Anil Babu lives alone. With no family of his own, he plays every role in his solitary household. At 45, he has never married—and he has no desire to. His faith in love, trust, and companionship has long since eroded.

Each day follows a strict rhythm: wake up, cook, eat, go to the office. On the way home, he stops by College Street, buys used books by the kilo, shops for groceries, cooks dinner, reads, and then drifts into sleep. A quiet life governed by routine.

Then the lockdown strikes, upending everything.

Now confined indoors, he finds solace in the books he had recently bought in bulk. One afternoon, after lunch, he picks up a volume from the stack. As he opens the book, a folded letter tumbles out.

In earlier days, people often hid letters inside books—love notes tucked safely between the pages to avoid a prying eye. This seemed to be one of those. He gently unfolds the paper and begins reading.

The letter is from a girl to her boyfriend. She writes of a misunderstanding—an argument that erupted over her male friend, leading to a falling out. But she doesn’t want the relationship to end. She’s willing to sacrifice the friendship if that’s what it takes to prove her love.

She includes a recently installed landline number at her home and urges him to call if he still feels the same. It’s clear she hadn’t intended to end things—just mend them.

Anil Babu finishes reading and murmurs to himself, “So not all women are like her… not like my girlfriend, Mousumi. This girl truly loved him. They must be reunited.” He assumes she forgot to post the letter—perhaps she thought she had, or someone interrupted her as she was finishing it.

But there’s no name. No address. Neither the girl’s nor the boy’s. It’s as if the letter itself was left incomplete, tucked away in haste. It feels nearly two decades old.

Anil Babu wonders: Is she still waiting? Did they ever reunite? Or did they live their lives apart—two hearts fractured by a moment of doubt?

The questions wedge themselves into the silence of his days. He has to know.

Then he remembers: the letter mentioned her landline number.

With a surge of courage, he dials the number. To his surprise, it still exists. In the age of smartphones, the landline lives on. A child answers.

In a gentle voice, Anil asks, “How many women live in your house, little one?”

She replies, “My mom, me, and my grandma. My aunt Mou used to stay here too, but now she’s married and lives with her in-laws.” Then the call drops.

He tries calling again, but the line won’t connect.

“Mou,” he whispers. “So this was Mou’s letter. But is that her full name… or short for something?” His heart races.

Mousumi.

He freezes.

Could this be her letter? His Mousumi?

Rummaging through an old telephone directory, he searches for the number. And there it is—registered to the same address as Mousumi’s home.

It feels like the sky has collapsed around him.

A misunderstanding, a virus of suspicion, had brought lockdown into his own life twenty years ago. And perhaps, it was he who left a letter unread.

Seraphine knelt by the corpse of a fallen stag, one hand tracing arcane sigils in the blood-soaked earth. Her other hand gripped a jagged bone wand, etched with runes of binding and memory. A raven, eyes glinting like obsidian, perched on her shoulder.

"Too clean," she muttered, her voice muffled beneath the leather beak of her mask. "No natural predator did this."

The beast had no visible wounds, just hollow sockets where eyes once gleamed, and a mouth stretched into an eternal scream.

“Soul eater,” croaked the raven.

“Or worse,” Seraphine replied.

In the distance, a bell tolled, a single, low gong that echoed across the veil. No village bell had rung in Hollow Veil since the plague.

Which meant one thing: someone had trespassed.

She rose with a grace that belied her armour’s weight. Her long black cape fluttered behind her as she strode toward the sound. Spiked gauntlets clinked softly as she adjusted her gear. Magic pulsed through her veins not the bright, healing kind she once knew, but a colder, hungrier kind. A curse she had chosen.

She crossed the rotting bridge over the Graven Mire, where bodies once floated like driftwood. Seraphine remembered them all. She had tried to save them before the villagers turned on her, before they burned her clinic to ash and called her a witch.

