The next evening, I sat alone in the garden. The sound of children's laughter floated across the park, light, unburdened, innocent. Their games were simple, yet their joy was vast, spreading like sunlight through the fading day. I watched them from my bench, a quiet ache unfurling in my chest.
I missed those days, when life didn't feel like an echo chamber of fear. When I could run without glancing over my shoulder. When laughter didn't taste like guilt. I missed my friends. And most of all… I missed my life when I was with him.
If I had stopped him that day, if I had said something, done anything, maybe things would be different, maybe he would be sitting beside me instead of lingering like a ghost in memories that still cut too deep to touch.
That incident had split my life clean in two, before and after. It had stolen my smile, my trust, and the fragile belief that I could ever truly know myself again. Sometimes, I would think about our high school days, the laughter spilling through hallways, secrets whispered under starlit skies, the dreams we thought would last forever, and then reality would strike like a blade, sharp and merciless.
I was drowning in those thoughts when the bench dipped beside me. Someone had sat down. My pulse jumped.
"Oh god, relax, it's just me," Simon William said quickly, raising both hands in mock surrender. His teasing grin softened the edges of his face. "You really do have a weak heart, Anna."
I let out a shaky breath, half sigh, half relief.
"I didn't expect you here. Shouldn't you be on duty? What brings you to this place?"
"A police officer needs a break too." He leaned back, shoulders brushing the old wood. "And I had a feeling I'd find you here."
I tilted my head, curious. "So… any news about the serial killer?"
The shift in his expression was immediate. His gaze darkened, jaw tightening. "Why are you so interested, Anna? Don't get involved in this. The less you know, the safer you'll be."
"I was just asking," I shot back before I could stop myself. "Forget it. I was trying to make small talk, to help you unwind, but clearly, you don't need me to."
I pushed up from the bench, my pride stinging. But before I could step away, Simon caught my wrist. His grip was firm, warm, too familiar.
"Wait," he said, voice gentler now. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap. It's just… it's for your safety."
"Whatever," I muttered, trying to pull away. "Let me go. I'm leaving."
But he didn't. His fingers tightened slightly, holding me there, not by force, but by something heavier than words.
"I didn't come here just to talk about the case," he said finally. His tone had changed, lower, sincere, almost fragile. "I needed to tell you something."
He guided me back to the bench, his hands closing over mine. My breath hitched as I looked up at him, his eyes searching mine with a strange, burning honesty.
"I didn't mean to offend you," he whispered. "But you need to know… whenever you mention another man, even that culprit, it makes me jealous."
The words hit like a stone dropped in still water. Ripples spread through my chest, confusing and sharp.
My eyes widened. "Simon, this isn't--"
"Please, just let me finish," he interrupted. "I can't pretend anymore. I like you, Anna. I want to be with you. But if you don't feel the same… I'll never bring it up again."
He released my hands abruptly and stood, as though he'd crossed a dangerous line and already regretted it. His expression was unreadable, hope and fear battling behind his eyes.
"I'll wait for your answer until the day after tomorrow," he said quietly. "Whatever you decide… I'll respect it."
Then he walked away, leaving me motionless on the bench, my thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm.
I buried my face in my palms, anger and confusion twisting inside me. Not just at him, for blurting that out, but at myself for feeling something I couldn't name. His confession had changed everything, placing a fragile thread between us that could either bind or break us completely.
When I finally lifted my head, the garden had grown still. The children were gone, their laughter swallowed by the evening. The light had thinned to gold and shadow. My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn't eaten since morning.
I rose slowly, the weight of unspoken things pressing behind my ribs. The clock tower chimed faintly in the distance. It was already 6:30.
________
The little noodle shop sat at the corner of the street, its windows fogged by the steam that curled from pots and bowls. I'd always loved this place, the narrow tables, the smell of broth, the hum of quiet conversations that felt like safety.
I was halfway through my bowl of ramyeon when the waiter placed the bill on my table. I smiled absently, opened the black folder, then froze.
A candy sat on top of the folded paper, wrapped in pale, crinkled cellophane. Beneath it, a note waited.
The handwriting was casual. Too casual.
"You still love this place. Should I buy it for you?
I know you won't like that, right? I know you better than anyone.
There is one good thing , wait is over.
I'm coming. "
The world narrowed. The noise of the shop dulled, fading into a strange silence. My throat tightened as I stared at the candy. The same kind as before, cheap, sweet, and cruelly nostalgic.
"E-Excuse me," I said, barely recognizing my own voice. "Who gave you this?"
The waiter blinked, hesitant. "A man paid for your meal, ma'am. He asked me to give you the note with the receipt." He fidgeted, then turned away quickly, eager to escape the tension that suddenly filled the air.
The candy wrapper crackled in my hand as I picked it up. Same color. Same fold. Same ghost.
My heart began to hammer against my ribs.
His favourite.
His candy.
He's back.
The chair scraped loudly as I stood. The sound made people turn, but I didn't care. My body moved before thought could intervene. I ran, past tables, past startled faces, through the door, into the chill of the evening.
The air slapped against my skin as I bolted down the street. Breath burned in my throat. Each step pounded like a warning. It can't be him. It can't be. But denial couldn't outrun memory.
It clawed back without mercy,
A flashback.
A place I had sworn to erase.
"Sta--Stay aw--away fro--from m--me! I SAID STAY AWAY FROM ME!"
My voice then, frantic, broken.
"L--listen to m--me. It's not blood, it's not blood, Anna…" His words trembled. He had been trembling. His small hands smeared with red, rubbing desperately at his shirt as though the fabric could erase the truth.
He stepped closer, eyes wide, frightened, yet pleading. "See? See, there's no blood now, Anna. Don't be afraid of me. Please."
But I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. The smell, metallic, heavy, filled the air again, pulling me under.
In that memory, he looked so young. So lost. Yet all I could see was the blood that wasn't there anymore.
My whole body had screamed the same truth that night, and every night since.
"You're a murderer."
To be continued