HER STRANGE EYES

That morning, I was supposed to arrange student files for their group presentation, but I’d been unpacking all night and ended up oversleeping. In a rush, I left my apartment without breakfast. I stopped passersby to ask for a nearby café and soon found myself standing in front of a small one—Willow’s Café.

It looked freshly opened, the counter empty. I stepped inside and waited. A red-haired lady eventually came up to take my order. I asked for a black coffee—the only kind I ever drank. While waiting, I found a free table and started sorting the documents, rechecking every detail.

Soon, my coffee arrived. As I picked up the cup and turned to leave in haste, I bumped into someone. A girl. She wore a long coat. Her lashes were thick, eyebrows undone yet perfect. Deep black eyes, long brown curly hair. I looked into her eyes for a brief moment—there was something hollow in them, like still water hiding a storm.

I quickly apologized and left.

But even on my way to class, I couldn’t stop thinking about those eyes. They felt… heavy. Lonely. I shook the thoughts off and returned to my routine.

After work, I headed to my cabin and checked the autopsy reports. There were two new cases. My day was already heavy—this just cemented it. I made my way to the autopsy room. The clock read 6:00 PM. By the time I finished both examinations, it was nearly 10:30.

I changed into my usual blue hoodie and jeans, then sat for a moment, exhausted. My apartment was just 15 minutes away, but my mind drifted to everything—my work, my family, and strangely, her.

As I packed up, I looked at the scalpel in my case and quietly slipped it into my bag, like always.

On my way home, I noticed a group of students walking into a café—and it was Willow’s again.

I don’t know why, but my feet started moving on their own. I entered and saw her. The same girl from this morning. She was behind the counter now, taking orders.

Before I could think twice, I was already standing in front of her.

“Hi,” I said simply, then asked for a black coffee and walked to the back, choosing the last seat in the café.

She was serving the others, and after a minute or two, she came over and handed me my coffee. No words, just a quiet glance. She returned to the counter, scrolling on her phone.

I went back to work, writing the autopsy reports. What disturbed me was that both cases looked like murder… but the police insisted on calling them natural deaths. They told me to fake the reports.

I got so lost in my notes that I forgot the time. Then I noticed her again—she was standing near my table. The other students had already left.

I assumed she was going to ask me to leave, but instead, she softly asked if I wanted another black coffee.

I declined politely, but as she turned away, I called out,

“Why don’t you sit with me? No need to stand alone.”

She paused, then agreed. She sat across from me, scrolling through her phone.

From this close, I noticed more details. She wore a turtleneck, and her chain had a tiny lock pendant. Something about her felt distant yet magnetic. I tried starting a conversation—nervous, unsure if she’d even care—but pushed myself.

“I’m Ace,” I said.

She introduced herself as Anon.

She then asked if I was a student too. I smiled and replied,

“Nope. I’m 29, actually. An autopsy teacher.”

She blinked, genuinely surprised.

“Whoa… so you deal with blood and dead bodies?”

I chuckled. “Honestly, not as much blood as you'd expect. Just a little, in the spots I need to cut open.”

She smiled in a strange, satisfied way—like the word blood didn’t bother her at all. It intrigued me.

Just then, her alarm rang. It was 12:30. Time to close the café.

We stood. I walked with her to the counter, paid for my drink without a word, then said with a small smile,

“Bye, Anon. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She didn’t respond. Just watched me leave.