They were right, in the end. But it wasn’t her alchemy that cursed them.

It was something older.

𝐸𝑛𝑗𝑜𝑦 ^_^

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𝐼 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑚𝑢𝑐ℎ..... 𝐴𝑙𝑙 𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎 𝑚𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝐼 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛'𝑡 𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑙𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠.

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𝑈𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑘𝑦 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑡𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠,𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑑𝑠𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑎𝑖𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑚𝑡ℎ 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑣𝑒𝑠,𝑂𝑢𝑟 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑠 𝑤𝑎𝑙𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑒𝑡𝑙𝑦.𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑝𝑠 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑠 𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑚 𝑎𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡.𝑆𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑜𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑢𝑎𝑔𝑒,𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑒𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑛𝑜 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑠.

𝑆𝑜𝑜𝑛, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑤 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑝𝑒𝑜𝑝𝑙𝑒 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑤 𝑙𝑜𝑢𝑑𝑒𝑟, 𝑠𝑖𝑔𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑖𝑡𝑦 𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑒.𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑐ℎ 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑔𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑑𝑎𝑧𝑧𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑓𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠.𝐴𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑚𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑑, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑟𝑜𝑤𝑑𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑑.𝑊𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚 𝑐𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝐸𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑒𝑛’𝑠 𝑔𝑟𝑜𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑢𝑛𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒.𝐴𝑟𝑡ℎ𝑢𝑟 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑐𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑡, 𝑠𝑜 ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑝𝑢𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑐𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑎𝑖𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑒,“𝑆𝑜, 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑑𝑜 𝑤𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑡? 𝑄𝑢𝑖𝑐𝑘 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑟 𝑔𝑖𝑓𝑡 ℎ𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔?”

“𝐼’𝑚 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔,” 𝐸𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑑. 𝐷𝑜 𝑎𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒.”𝐻𝑒 𝑠𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑠𝑜𝑓𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑙𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑎 𝑠𝑚𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑝.

“𝑊𝑒𝑙𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑜𝑢𝑟 ℎ𝑢𝑚𝑏𝑙𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑒,”𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑙𝑒𝑟𝑘 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑒. 𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑏𝑒𝑔𝑎𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑟𝑜𝑤𝑠𝑒.

𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑝 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑓𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑠𝑚𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑔𝑖𝑓𝑡𝑠, 𝑐𝑢𝑡𝑒 𝑎𝑐𝑐𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠, 𝑝𝑙𝑢𝑠ℎ 𝑡𝑜𝑦𝑠, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑘𝑒𝑡𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑓𝑒𝑐𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑜𝑛.𝐴𝑟𝑡ℎ𝑢𝑟 𝑝𝑖𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑎 𝑓𝑒𝑤 𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑚𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑐𝑞𝑢𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑠 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝐸𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑒𝑛’𝑠 𝑔𝑎𝑧𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐴𝑟𝑡ℎ𝑢𝑟, 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑎𝑛 𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑔𝑟𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑑.𝑆𝑢𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑙𝑦, ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒, 𝑑𝑟𝑎𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛.

“𝐿𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑒 𝑝ℎ𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑠𝑒𝑠! 𝐴𝑟𝑒𝑛’𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑦?”𝐻𝑒 𝑝𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑎 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟 𝑜𝑓 𝑐𝑎𝑠𝑒𝑠 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑔𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑟 𝑐𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠.𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑎 𝑔𝑎𝑙𝑎𝑥𝑦 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑔𝑛 𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑠.𝑂𝑛𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑑 𝑎 𝑚𝑜𝑜𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑎 𝑠𝑢𝑛.

𝐸𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑒𝑛’𝑠 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠 𝑠𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑘𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎𝑑𝑚𝑖𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛.𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑓𝑒𝑙𝑡 𝑎𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑐𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚—𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑏𝑜𝑛𝑑 — 𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑑𝑒𝑒𝑝𝑙𝑦.

