Plot hole

The next morning, I woke up with the feeling that everything around me wasn’t quite real. This strange sensation hit me as soon as I opened my eyes. It wasn’t because of the sleep, but more because I still couldn’t forget the note. I got up and automatically went through my morning rituals, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that the world around me was slightly distorted. I opened the window, and the cold air rushed into the room. The rain had started again. It was strange, but I felt like I knew this rain, like I had been waiting for it. It was here, as it always had been, but today its presence seemed important. As though the rain knew more about what was happening than I did. When I returned to the precinct, everything seemed the same as always. The sad faces of my colleagues, the sounds of phones ringing, the rustle of paper. But amidst this familiar noise, I suddenly felt a strange emptiness. They all went on with their work as if nothing had happened, but I knew it wasn’t true. The note haunted me. I could feel it in every step I took, in every glance I gave. And I couldn’t understand why it was still tormenting me. There were a few new cases in the morning. And although they looked standard, I couldn’t shake my thoughts. I glanced at the desk where the protocol from yesterday’s case was already filled out. I couldn’t understand why this strange note was still at the center of my attention. Yesterday, I was sure it was just a coincidence, that it didn’t matter. But now something had changed. My colleagues began to notice that something was off with me. Someone asked if I was tired. I answered in my usual way: "A little." But in my mind, one word kept spinning — “alone.” Not a single line, not a single case made sense to me. The whole world felt like it was covered by a film, and I was trying to break through it, but I couldn’t. I stepped out onto the balcony for a cigarette, once again feeling the rain seep into me, filling every corner of my consciousness. The image of her smile appeared in my mind again, one I couldn’t quite place. Where had I seen her before? Why was she so familiar? “You’re not alone.” The words echoed in my head, as if they were written directly on my skin. Skin I didn’t even notice. Skin I didn’t feel anymore because it didn’t belong to me. I returned to my desk when one of my colleagues approached me. He was familiar, but at that moment, he seemed foreign. "You’re not yourself," he said, stopping by my desk. "We’re all with you. You can relax." "I’m just a little tired," I replied, but I wasn’t sure of my own words. I glanced at the computer screen again, and that’s when I noticed something strange. When I opened the last page of the case, someone had added a new file at the bottom. I knew that file hadn’t been there before. I scrolled down, and there was only one word: “You.” This wasn’t just a random note. I raised my eyes, but no one from my colleagues was looking at me. They were all busy with their work. I looked back at the screen, but the file was gone. As though it had never been there. I tried to find it, but it was futile. Suddenly, I felt someone standing next to me. I turned around, but there was no one in the hallway. I heard footsteps echoing through the empty building. It was strange. Very strange. I opened the cabinet where my files were stored. My gaze fell on a case I had closed once. In the photograph from that case was her — the woman from the photo in her apartment. The same woman, just in a different age, with a different expression on her face. Something held me there, and I couldn’t tear myself away from her gaze. I shifted my eyes to the document and saw a strange note I couldn’t explain: “You’re not alone.” At that moment, I understood. This wasn’t just an investigation. This was a message. And I couldn’t shake the thought that everything I had been going through was part of something far more complex than I could have imagined.