After graduating with a psychology degree, my eyes were opened to a side of humanity I wasn’t ready to see. I’d entered the program to understand myself better—instead, I found a reality I never wanted to know. During my studies, I poured my emotions into fragments that became pages, then pages that became books.

  With the help of web novel platforms, I gathered readers from across the globe. I’d stay up all night in the dark, glued to my computer screen, reading fan messages. For a brief moment, I felt a happiness I’d never known before. Finally, I was useful. Finally, I felt fulfilled.

  Yet whenever I left my dark room to face the routine of daily life, my eyes met only the emptiness in others. Smiles seemed gray to me, while expressions of sadness burned as vividly as an artist’s canvas.

  It felt like I could change all of it—the weight my mind gave to those once-unsatisfactory, sorrowful situations was an invitation to fix them. To pull people out of misery. To help them find their purpose, just as I’d found mine in—

  My thoughts shattered as I bumped into a coworker mid-daydream.

  "Nico, watch where you’re going," she said, her tone professional but edged with irritation.

  An uncomfortable heat bloomed at my feet. I glanced down instantly and saw my new shoes soaked in coffee—along with her entire blouse.

  "I’m so sorry, Lana!" I blurted, bending over to assess the damage.

  I must’ve moved too abruptly. My head collided with something soft, then was drenched in a liquid that burned my scalp. I recoiled. A sharp, startled gasp followed.

  "Nico! Seriously?!" Now flushed and clearly furious, she left no room for apologies.

  "Lana, I—look, I’m really sorry, I don’t even know what to—"

  Before I could muster a decent excuse, she cut me off, turning away with crossed arms. "Go clean yourself up."

  I nodded, shoulders slumped, and trudged to the restroom at the end of the hall. Leaning against the sink, I stared at my miserable, coffee-stained reflection.

  Minutes passed. I didn’t move. Shame and anger swirled in my chest, a stark reminder of how far I was from the idealized version of myself I’d crafted in my mind.

  I took a deep breath, loosened my tie, and stripped off my shirt. Inside a private stall, I grabbed the first hand soap I saw, slathered it onto the fabric, and scrubbed frantically, praying it wasn’t too late.

  By the time I recomposed myself and stepped out, I’d forced my expression into neutrality. Such a trivial incident shouldn’t affect me this much, right? The embarrassment was just proof of how little I socialized outside my apartment.

  As I walked back to my desk, coworkers exchanged discreet smiles, snickering at my stained clothes. It stung, but I ignored them.

  The moment I sat down and booted up my computer, the guy nicknamed "Beast" at the office sidled up to me.

  "Nico! You lucky bastard! You face-planted into Lana just like that?! Legendary!" he jeered, sarcasm dripping.

  "It was an accident," I muttered, shrinking into my seat.

  Beast was too extroverted for my taste, but his interactions were usually friendly. The kind of guy who’d drag you out for beers but wasn’t memorable enough for me to recall his real name.

  Or maybe I’m just too picky about people.

  "Sure, sure. You should’ve seen how red she got. Ran to the bathroom right after you left. Still there."

  "Still?" I asked, feigning disinterest.

  "Yep. Unless she filed a complaint. But we all know that’s not happening, right?"

  His reply unsettled me. My eyebrows twitched. What did that mean? No clue. Regardless, I’d hit my social quota for the day.

  "Drop it, Beast. It wasn’t a big deal. Get me out of the spotlight, please."

  "Ugh!" He waved a hand dismissively. "Don’t be boring. This place would be nothing without you and Lana. What would we even talk about at lunch?!"

  "What?"

  His words grated. I glared, irritation flaring, but as usual, he chose that moment to ignore me and slink back to his desk.

  I focused on work, tackling the tasks piled on my desk. But soon, my thoughts spiraled again:

  Lana was new to the firm, while I’d been here for years. I’d trained her during her first week, and sometimes, near the end of the day, she’d ask me questions—either about work or to review what I’d taught her.

  Beast’s comment made me reconsider those moments.

  Am I really that dense?

  Either way, I don’t have time to dwell on it. There’s no room for relationships in my life right now. Writing is my top priority, and I won’t stop until my volumes are in print.

  The workday ended. My task list was nearly empty, with just two items left—reasonable to postpone given how much I’d finished. Nobody had complained yet, and it’d been months of this routine.

  Truthfully, my interest in the job had waned as my writing gained traction. This was my passion. That’s what I was thinking as I prepared to leave.

  Lana stood near the entrance, holding the door open as she often did. We were usually the last to leave due to our roles, which required meticulous attention to detail.

  God, sometimes I pull all-nighters here just to keep my weekends free...

  As I approached her, I couldn’t pretend nothing had happened. She seemed uneasy too.

  "...Come to the plaza with me," she whispered.

  I stared, brow furrowed in genuine confusion. She met my gaze with an irritated glare, then looked away, cheeks pink.

  "What? Why?" I asked, keeping my tone neutral.

  "You said you didn’t know how to make it up to me. So... come to the plaza." Her voice was firm, but she avoided my eyes.

  I was speechless. Beast’s smirk echoed in my mind, a bitter reminder that I had been oblivious.