𝐴𝑟𝑡ℎ𝑢𝑟 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑐𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑑𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑢𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚 𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑦.𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑎 𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑑𝑔𝑒 𝑜𝑓 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑡𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑢𝑒:

'𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝐸𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑒𝑛, 𝑑𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛—?'𝑆ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑡𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑟 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑑, 𝑢𝑟𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑖𝑚 𝑡𝑜 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑠ℎ.“𝐷𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑎 𝑝ℎ𝑜𝑛𝑒?”

𝑆ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑠𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑙𝑦, 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑢𝑧𝑧𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛.'𝑂𝑓 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒 𝐼 𝑑𝑜.'

𝑆ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑝𝑜𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑡, 𝑚𝑢𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔.'𝐼 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑖𝑡 𝑚𝑢𝑐ℎ... 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝐼'𝑚 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑖-𝑡𝑒𝑐ℎ 𝑜𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔.'

𝑆ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑢𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑢𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑝ℎ𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑡 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑖𝑚.𝑎𝑠 𝑖𝑓 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑎𝑦, '𝑆𝑒𝑒? 𝐼’𝑚 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑐𝑙𝑢𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠.”𝐼𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠𝑛’𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑚𝑜𝑑𝑒𝑙., 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑛𝑒𝑎𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑤𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑘𝑒𝑝𝑡.𝐴 𝑠𝑖𝑔𝑛 𝑜𝑓 𝑟𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑢𝑠𝑒, 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝐴𝑟𝑡ℎ𝑢𝑟. 𝑆𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙,𝐼𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑝𝑒𝑜𝑝𝑙𝑒 𝑜𝑤𝑛𝑒𝑑.

'𝑆𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑦, 𝐼’𝑣𝑒 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑖𝑡 𝑏𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒. 𝐴𝑙𝑙 𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡, 𝐼’𝑙𝑙 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑒.𝐼 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝐼’𝑙𝑙 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑛. 𝑊ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑑𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘?”

𝐸𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑚𝑢𝑚𝑏𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑠𝑜𝑓𝑡𝑙𝑦, 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝐴𝑟𝑡ℎ𝑢𝑟 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟.'𝐼 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑖𝑡 𝑠𝑢𝑖𝑡𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢... 𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑏𝑜𝑦.'

𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑟𝑡 𝑝𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑒.𝑆ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑤𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠.𝐹𝑙𝑢𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑, 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑐𝑘𝑙𝑦 𝑠𝑎𝑖𝑑,'𝐼—𝐼 𝑑𝑖𝑑𝑛'𝑡 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛... 𝐼 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛—”

𝐴𝑟𝑡ℎ𝑢𝑟 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑢𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎 𝑙𝑎𝑢𝑔ℎ.'𝐼𝑡'𝑠 𝑂𝐾, 𝐸𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑒𝑛... 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦. 𝐼 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑛𝑖𝑐𝑘𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒.𝐼𝑡 𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑘𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝐼’𝑚 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚 𝑜𝑢𝑡.”

𝐻𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑑, 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑒𝑑.'𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑐𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢... 𝐼𝑡 𝑠𝑢𝑖𝑡𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑀𝑜𝑜𝑛 𝐺𝑖𝑟𝑙.'

𝐸𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑒𝑛 ℎ𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑦,𝑡𝑟𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑖𝑑𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡.𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑜𝑓 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑠 𝑤𝑎𝑠 ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑑 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝐴𝑟𝑡ℎ𝑢𝑟 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠.𝐻𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑝𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑎 𝑐ℎ𝑢𝑐𝑘𝑙𝑒 𝑠𝑜 𝑎𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑎𝑠𝑠 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑢𝑟𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟.𝐻𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑎𝑠ℎ𝑓𝑢𝑙 𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑏𝑠𝑜𝑙𝑢𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑦 𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑖𝑚.

𝐻𝑒 𝑤𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑝𝑎𝑦 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑚𝑠.𝑊ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑒 ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑑 𝑠𝑜, 𝐸𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑤𝑎𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑛𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑏𝑦, 𝑎𝑙𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑦 𝑠𝑤𝑖𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑐𝑎𝑠𝑒𝑠.

𝑂𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑜𝑢𝑡𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑏𝑟𝑢𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒𝑠.𝐵𝑜𝑡ℎ 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚 𝑠𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑛𝑒𝑤𝑙𝑦 𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑝ℎ𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑠.

