[A few weeks earlier.]
[Waiting in desperation, the man took a deep breath before looking outside the window. The streets were filled with working people, school children, buses, and cars. A waitress came up to him.
"Do you want to order, sir?"
"Yes, a double mocha latte."
The waitress took his order and walked away. The man started looking at his phone. Watching his screen, he grew sorrowful. There were pictures of him with his partner—scrolling down more and more, looking at the moments he had enjoyed with them. The joyful past that had once been was now a bag of sorrow for him to live with.
He looked at the screen and wept.
"Why?"
The waitress came back to him, taking in the man's sorrowful face, the tears in his eyes, the redness of his cheeks, and the trembling in his hands. He was unable to take a single sip of coffee. The man looked up at the waitress. He suddenly wiped his tears and pretended to be okay.
Resting a gentle hand on his shoulder, she asked,
"What happened?"
"Nothing….. It's just some dirt."
"You know, if you are in pain, you should share it with others."
The moment he heard those words, he went into shock. His eyes widened, looking at the woman in disbelief.
"What did you say?"
The waitress pulled out a chair and sat opposite him.
"Nothing, it's just something somebody once told me: If you are in trouble, share it with me; sharing it will help you find peace."
The man remembered the moment. A face came into his mind—remembering their face as they said the same thing as the waitress.
"Okay, now tell me why you were upset."
"No, it's just... because of someone I love."
"And who might that be?"
The man went silent, looking down at the ground without saying a word. He rubbed his hands and feet together nervously. The waitress observed his tense composure and replied softly.
"It's okay if you don't want to tell me."
"I don't know if it's good or not, sharing it with others. I feel like... like I'm intruding on their privacy."
"No worries, I understand that."
"It's just... me and my partner broke up a few months ago. At that point, I didn't understand how to handle it, and I ran away for my own peace. But now…"
"Was it their fault?"
"I don't know if I can say that. But I know he was sorry for his mistake."
"Well, if you understand this and still love him, then you should forgive him."
"But….. there is still a doubt in me."
"No doubt can be bigger than your love, can it?"
The man didn't say a thing, just looking at her with hope in his eyes. The same as he felt before.
"If you love someone, regardless of their gender, you will always respect them and go back."
He smiled, remembering the person's face in his memories. The very lines he longed to hear from him, he was receiving from a stranger.
"By the way, what's your name?"
"Samayra."
"And you?"
"I am Nathan."]
[Present Day]
"I shall have one."
Opening the closet of my death, I returned to this door once again. Looking at the bottle of pills, a tight tension grew inside me. I tried to take out a pill, but my hand simply froze. Staring at the bottle with dead seriousness, I rested it back in the locker and locked it up.
"It is happening way too many times."
I began pacing in circles around the room, biting my nails and churning with anxiety. I couldn't come up with anything to put my mind at rest. Suddenly, a thought struck me: maybe a coffee would work.
I was about to leave the room, but I stopped dead in my tracks. Before stepping out, my gaze shifted to the drawer in the distance. Looking at it, I started sinking into a deep forest of sorrow. I tried to move toward it, but my feet halted after a few steps. I checked myself.
"Maybe next time."
Stepping out of the room, I looked around before heading to the kitchen. Well, it feels great when everything is in its place, and you have nothing to worry about. The season is almost at an end. My daily workload is about to be over, and after this, I am going to take a long break. Miraj is going to handle everything, and I am just going to play some video games.
I moved up to the kettle and poured some hot water. Adding milk is always the better way to make coffee. I took out the powder and scooped some in. As I moved, my mind drifted.
"What should I do today?"
Clearly, I didn't have any plans. It was shaping up to be a boring day. I guessed Samayra was probably having one, too.
Wait a minute—I know what I should do.
My coffee was ready—or rather, my double mocha latte was ready. I took the first sip. Froth gathered on my lips, and I licked it off just as the realization hit me.
"I should call her. We can go somewhere, or we can just hang out here."
Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Who could it be this early in the morning? Was it Samayra? But she would have told me before coming over. I walked up to the door as the bell chimed continuously. I pulled it open to find a man standing outside, staring down at a notepad in his hand and constantly scratching his head. It looked like he hadn't bathed in days.
"Are you Dylan?"
"Yes, but who are you?"
"I'm here from J.C. Motors. Your car is here."
"My car!"
In a surge of excitement, I rushed out of the house, completely oblivious to my surroundings. I even forgot my slippers as I ran out to open the parking gate.
"Calm down, man."
"Thank you so much for your service!"
I hugged the man emotionally, driven by pure instinct. The mechanic stood there, thoroughly confused. Once he left, I headed back inside.
[Meanwhile, the mechanic looked out from the window head of his towing van. Staring at Dylan's house, he questioned himself,
"What could be so special about that car? It wasn't a luxury model, nor was it even in perfect condition."
"Well, I guess it must be something precious to him."]
I texted my thanks to Miraj. At least the guy did something good.
Well, the day had started with some real treats. First, I stopped myself from taking the pills. Second, my mocha latte turned out great. Third, my car was back. The day had truly started in the most amazing way, which meant it was the perfect time for treat number four.
I grabbed my phone and instantly dialed Samayra. She might be busy or sleeping... maybe I shouldn't disturb her. Then I reconsidered—Wait a minute, she dragged me out to look at flowers when I was dead tired, so why shouldn't I wake her up?
I called her again. After a few rings, she picked up.
"Hey, Sam."
No response came from her side. I tried again.
"Hello? Are you there?"