  "Now?" My voice cracked. I had no idea how to respond to an invitation like that.

  The way I’d said it probably sounded like disappointment. That wasn’t what I meant. Not at all. I just—

  "Yes, the plaza. You... like beer, right?" she pressed.

  "Lana, do you drink? I didn’t know—" I deflected unintentionally.

  "Stop dodging and just reject me already!" she snapped, fists clenched, face turned away.

  "No! I—I’ll go! Let’s go! Yes!" The words tumbled out. My heart leaped into my throat.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  When she finally looked at me, her eyes were glistening, as if on the verge of tears. Her expression still held anger, but now—relief. And she was as red as she’d been earlier, after coffee had drenched her blouse.

  "Then... come on." She grabbed my wrist and yanked me out of the office without ceremony.

  What have I gotten myself into?

  By the time we reached the ground floor, Lana seemed more at ease. The silence I’d enforced in the elevator was awkward even for me, but thankfully, she also seemed to be processing what was happening.

  We took this route together almost daily, but tonight, we wouldn’t part ways at the exit. That tiny deviation from routine was overwhelming. I tried not to show my euphoria—for reasons I couldn’t comprehend.

  When we reached the corner where we usually separated, we kept walking together into the darkness.

  The cold was biting, needles of wind pricking my arms. But when I glanced at Lana, she was smiling, cheeks faintly pink. That alone made me forget the chill.

  "Finally got you to go out with me," she said, breaking the silence. "I was tired of dropping hints. Started thinking you couldn’t stand me."

  In truth, I’d never noticed any hints. Maybe I should pretend otherwise?

  "I was waiting for the right moment. You always seemed busy, and I never found an opening to bring it up," I lied, straining to sound convincing.

  She brightened at that, her smile widening. Then, casually:

  "That’s a lie. But watching you scramble to comfort me is kinda cute."

  I froze. Was I that predictable?

  She laughed at my reaction and looped her arm through mine. "Let’s go to Green Water. Their burgers are amazing, and they have beer."

  I knew the place. Visited once or twice a month. Not surprising she did too—our neighborhood wasn’t big, and entertainment options were limited.

  "Sure, but you still haven’t answered: Do you drink?" I steered the conversation, trying to keep it light.

  "No, and I’m not big on burgers. But Beast said you loved them." She smiled innocently, eyes closed.

  Ah. That explains it. That guy... seriously.

  "He seems to like you a lot," she continued. "You two must hang out often."

  How do I tell her I don’t even know his real name without sounding like a sociopath?

  "Why did you want to go out with me, Lana?" The question slipped out, weighted with unintended intensity.

  She studied me, curiosity cutting through her playful demeanor.

  "Why do people do anything? Has no woman ever asked you out before?" She teased, laughing.

  But I couldn’t let it go. "No, seriously. Why?"

  I didn’t even know why I was asking. I just needed to.

  "I like how you teach me things. How you always have an answer. What else is there to say? I don’t know—stop making this awkward!"

  Her reply stung. I wouldn’t have wanted to answer that either.

  "Sorry. I just... didn’t expect it."

  "That’s part of why!" Her playfulness returned. "You’re so dense. It’s adorable. Why overanalyze? Sometimes ‘it just happens’ is enough."

  I smiled. Reducing life to something so simple—maybe that’s what I needed to hear.

  "It just happens." A supposedly shallow narrative, but she seemed content with it. Should I be? Why did it still feel like something lurked beneath her words?

  "Thanks, Lana." I ended the tension—or so I thought.

  As soon as I spoke, she blushed and avoided my eyes, as if I’d said something wrong. Before I could dwell on it, we arrived at Green Water.

  The bar was cozy, nestled in the park’s center with trimmed vines and grassy decor. The name came from the exotic fish swimming in the lake beneath its entrance bridge. The fact that they specialized in burgers always struck me as odd—it clashed with the ambiance.

  We took a secluded booth in the back, reserved for couples. The place wasn’t crowded, so a waiter arrived quickly. I ordered a large wheat beer and an American-style beef burger. Lana insisted on a traditional dish, even after the waiter hinted it wasn’t their forte.

  Across from me, Lana sat with her hands tucked between her knees, posture tense. Meanwhile, I slumped into the couch-like seat, too comfortable to care.

  "You’ve got no manners, huh? Only thing missing is a cigarette," she remarked, half-complaining.

  "Was that not a compliment?" I feigned offense.

  "I find it attractive."

  My face burned. I nearly toppled backward.

  "And you carry yourself like a movie star. Some kind of celebrity," I shot back, avoiding her gaze.

  "Is that... good?" She shrunk slightly, insecurity bleeding through.

  "I like it." The reply came too fast.

  After our food arrived, the conversation deepened. It was like talking to a mirror. I hate when my brain makes everything about me, but this was.

  Everything she said echoed my own thoughts. Coincidental similarities became unsettling parallels, then a blurred reflection of my ideal self—the version I only knew through selfish daydreams.

  In short, she voiced things I’d tell myself at work but never acted on—whether from laziness or apathy.

  "Nico... is it okay if I ask you something personal?" She fidgeted, cheeks pink.