“𝐻𝑒𝑦, 𝐸𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑒𝑛, 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑠𝑜𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑙 𝑚𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑎 𝑎𝑐𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑠 𝑠𝑜 𝑤𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑡?𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤, 𝑠𝑜 𝑤𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑡.”

𝐸𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑏𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑎 𝑓𝑒𝑤 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑠, 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑔𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑎𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑝ℎ𝑜𝑛𝑒.'𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑚𝑦 𝑛𝑢𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟...𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝐼 𝑑𝑜𝑛’𝑡 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑠𝑜𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑙 𝑚𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑎 𝑎𝑐𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑠.”

𝐴 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑡𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑓𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚.𝐴𝑟𝑡ℎ𝑢𝑟 𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑐𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑠ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑠𝑎𝑖𝑑.𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦? 𝐴𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑝𝑒𝑜𝑝𝑙𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑖𝑡?

𝐸𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑢𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠,𝑆ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑖𝑚 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑝ℎ𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑖𝑡.𝑁𝑜, 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠𝑛’𝑡 𝑎 𝑗𝑜𝑘𝑒.𝑆ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑑𝑖𝑑𝑛'𝑡 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑦.

𝑆𝑢𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑙𝑦, 𝐴𝑟𝑡ℎ𝑢𝑟’𝑠 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑡 𝑢𝑝 𝑎𝑠 𝑖𝑓 ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑑 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑎 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑘𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑖𝑢𝑠.

'𝐿𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑝 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑝ℎ𝑜𝑛𝑒.𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑦𝑜𝑢 ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑝 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑒𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑢𝑝. 𝑊ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑑𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑎𝑦?”

𝐸𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑡 ℎ𝑖𝑚, 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝ℎ𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑖𝑛 ℎ𝑖𝑠 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑.—𝑎𝑛𝑑, 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠, 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑟 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑦,𝑚𝑢𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒, '𝐷𝑜 𝑎𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒... 𝑖𝑡 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠𝑛'𝑡 𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟.'

𝑆𝑜 𝐴𝑟𝑡ℎ𝑢𝑟 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑖𝑛, 𝑟𝑎𝑚𝑏𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑛 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑑𝑒𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑙.𝑊ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑤𝑎𝑙𝑘𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑖𝑛 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑,𝑠𝑎𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑜𝑟𝑠 𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑,𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑝ℎ𝑜𝑡𝑜𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡.

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𝑇𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑓𝑙𝑒𝑤 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑐𝑘𝑙𝑦, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑦𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑒𝑛𝑑.𝐽𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑡𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑦.𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑓𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑓𝑒𝑐𝑡 𝑠𝑝𝑜𝑡 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑐ℎ 𝑡𝑜 𝑤𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘𝑠.“𝐼𝑡’𝑠 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑧𝑖𝑛𝑔! 𝐷𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑔𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑠?” 𝐴𝑟𝑡ℎ𝑢𝑟 𝑎𝑠𝑘𝑒𝑑.“𝐼’𝑚 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑒. 𝐼’𝑚 𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑑.”“𝑁𝑜, 𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑜𝑢𝑠𝑙𝑦. 𝑇𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚. 𝑌𝑜𝑢’𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑖𝑐𝑒.”

𝐴𝑟𝑡ℎ𝑢𝑟 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑡𝑜𝑜𝑘 ℎ𝑒𝑟 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑝𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑝𝑢𝑡 𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒.𝑆ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑢𝑝 𝑎𝑡 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒, 𝑠𝑜 𝑐𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑤.𝐶𝑎𝑙𝑚.𝑊𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑑.𝐾𝑖𝑛𝑑.

𝐻𝑖𝑠 𝑔𝑎𝑧𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑚, 𝑎𝑠 𝑖𝑓 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑜𝑢𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑖𝑚.𝑆𝑢𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑙𝑦, 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑:𝑊ℎ𝑦 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠 ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝑎𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡?𝑊ℎ𝑎𝑡’𝑠 𝑔𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑛 𝑖𝑛 ℎ𝑖𝑠 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑑?𝑊ℎ𝑦 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠 ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑓𝑟𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑒𝑑?