"Yes, I am. What do you want?"
"I was thinking of hanging out somewhere. What do you say?"
"No. I don't want to."
"What?"
Her voice sounded choked with sadness. There was a desperate, suppressed cry behind her words. It barely even sounded like her. I looked at my phone screen to double-check the caller ID.
"Hello? Sam, what happened?"
* Hang-up tone*
It was bizarre. Why did she hang up on me? I couldn't wrap my head around it, and I knew there was only one way to find out.
-------
While cleaning the table, I scrubbed the surface aggressively, putting all my strength into my hands. I rubbed harder and harder in mounting rage, only one thought consuming my mind.
"AAAAHHH!"
I screamed until my throat burned. Everyone in the kitchen turned to stare at me in horror. The manager walked in, taking in the scene before asking softly,
"Samayra, what happened?"
I froze at his words, turning around with a sharp creak of my shoes. I stared blankly at the ground, void of emotion.
"Sir, can I take the day off? I am not feeling well."
"Uh... yeah."
He looked at me with visible anxiety, as though terrified I might snap at any moment. He granted me permission. I packed my things and walked out of the café. I was in no mood to talk to anyone—and that was the exact moment Dylan called.
When I picked up his call, a sudden jolt ran through me. I felt dreadful, straining to hold back my tears. I managed to tell him that I wouldn't go out with him, fighting the urge to break down, but I knew he had heard the crack in my voice anyway. I ran and ran, not knowing where to go or what to do, searching desperately for a place to hide. Hide from him... hide from myself.
After a while, I found myself at the doll museum. The only place that ever made me feel safe.
I walked inside toward the toy train display. But the moment I arrived, I realized I shouldn't have come today.
"Hello, Sam."
I looked up. It was Dylan, standing in front of me with a heavy, serious look on his face. He stepped closer, and I instinctively backed away. I didn't want to see him. Why was he here?
"Why are you here?"
"..."
"Just tell me, why are you here?!"
"It's just... I'm here for you."
"Again with that crap! Didn't I tell you I don't want to see you?!"
"But I—"
"Forget it!"
I was rendered completely speechless. Why was she acting like this with me now? What had happened? Desperate, I ran after her, trying so hard to get her to stop, but she refused to listen.
"Okay, just tell me what I did wrong! I'll leave after that!"
"If you won't tell me, how am I supposed to fix it?!"
As she was about to step out of the museum, I reached her in one last desperate attempt and grabbed her hand.
*Slap*
It happened again. Only this time, I had expected it. It felt like something I was finally beginning to understand. Everyone in the museum turned to stare at us.
Suddenly, the museum manager rushed over to us.
"Is this man bothering you, ma'am?"
"No, it's nothing! You can go!"
"Are you sure?"
"Get away from here!" she screamed at the manager in a flash of rage.
First she slapped me, and then she defended me from him. I couldn't comprehend what was going on in her head. She slung her bag over her arm and marched forward. I immediately ran after her.
"Hey, wait for me!"
[The manager watched the two of them leave. In utter disbelief, he muttered to himself,
"Why did I even bother trying to help her?"
He practically whimpered as his colleagues burst out laughing at him.]
"I said I don't want to talk! Why are you following me?"
"Because I know something is wrong!" She glared at me, her eyes filled with burning anger.
"Respecting someone's privacy is very important. Isn't that what you told me?"
"I'm sorry, but I can't do that right now."
She let out a bitter, mocking sigh and started walking away again. I watched her leave, completely at a loss for how to call her back. But suddenly, an epiphany struck me. For a brief moment, I thought I finally understood why she was acting this way.
I sprinted ahead, stepping directly into her path. She tried to brush past me, but this time, I reached for her with words instead of my hands.
"Was it because you felt something?"
She froze in her tracks, completely silent.
"You felt something, right? I know it, Sam."
She turned around, tears welling in her eyes, her face twisted in sorrow. She began hitting my chest with weak, trembling punches, fighting a losing battle against her tears.
"How... how can you not feel hurt?!"
*****
Back at the house, I watched her as she sat motionless in her seat. She didn't say a word. She didn't move an inch. I tried offering her a glass of water.
"Here, have some."
She turned her head away. I pulled up a chair and sat directly across from her. Now, I needed to hear everything—everything she had been holding inside.
"Tell me."
She looked up at me.
"You once said... there is nothing different about us. That we are just like everyone else."
"..."
"I am a lesbian... but I still developed feelings for you."
"..."
"Do you think that's normal? You think that's how everything is supposed to be? No, Dylan!"
"Sam—"
"Everything that has happened up until now has left me so confused! What am I?! Who am I?! Tell me, tell me, what is wrong with me?!"
I stood there in complete silence, unable to meet her gaze, staring down at the floor.
"Why aren't you saying anything?! Say something!"
"..."
She broke into a bitter, sobbing laugh, looking at me through a haze of absolute devastation.
"What can you say? You haven't been through any of this!"
In a flash of pure desperation, her hand reached into her back pocket. Steel glinted in the dim light of the room—a small folding blade. Before my brain could even register the movement, she drove the edge directly toward her own throat.
I didn't think. I just lunged.
*Flesh Tearing*
My hand thrust between the cold steel and her neck. The sharp edge sliced deep into the back of my hand, cutting straight to the bone. Pain flared instantly, hot and blinding, as blood erupted from the wound, spattering across the floor as the knife clattered uselessly against the granite of the floor from her trembling grip.
I could have listened to anything else. But not that—not that I don't understand what she's going through.