The morning air inside the apartment hallway felt calm, almost still, as the girl stepped out of her room. Her heels clicked softly against the polished floor, each step echoing slightly in the quiet corridor. She didn’t rush — mornings like these didn’t need rushing — but as she neared the elevator, the metallic doors began to glide shut.
With a quick, graceful movement, she slid her leg forward, stopping the doors just before they sealed. The elevator chimed softly, and she stepped in. The mirrored walls reflected her every movement. She caught her reflection in the mirrored wall and smiled softly.
“Hello, Samy,” she whispered, almost as if greeting herself.
- “hello samy” at the elevator (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iAe-s-F6pUQ)
The elevator began its smooth descent, and she watched the numbers light up in sequence. There was nothing extraordinary about that ride. Just another morning. But to her, it felt like a quiet ritual, a moment suspended between the chaos of the world above and the quiet hum of the day waiting below.
The next time, it happened again. She stepped out, heels clicking, the corridor calm and quiet. And again, the elevator doors were closing. Almost instinctively, she reached out with her leg, stopping the doors in time. As she stepped in, the mirrored walls greeted her once more, and the faint sound of the elevator’s soft hum surrounded her.
“Hello, Samy,” she said again, a playful curve touching her lips.
By the third time, the moment felt almost deliberate, as though the building itself was waiting for her to repeat the silent game. The elevator doors would start to close, and she would time her steps just right, halting them with ease before entering. Each time, the mirrored walls reflected her — steady, calm, almost serene.
“Hello, Samy,” she whispered, like clockwork, as if the elevator wasn’t just a lift but her own quiet stage.
In that brief moment each morning, she felt anchored, almost grounded, as though the soft greeting to herself held a secret meaning only she could understand.
By the fourth time, her steps had a rhythm, her timing effortless. She reached the elevator as the doors prepared to close, paused just enough to slide her foot in and stop the motion, and stepped inside. Her reflection met her gaze again. She tilted her head slightly and smiled, her heels making the faintest sound against the floor of the small cabin.
“Hello, Samy,” she breathed, a whisper that seemed to linger in the enclosed space.
And just like that, the moment passed, carried down with the soft hum of the elevator until the doors opened again.