𝑊ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑎𝑚 𝐼 𝑡𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝐴𝑟𝑡ℎ𝑢𝑟?'

𝐴 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑠𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑓𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑑𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑟 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡.𝑌𝑒𝑡, 𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠,𝑆ℎ𝑒 𝑘𝑒𝑝𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓.𝑊ℎ𝑦?

𝑃𝑒𝑟ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑠 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑓𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑎𝑠𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔.𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑤ℎ𝑦 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑎𝑓𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑑?𝑁𝑜 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑘𝑛𝑒𝑤.𝑁𝑜𝑡 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝐸𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑒𝑛.

𝑆ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑎 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑚 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠,— 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑢𝑐𝑘 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑦 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑢𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑠 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑.𝑆ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑛𝑜 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑢𝑖𝑠ℎ 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑡ℎ 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑠.“𝐸𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑒𝑛.... 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑓𝑓 𝑡𝑜?”

𝑆ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑛𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘, 𝑎𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑎𝑤𝑜𝑘𝑒𝑛 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑎 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑓 𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑚.“𝐼𝑡’𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔,” 𝑠𝑎𝑖𝑑 𝐴𝑟𝑡ℎ𝑢𝑟 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑒𝑟𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑙𝑦, 𝑔𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔.

𝐹𝑖𝑣𝑒.𝐹𝑜𝑢𝑟.𝑇ℎ𝑟𝑒𝑒.𝑇𝑤𝑜.𝑂𝑛𝑒!

𝑆ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘𝑠 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑜𝑡 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑘𝑦,𝑏𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑎𝑧𝑧𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑒𝑠.𝐻𝑒𝑟 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠.𝐴𝑟𝑡ℎ𝑢𝑟 𝑤𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑟𝑒𝑓𝑙𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠...𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑎 𝑔𝑎𝑙𝑎𝑥𝑦.

𝑆ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑖𝑚.𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠 𝑚𝑒𝑡.𝑁𝑜 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑠 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑒𝑑.𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑘𝑙𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘𝑠 𝑡𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑦.𝐴𝑟𝑡ℎ𝑢𝑟 𝑠𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑎𝑖𝑑,

'𝑀𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑎 𝑤𝑖𝑠ℎ, 𝐸𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑒𝑛...𝑆𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑠, 𝑤𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑒 𝑜𝑛 𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑒.”

𝐻𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑢𝑝 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑐𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠,𝐻𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎 𝑤𝑖𝑠ℎ.

𝐼𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑚𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡, ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑟.𝐻𝑒𝑟 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑙𝑒𝑑.𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒.𝐼𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑒𝑒𝑝𝑒𝑟.𝐷𝑖𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑡.𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑚𝑒𝑟?

𝑆ℎ𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑠 𝑐𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑒.𝑏𝑦 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑙𝑒𝑠,𝑜𝑟 𝑏𝑦 𝑤𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑓𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑠.𝑜𝑟 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑏𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘𝑠.

𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒,𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑜𝑛—𝑆ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑑.

𝑆ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑦.𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑔𝑟𝑜𝑤.𝑤𝑟𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑒𝑟 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑖𝑛 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑚𝑡ℎ.𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑎 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒.𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑜𝑓 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟.𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑜𝑓 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒.𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑙.

𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑛𝑜𝑤,𝑆ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑠𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑦 𝑤𝑎𝑖𝑡,𝑝𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑙𝑦,𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑎𝑡𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑒.

𝑆ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑙𝑦 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑢𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒,𝑎 𝑐𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑒 𝑏𝑜𝑦 —𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑢𝑛𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑑𝑙𝑦,𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑠 —— 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑏𝑒 𝑎 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑖𝑡.

𝑇𝑖𝑚𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑙𝑦 𝑓𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑛.𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑛𝑜𝑤,𝐸𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑒𝑛’𝑠 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑, 𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑑,𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑚 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒.𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑚𝑒𝑟.—𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝐴𝑟𝑡ℎ𝑢𝑟’𝑠 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑔𝑟𝑖𝑝.𝑎𝑠 𝑖𝑡 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑠𝑎𝑓𝑒𝑙𝑦 𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑜𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑡.

𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑤𝑎𝑙𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒.𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑑.𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑐𝑒𝑓𝑢𝑙 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑜𝑢𝑠.𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠 𝑠𝑝𝑜𝑘𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑠.

𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑛𝑜 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑒𝑐ℎ.𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑠 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑙𝑦.

𝐴𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒—𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑚 𝑐𝑜𝑎𝑡𝑠,𝑏𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ 𝑎 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑒𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑘𝑦,— 𝑡𝑤𝑜 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒,𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑒𝑑—𝐶𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑏𝑒 𝑒𝑎𝑐ℎ 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟'𝑠 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔?

𝑊𝑒 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑦𝑒𝑡.𝑀𝑎𝑦𝑏𝑒 𝑤𝑒'𝑙𝑙 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑠𝑜𝑜𝑛.𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛, 𝑚𝑎𝑦𝑏𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑡.

𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑠 𝑐𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛:𝑊ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚𝑖𝑠 𝑛𝑜 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑠 𝑠𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑒 𝑎𝑠 '𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑠'.𝐼𝑡'𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑒𝑒𝑝𝑒𝑟.𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒.

𝑊𝑒'𝑙𝑙 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑐𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑖𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑢𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦.𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑛𝑜𝑤—𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑦’𝑣𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 ℎ𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑠.𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑒𝑥𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑡 𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑘.𝑎 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑒𝑡 𝑠𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑒,𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑎𝑖𝑑 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝑑𝑏𝑦𝑒.

𝑈𝑛𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑚𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑦,𝑦𝑒𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑚 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠.𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑠.

𝐸𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑡

𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑓𝑒𝑙𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑚 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑙𝑒. 𝐼 𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑖𝑡 𝑎𝑠 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑠 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑏𝑙𝑒.𝑆𝑜, 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑑𝑖𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘?𝐴𝑛𝑦 𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠?𝑃𝑟𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠?𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑎𝑟.

♡ 𝑊𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒.♡

Shadows Over Flanders

March 30, 1990 – Wavre, Belgium

The small town of Wavre nestled quietly beneath a velvet sky, but tonight the stars were not the only lights above.

Lieutenant Marc Delacroix, a seasoned officer in the Belgian Air Force, sat tensely in the cockpit of an F-16 Falcon. He had received direct orders to intercept an unidentified flying object that had been tracked moving erratically across Belgian airspace. Ground radar had confirmed it—triangular, massive, silent, and blinding in its luminous geometry.

"Falcon-1, do you have visual?" crackled the radio.

"Negative," Marc responded, scanning the sky. "Radar contact only. Target moving... erratically—damn thing just dropped 1,000 meters in 2 seconds."

Aboard the aircraft, the onboard radar flickered. The object shifted position faster than any known aircraft—diving, banking, hovering, disappearing from one screen only to reappear kilometers away. It was impossible… and yet it was real.

On the ground, gendarmes in the town of Eupen and Wavre reported seeing a massive black triangle in the sky. It floated silently, lights pulsating from each of its three points. Some described it as “the size of a football field,” with a red light at the center that “beamed down like a searchlight.”

In a nearby field, a young schoolteacher named Elise Verbruggen stood motionless beside her car, heart racing. She had pulled over after spotting the slow-moving triangle above the tree line. It didn’t make a sound—but she felt something: pressure in her chest, a static tingle on her skin, like standing too close to high voltage.

The object paused above her, tilting slightly.

Suddenly, a beam of light bathed her car. Her vision went white.

Later that Night – Belgian Air Force Headquarters

General Raymond Lefevre looked pale as he stared at the composite radar images on the screen. Four objects. Triangular. Maneuvering at hypersonic speeds. No sonic booms. No heat signatures. No communication.

“Sir,” an aide entered. “We have a civilian witness—Elise Verbruggen. She was… affected.”

“Affected how?”

