The bungalow’s third-floor window, cracked and barred for years, becomes the epicenter of her unease. Each night, she feels invisible eyes watching her as she composes music, and strange whispers echo from the sealed window. When she finally uncovers a hidden room behind the panes (a forgotten khidki that overlooks a buried well), she stumbles upon a cache of letters and a Polaroid photo dated 2013: her mother, smiling in front of the bungalow—with her father, a man she believed dead in a car crash.