As I was lost in my thoughts, a gentle knock came at the door.
“There’s your food,” came the familiar voice.
Like clockwork, he placed the tray in the same spot as always. Quietly obedient—he’s always been that way.
Today’s meal looked surprisingly good: rice, eggs, and a chicken leg piece. All I could ask for, considering I’m stuck here, miles from anywhere.
But what puzzles me is that he never complains—not once. I even left a box outside, saying if he ever had any problems or grievances, he could write them down and leave them there. But it’s always empty. Is it because he truly has no complaints? That seems almost impossible.
Here we are, isolated in the middle of nowhere, no connection to the outside world, and no connection between us either. Usually, when two people are alone for so long, they lean on each other. But we don’t. At least, I don’t because I refuse to.
My past has taught me not to trust. Not friends, not relatives. What they did was worse than any enemy’s betrayal. Double-faced people are far more dangerous. I’m starting to understand that now, painfully so.
I remember the last time I let someone in—the way her smile twisted when I wasn’t looking, the whispered lies behind my back. How quickly those who say they care can turn and stab you deeper than any enemy ever could.
Outside, the night is dark, dotted with a few twinkling stars. The breeze is calm, almost like a mirage something so pure and peaceful that people would kill to have it someday. Yet, years from now, they’ll crave this peace and never find it. Today, it’s all competition and standards. No one cares about humanity or feelings anymore. It’s just sex, one-night stands, moving on as if it meant nothing.
That, to me, is sadder than any disease that slowly kills the body.
“Mmmh… so tired,” I whisper, pulling the covers over me.
There’s a thought lingering in the back of my mind, a fragile hope I try to smother. Tomorrow will be just like any other day same routine, same silence. I shouldn’t expect anything more. This is real life, not some story where the female lead gets everything she wants. No grand happy endings. Just this.
But maybe, just maybe, one day someone will knock on my door not because they have to but because they want to.
The room feels colder than before, though the heater hums quietly in the corner. I pull the thin blanket tighter around my shoulders. The silence between us feels like a chasm wide and impossible to cross.
I wonder what he thinks of me. Does he see the scars I hide beneath my skin? Or am I just some stranger he’s been assigned to watch over?
His footsteps echo faintly in the hallway. He’s leaving now, the usual routine.no words, no glance back. I imagine him walking away, maybe out into the dark, where his own thoughts roam free. Does he have a past like mine? Or is he just a ghost too, trapped in this endless loop?
Sometimes, I catch myself watching him more than I should. The way his jaw tightens when he thinks no one’s looking. The way his hands tremble ever so slightly when he carries my meals. There’s something fragile about him maybe he’s just as trapped as I am.
A sudden memory flashes a bitter fight with my father before I left home. The sharp words, the slammed doors. He never understood. How could he? He never saw the shadows that followed me, the betrayals that shaped every step I took.
I close my eyes and breathe in deeply. Tomorrow, I’ll pretend like I don’t crave anything more than this quiet exile. Tomorrow, I’ll bury the hope that maybe I don’t have to be alone forever.
But tonight… tonight I’ll let myself imagine a different kind of knock on the door. One that carries a promise, not just a routine.