“She was found unconscious by a patrol unit. Minor radiation burns on her arms. She’s... seeing things she shouldn’t know. Coordinates. Symbols.”

The General’s eyes narrowed. “Symbols?”

“Yes, sir. They match markings from Cold War-era radar anomalies we never explained. Same ones from the NATO black files.”

Raymond leaned back in his chair. This wasn’t a simple airspace violation anymore. It was intelligence—far beyond human.

Three Days Later – Military Hospital, Brussels

Elise woke up in a white room. Her dreams had been filled with lights, low-frequency hums, and visions of star systems orbiting unfamiliar suns. On her bedside table sat a notebook. She had scribbled in it during sleep—symbols, diagrams, and a strange language she couldn’t remember learning.

A doctor entered. Behind him, two men in dark suits. Not Belgian military.

“Elise,” the doctor said gently. “Do you remember anything?”

“I remember the silence,” she whispered. “And I remember them watching me. Not with eyes. But... through the air itself.”

The men in suits exchanged a glance. One of them stepped forward. “Ms. Verbruggen, we need to ask you some questions. Strictly confidential.”

“Who are you?” she asked.

“We don’t have a name you’d recognize. But we’re here because you’ve seen what wasn’t meant to

"You owe what you don't show."

DELILAH DOYLE [A.A.]

Tears

Chapter 1

Based on true moments

It's day 3 and we're walking back to our classes from second recess. I see him jump and tap the top of another girl’s head and I look back once I hear her yelp out. She's pretty, I don't blame him for talking to her instead of me. She storms ahead and he chases after her, the two eventually slowing down, my eyes following but my feet keeping a safe pace multiple feet behind the two. He smiles cheekily seeing her face, the two having a clear playful banter. I wonder why he talks to her like that while he says he likes me but walks past me like I'm a ghost. I wonder if he truly likes her instead. But I don’t blame him. My heart hurt at that moment, and my eyes started to swell up in tears. But my face remained still, my eyes locked on his stupid smile and her annoyed but sweet smile. Her hair was in two braids that reached just below her shoulders, tan skin and beauty marks on her face. She was a bit shorter than him. They would make a great couple. I looked up at the sky and let out a shaky breath, most of it making my cheeks puff out as I kept my hands in my hoodie pockets, my fidgeting growing tenser. But I looked forward, my eyes stinging and blurring as I walked inside the school building and up the stairs. But once I sat down in my seat during science I sighed again, my back hunching with my hands holding my head, covering my face from the students that started to slowly enter the classroom once recess was coming to a full closure. My sight blurred and my lip trembled like a small child, despite the fact I was indeed merely a small child.

I've heard people say—

Humans intrigue me.

Wait! Human bodies don't.

Well, what's the strongest bone in the body?

Vertebrae is not!

Irregular-shaped bones

Keep regulars in place.

Once you get a disc slip,

Sciatica awaits.

Maintains posture of your body,

Helps to make you stand.

Once you bend more than asking,

You lost what was once intact.

Dense is something powerful,

Hollow is something vast.

Tunnel it allows for one to follow

That leads to the surface fast.

It bears the weight of burdens—

Of books, of bags, of blame.

Each vertebra stacks silently,

Yet none of them seeks fame.

They say, “Grow a spine!” in anger,

Not knowing what it takes—

To hold yourself through shaking days

And never let it break.

From crawling forms to standing tall,

It grew with every stride.

The vertebrae, once hunched and small,

Now let ambition ride.

But twist it wrong, or fall too hard,

Its silence turns to screams—

The pain that shoots through limbs and thoughts

Can fractures even dream?

Yet given rest and gentle care,

It learns to mend and bend—

The spine may crack, but still it dares

To rise and hold you once again.

Dominance is not the only strength—

Recessive plays its part.

Submission isn't a weakness, no—

Everyone has a heart.

You wore masks like a tailored disguise;

What a cipher you are, hidden in depths of lies.