  My eyebrows rose. Her turn for uncomfortable questions? After my earlier meltdown, I owed her this.

  I nodded.

  "Outside work... what do you like to do? Could I join you? Since moving downtown, I haven’t really... connected with anyone." Her voice was small, lost in thought.

  In a world where I wasn’t an introvert who spent nights writing web novels, this would’ve been a dream scenario. Instead, I cringed at admitting how uninteresting I was.

  "Actually... I mostly read and write at home." The confession was brutally honest, even to me. I tried not to sound like I was rejecting her, but my tone sucked all the joy out.

  Her reaction, though, was nothing like I expected.

  Her eyes widened so much her lashes brushed her skin. Then—

  Her posture shifted. The shyness vanished. Her hands slammed onto the table. I flinched.

  "You write? What about?" Her voice was a chaotic mix of enthusiasm, anxiety, and... rage?

  I stiffened. "Lana?" My voice trembled.

  My discomfort seemed to snap her back. She straightened, returning to her seat.

  "Ah! Sorry, I just... love reading. It’s true!" When she met my eyes again, her face was flushed, euphoria radiating off her.

  Was this how people reacted when they found someone as lost as themselves? I had no idea. Part of me was terrified, but curiosity overpowered it.

  To ease the tension, I stayed on topic—maybe she’d relax if I engaged.

  "I write more than I read. When I do read—whether web novels or ‘smart’ books—it’s to learn, to find new perspectives. That way—"

  "—‘I can find more ways to lift people off the ground.’" She finished my sentence, quoting a line from my latest web novel.

  Again, I was speechless. Her eyes widened further. Despite her efforts, I caught a twisted smile—equal parts sorrow and unsettling joy.

  Staring at her like that felt like witnessing something forbidden.

  Thankfully, a waiter interrupted:

  "Last call—need anything else?" He sounded bored, clipboard in hand.

  I snapped back to reality. "No, thanks. We were just leaving."

  Lana stayed silent, her glassy expression unchanged. Too rattled to ask if she was okay, I paid without checking the bill. All I wanted was to leave.

  At the exit, I forced a goodbye.

  "See you tomorrow, Lana. This was... nice." I scratched my head, forcing a smile.

  She didn’t respond.

  Guilt gnawed at me, but I was too unsettled to dwell on it. Walking away wasn’t hard. Soon, I vanished into the night.

  Before I got home, heavy rain drenched me. By the time I reached my apartment, I was soaked. I showered immediately, letting hot water untangle my thoughts.

  "What the hell was that?" I muttered.

  Hands down, the strangest experience of my life.

  The shower simplified my racing mind. After overanalyzing until my fingers pruned, I laughed. It was too insane. Lana was a fan. I’d been working with a fan. But that face she’d made? She probably didn’t know how to process her emotions.

  No—that’s narcissistic. Maybe she thought I was a stalker who’d copied her tastes. That made more sense. My smile died. I’d clarify everything tomorrow.

  "Dammit!" I slammed a fist against the tile.

  After a deep breath, I turned off the water and stepped out.

  Before I could spiral further, a knock startled me. Who’d visit this late? And in this rain? Still, I opened the door.

  Lana stood there, drenched, head bowed, hair hiding her face. Her eyes were locked in that same unsettling expression from the bar. Hands behind her back, trembling. I opened my mouth—

  "After all this time... I finally found you." Her voice was unrecognizable.

  I stepped back instinctively.

  "I had to be sure. I couldn’t just assume. It’s you. No more doubts." She stepped forward, forcing me to retreat.

  I glanced around like a stranger in my own home. When I looked back, she’d closed the door. The click of the lock followed.

  "If you really want to help people, why take away the one thing that makes them happy?!" Her scream was raw, agonized.

  I couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. I tried—

  White-hot pain exploded in my gut. My lungs collapsed. Lana stood before me, a knife buried in my stomach. It slid through muscle like butter.

  I stumbled back, hitting the floor. An elephant might as well have been sitting on me. Blood bubbled up my throat as I choked. I couldn’t scream. Couldn’t beg. Just hurt.

  I arched, searching for Lana, but agony slammed me back down. My hands flew to the wound. Adrenaline surged, every nerve shrieking.

  Pressure pinned my legs and hands. Through blurred vision, I saw Lana straddling me, raising the knife again.

  "How does it feel?!" she screamed, stabbing me again. "Does it hurt?! HOW DO YOU THINK SHE FELT?!"

  Again. Again.

  "You killed her! She was perfect! She didn’t deserve to die! She was the reason I woke up! You’re a monster! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!"

  The blade pierced me so many times, the pain numbed. Just needles stitching my torso into a bloody quilt. Cold. No—hot. My legs, thighs, arms—all fading. I couldn’t feel the floor anymore. Just warmth pooling beneath me.

  My blood.

  I was spread across the floor. Then—nothing. No pain. No fear. Just Lana sobbing above me, her words now meaningless.

  Darkness crept in from the edges. All my worries dissolved.

  I’m being erased.

  Oh God, I’m dying.

  So... tired. Maybe... I’ll just... sleep...

  (WILL CONTINUE SOON...)