At the edge of a dilapidated village, where shadows loom larger than life, a 17-year-old boy navigates the maze of life alone. With grit forged from years of solitude, he embarks on a relentless quest to find the only family he has left his older brother, vanished without a trace on a fateful night three years ago.

He stumbles upon an enigmatic officer, their initial encounter cloaked in suspicion and mistrust. But fate weaves an unlikely alliance between them, intertwining their paths in an unexpected partnership born of necessity.

***

The oil officer's desk was a maze of papers, a labyrinth of forms and reports begging for attention. Edwin sat, his eyes fixated on the stack of letters in front of him. Another day, another pile of complaints, but among them lay a letter, distinct. Ray's name on the envelope, standing out amidst the mundane bureaucracy.

As Edwin unfolded the paper and his eyes scanned the contents, his curiosity piqued. The message was cryptic, pointing to an issue plaguing the village. The words resonated with urgency and a silent plea for

help.

The next day found Ray in his decrepit home, no, a single room, a haphazard arrangement of scattered belongings and worn-out furniture. He was settled on the floor, preparing to eat his meager lunch when a knock echoed through the silence. He rarely received visitors, maybe once in 2 years or so, let alone unexpected ones. His expression remained impassive, a practiced shield against the world, as he approached the door.

The rusty iron groaned open, revealing a man in a sharp suit—Edwin, the gas officer. His arrival was a surprise, a departure from the typical remote correspondence. Ray merely murmured an indifferent acknowledgment and allowed the officer entry.

Edwin had contemplated his response to the letter, deliberating on a suitable course of action. The sight of Ray's dilapidated living space caught him off guard. A single room, devoid of life, mirrored Ray's solitude. The officer, unsettled by the starkness of the place, realized the gravity of the situation.

Ray offered Edwin some simple 10-buck-lunch that he was preparing to eat. The officer declined, but the exchange led to inquiries about the ongoing issue mentioned in the letter. Edwin probed, seeking more information, only to be met with Ray's characteristic monotone.

"Why are you here?" Ray's voice, flat and devoid of inflection, betrayed none of his thoughts. Edwin replied earnestly, "I'm here to investigate the problem you've reported. It's my responsibility."

Ray's reaction was consistent, his expression unchanging. "I know nothing else," he asserted. "I suspect it's you," he added, a hint of accusation in his voice.

Edwin chuckled, taken aback by the unexpected accusation. The tension eased as both men shared a moment of laughter. The issue at hand was grave—a recurring theft of cooking gas from the village of Paprika every Wednesday night. Even the authorities had failed to unearth the culprit.

Days blurred into weeks as Ray and Edwin pursued their paths separately, each searching for answers in their own way. The shadows of suspicion loomed over the village, hiding secrets waiting to be revealed.

The routine monotony of an officer's life is an unsung ballad of paper and protocol, with each day heralding a symphony of responsibilities. For Edwin, it was a dance with the mundane, a façade he'd grown accustomed to. But this day, amidst the usual sea of letters, one message emerged, its words an unexpected whirlpool pulling Edwin into its depths.

The letter:

26th

December, 20XX.

The

Chief Head,

Syldavian Oil Agency,

Thaulds District, DA.

Subject: Regarding missing cooking gas

Dear Sir/Madam,

I write to bring to your notice about cooking oil going missing from cylinders as soon as they are brought home by the customers.

The people of our village have noticed recently that as soon as the gas cylinders are delivered to them or bought by them, all the liquefied gas from it disappears the next morning leaving only the empty container behind.

From all the evidences obtained as of now, the police in our area have suspected a mass theft to be the case, and not leakage of the liquid. From all the incidents, one thing can be made clear that the thieves know about the location of the houses which take in the product for their cooking, hence they can be a person from within. The police could not figure out the culprit yet, and the victims are being affected without interruption.

These incidents are causing a lot of panic and rumours in the whole village. I request you to look into this matter and eliminate the problem as soon as possible.

I look forward to your response.

Thanking you,

Yours sincerely,

Ray

The letter, penned by a certain Ray from Rheinad Village, detailed a peculiar gas theft plaguing the village. It wasn't merely a plea; it was a complaint veiled in the formalities of a plea letter. The urgency in Ray's words echoed through the pages, resonating with an undercurrent of distress.

Lost in the labyrinth of thoughts that Ray's letter had evoked, Edwin was oblivious to the persistent knocks on his door. His assistant's voice finally cut through the fog of his reverie, drawing Edwin back to reality.

"Sir, may I come in?!" His assistant's voice rang out with an urgency matched only by the situation brewing outside Edwin's awareness.

"Ah… yes, please," Edwin replied absentmindedly, his mind still tangled in Ray's words.

The assistant, ever dutiful, inquired about the remaining letters. "Sir, have you finished reading all the letters

delivered to you?"

"Yes, I have," Edwin confirmed, gesturing toward the letters—except for the one that had ensnared his attention.

As the assistant gathered the remaining letters, he teased Edwin about a bunch of love letters, unaware of the weight behind the single letter that held Edwin captive.

Shooing away his assistant, Edwin attempted to respond to Ray's letter. However, the words eluded him, weaving a complex web of indecision and uncertainty.

Later that evening, as Edwin attempted to pen a reply, another round of knocks on the door interrupted his solitary contemplation. Wearily, he granted permission for his assistant to enter.

"Work time's over, dude! Let’s have a drink out, shall we?" His assistant's boisterous voice disrupted Edwin's solitary

focus.

"No, thanks," Edwin declined, engrossed in the turmoil of his thoughts.

“It’s Friday, dude. What are you, a workaholic?”

“Nah, I’ve got some extra work today. Count me out.”

“No way, come on! Don’t be such a drag.” He said pulling Edwin’s arm, trying to make him get up from his seat.

“Hey hey hey, stop! I’m your boss.”

“Work time is over~ I’m no longer your damn assistant.”

The insistence continued until Edwin relented, succumbing to his assistant's persuasion. With a sense of resignation, he accompanied his friend, indulging in the camaraderie amidst the humdrum of everyday life. And yeah, the he was sitting with his foolish friend who was now drunk.

“Hey, tellll meh… wat’sh goin onn~~”

“What?” Edwin said, still sober.

“Youh’rre ouut of yhourself todayyy~~ huh…??”

“Sigh… This isn’t something I can share, if I do, I’ll probably get fired. Yeah, but still, I could tell him what was in my mind since he’ll anyways forget it tomorrow.” Edwin thought to himself.

As the night wore on, amidst the intoxicating haze, Edwin decided to share what was weighing heavily on his soul. It was the first time ever that he had spilled out his deepest secret that was buried in the deepest corner of his mind.

Returning home, Edwin’s mind raced with uncertainties. He was sure that some unfortune was to befall him. Sure enough, he thought of living each moment of his life very carefully then on.

The person who could confuse him sure is special.

In the quiet of his home, he grappled with a newfound introspection, an awareness of the shift caused by his uncharacteristic revelation. The gravity of confiding in someone about his deepest fears and secrets loomed large. He knew he was doing careless things very carefully but today he actually felt it.

His stomach filled with all that wine didn’t want any dinner. And neither did his brain filled with all that tension want any sleep. Edwin took up pen and paper, unleashing a torrent of thoughts and emotions that had long been suppressed. The ink flowed freely, the words pouring forth like a dam breaking, unexpected from a man accustomed to silence.