You acquire applause like theorems require proof—

Why do you act as a calculated spoof?

Encrypted with data, you blend in chips,

Corrupt like a virus — a breach, Trojan it is.

Cloaked in commands, your logic slips;

You execute functions in hidden scripts.

Abandon the syntax,

Variable applies.

Debug the software,

If proxy denies.

Laden in hardware,

A disk error you are.

Programmed in Java,

A Python, you are.

You call yourself a CPU, sleek and supreme—

But I pulled the plug; now who runs the machine?

Here’s your skelly with a skully tone,

Welcome to the crypt where bones hold court alone.

No chest, just ribs that xylophone ring,

Climb aboard for a humerus swing.

I’ve got no flesh, just joints that squeak,

A rolling ride—meet the radius peeps.

Fibula’s restless, pacing all night,

Patella clicks when the timing ain’t right.

Tibia’s bold but never too tight,

Twirling in the graveyard, avoiding the light.

I crack a joke and my body rattles,

Mandible smirks while the skullbone battles.

No marrow, just echoes in hollow chimes,

Metacarpals tap like Morse-coded rhymes.

No ligaments, no tendons to sway,

Just moves that jitter like bones at play.

You call me; I hear you in many ways—

Stapes, malleus, incus on replay.

No heart—just breaks and calcium needs,

I’m brittle, not broken… just short on knees.

My sternum creaks but no muscle tears,

Clavicle still flexes with zero fractures.

Femur’s drumming, a spectral parade,

Vertebrae sync in a ballroom charade.

Spine’s still straight, though life zig-zagged,

Now I host ghost podcasts—two days lagged.

I kick football with my tarsals backwards,

My phalanges snap at high standards.

Ulna’s sarcastic, doesn’t play fair,

Scapula shrugs like it just doesn’t care.

Together, 206 mark the spot—

Each one remarkable like a bone test report.

No cloak, no coffin, just a spooky bend—

A skelly signs off… that’s the bony end.

Are disappointments a blessing in disguise?

Rain all over, and the umbrella kept aside.

Lately, it's been a thought discarding my mind —

Is existence merely something we find?

Anger's a possession kept in hind,

Something can't be done about it.

But the deep feelings that arise —

Why does it not keep quiet?

Suppression is a vent out,

Doesn't help anyway about.

Makes a way to ponder —

But nothing to be found.

Hollowness is a weapon,

Emptiness the ground.

But what wages a war

Is invisible as the sound.

There's something about the little things in life —

A bit soft, a bit still, a bit calm.

They never rush in, nor force their part,

Just tranquility, silencing the alarm.

A lot goes unnoticed

In the busy days of life,

Where time flies,

And liveliness hides in sighs.

So take the pause, not as delay,

But as a guide to find the way.

Resume with heart, not just the pace —

Let little things reclaim their place.

Cascade does look beautiful,

But where does it go?

Does it vanish in the fold of foam,

Or drown in the dark it knows?

What hides in that translucent realm —

Transparent, but do you ever truly show?

Ripples, tides, and currents form,

As the moonlight pours.

How are you so vital,

A necessity of life?

What lies in the mist?

Who knows what you hide?

The way you soothe — ache fades away,

Only to burn as ice, then slip away.

Shifting forms from one to two,

But you stay the same, lurking through.

Your depths are haunting,

Shallowness a thrive.

Consider you a cradle,

Or void undefined.

With each wave that hugs the shore,

You give something… or take some more.

Is that the shore where silence began,

Or was it you who drowned the land?

From where do you arise —

Harbinger to Obscurity, like a hymn long gone?

Whenever I talk to you,

I ask you:

What are you — W.A.T.E.R.?

And you just stay stagnant,

As if saying:

Watch As Tears Expand Rear.

So maybe you're not meant to answer,

But still I return —

Yearning for the answers

That you hold

In the unknown.