Stories from an Empty Room

Dawn

"Soju?" she asked.
"No thanks, I'm fine."
She shrugs "You're not, but suit yourself."

Despite the lack of cars the sky's filled with smog, the cold air is suffocating, I'd probably develop some sort of cancer.
Contrary to that, the lights in this condo are luminous. The small balcony overlooks the sleepy, city lights. The muffled sound of half-lit's early/late traveled from the kitchen towards us.

"Where do people go?" she puts out her cigarette.
"What do you mean?" I asked back.
"After they've done what they need to do, where do they go?"
She's always like this, asking vague questions and expecting an answer that's somewhat related to what she asked.
"They go home? Go drinking, maybe?" I answered.
"And after?" she asked again, with a bit more aggression this time.
"Yza-"
"Where will you go after this?"
"Back to bed..."

She stopped talking. She looked far, further than the skyscrapers that overlooked the streets. Wind blew her hair all over the place, but she doesn't seem to be bothered.

What does she mean by where to people go? After what? The possibilities range from simply going home to never going home. Where is she going with this?

"Hey..." I called out.
She doesn't move.

I know you're tired, I am too, isn't this why you asked me to go out here? Why-

"Im not happy..." she whispered.
"That's okay." I replied.
"No, it's not. I'm left feeling empty, exhausted, and every step I feels like my last."
"Everyone-"
"Everytime I wake up, I feel like I'm suffocating, like existing is a burden to me."
"Everyone feels like that sometimes."
"But this is my default setting, my normal."
"It'll pass."
"But when? I've been like this for as long as I-"
"Don't be so selfish, Yza. We all have our problems to deal with and it's not just you who feels like that."
She slammed the bottle of soju, on the verge of breaking it. She marched back inside the room and closed the sliding doors.

Shit.

Did I go too far? Did she want something else? Thinking of that now won't do me good. I've already messed up, what more can I do?
I rested my head on my knuckles with my feet on the railing, slowly it got colder and colder, but I couldn't care enough to go back in and talk to her.

Have I done something irreversibly wrong? Was I too obnoxious? Hurtful?

Wait, sunrise? Was I asleep for that long?

I went back inside and nothing changed. The pillows are still on the floor, bottles & caps on the counter, and the lamp is still on. The only thing missing is the unsettling peaceful ambiance the music gave life to.

Oh, she's not here.
I'm sorry.