pushed the door open to see the room more clearly.
Odin wasn’t there.
"Odin, Odin, where did you go, boy?"
I searched all the rooms on the second floor. He wasn’t there.
The basement was out of the question—Odin hated the dampness there. So only one floor remained: the third floor.
The hallway leading to the third floor was so quiet you could hear the water inside the walls—no, not water, whispers.
The dust on the stairs to the third floor suggested no one had set foot there. But I could hear Odin’s breathing. He was there. Yet everyone tried to forget that room.
The closer I got, the more the wooden stairs groaned, and the distant murmurs grew nearer.
The metal doorknob was so cold you’d think the room was built outside the house.
The balcony door was closed, but the chill from outside seemed to slightly stir the white sheer curtains by the balcony window.
Odin was lying on the bed, directly beneath the hole in the wall. His body seemed smaller—or maybe thinner. I could barely notice the change. Maybe he was farther away, like photos that fade and lose their luster, and you know years have passed, and even the memory of that photo is hard to recall.
"Hey." Nooshin said
He looked at me calmly.
His eyes had changed. There was no anxiety, but a peace that frightened me. It resembled departure.
I went toward the hole—a black, endless void. But if you brought your ear close, you could hear sounds that were more like confessions.
It was scary. I didn’t want to know more. I pulled myself back.
"You heard right. This is where they confess." Odin said
"To whom?" Nooshin said
"To the house."Odin said
"Why?" Nooshin said
"Do you know what the grief wind is?"
"The grief wind is exactly this—not telling your sorrows. Or maybe you tell, but no one listens. And even if they listen, they don’t care. Then it all gathers like a big wind in your throat, blocking your breath—let alone your voice. And then you don’t say anything. Nothing."
"But here, right when you think no one is listening, the house listens to you."
"See? The house listens to you and cares about you." Odin said
I looked at the hole again, and my pupils seemed to widen, trying to see something in the darkness.
Darker and darker, and someone seemed to come closer. I felt the warmth of their breath on my face.
The house didn’t just listen.
The house breathed.
I returned to my room, lay on my bed, pulled the blanket up to just below my throat, and stared at the ceiling. Odin was sleeping exactly parallel to my gaze. He was free. But why was he so sad? As if after being released, he didn’t know who he was.
Attachment to pain—what a strange phenomenon. And maybe a safe zone. But a safe zone that hurts.
The house really protects them. This really is their safe zone.
Suddenly, a strange sadness gripped my throat.
The house had a law:
It deleted. If a picture became complete, there was no longer a need to keep it. It would delete you—but as if you never existed at all.
You would be forgotten, and that was worse than death.
I felt a tear roll down my cheek. I didn’t want to wipe it away. I wanted it to cover my entire face. I wanted to mourn. But for what?
Odin’s freedom? Or a house that you couldn’t tell if it was compassionately holding him or cruelly trying to delete him? Or my longing for a dog—all black with a white, heart-shaped spot on his chest—who always tried to play and had a funny jealousy that someone might love Loki more than him?
I was in that second where you feel the lightness of sleep. Crack.
I didn’t want to pay attention, so I tried to continue the dream. But this time, the sound of wind and cold lifted me from bed.
A sharp chill came through the crack in my door. The door was half open, even though I was sure I had closed it tight—I didn’t want to be surprised by Loki in the middle of the night with a load of nonsense. I still wasn’t used to animals talking—and him being a black "OMG" black cat at midnight.
I closed the door again, but the cold wind wasn’t normal. Suddenly, I remembered Odin.
I quickly went upstairs again. The room was empty. The balcony door was half open.
The wind was slamming the curtain against the wall, and Odin was calmly staring at the moonlight on the balcony. His body was semi-transparent, like steam. He had decided to travel. I didn’t dare get close. I was responsible for all of this.
"Forgive me. You’re disappearing." Nooshin said
He looked at me and said softly:
"When there’s nothing left to hold on to, it lets you go. I’m not sad. Don’t be sad either. I’m just a little scared because I just realized—when you confess to it, instead of freeing you, it makes you dependent on your pain."
"Don’t let it make you dependent."
"Freedom and reaching liberty are worth the fear." Odin said
Tears streamed down my face, but I couldn’t take a step.
"What do I tell Ada?"
"The house knows the way of forgetting well."Odin said
The wind grew calmer, and the shadow of a man passed by the balcony. Everything was calm. No wind. No cold. As if nothing had ever been in this room. Just black patches right in front of me at the entrance.