A letter to the post man

Nath drove Alex home, the hum of the car engine the only sound cutting through the heavy silence between them. Nath glanced at Alex briefly, his voice firm yet comforting. "I have a feeling she's still alive. We'll find her soon. You have my word."

Alex nodded stiffly, his eyes fixed on the passing streetlights, their glow casting fleeting shadows across his weary face. "Thank you," he said, his voice low, almost inaudible. Gratitude mingled with unease in his tone.

He couldn't understand why Nath was helping him with such determination. What motivated him to care so deeply about someone he barely knew? The question clawed at the edges of Alex's mind, but he couldn't bring himself to ask. There was something about Nath—something unreadable, almost haunting—that kept Alex from digging deeper. Instead, he remained silent as the car came to a stop in front of his house.

With a nod of farewell, Alex stepped out, shutting the car door behind him. The sound echoed in the quiet night as he disappeared into the dimly lit house, leaving Nath alone in the stillness.

I lay sprawled on the cold, unforgiving floor of the dark room. The once-tight ropes that bound me to a chair were gone, but freedom was still a distant dream. A thin, tattered blanket lay draped over me—a gesture from my kidnapper that felt more mocking than kind. It offered little protection against the biting cold that seeped through the cracks of the room.

My body ached in ways I didn't think possible. Every movement sent waves of pain rippling through me. I was weak, my strength slipping away with each passing hour. A deep, suffocating fear settled over me: I wouldn't survive much longer if he continued with his punishments.

Tears welled in my eyes, hot and relentless as they spilled down my cheeks. What did I do to deserve this? I thought, the question repeating in my mind like a cruel mantra.

Was it because I loved someone I shouldn't have?

No… that couldn't be it.

What payment is he talking about?

Could I remind him of someone he hated? Someone he wanted revenge on?

But even that didn't make sense. He knew my name. He knew my mother's name. The thought sent a shiver down my spine. How much did he know about me? How long had he been watching?

The questions churned in my mind, an endless loop of torment, until exhaustion finally claimed me. I drifted into an uneasy sleep, the cold floor beneath me hard and unyielding.

In the haze of my dreams, she appeared. Diana.

Her figure was ethereal, bathed in a soft, golden glow that seemed to pulse with warmth. She stretched her arms toward me, her expression filled with sorrow and tenderness. I felt her hands cup my face, and she leaned in, her lips pressing a soft kiss to my forehead.

"Don't take her away!" she cried, her voice breaking with anguish. The glow around her flickered like a dying flame. "Don't take her away from me!"

Her sobs grew louder, each one echoing in my ears like a haunting melody.

And then I woke, gasping for air.

The dream lingered, its vividness leaving a chill in my chest. My heart thundered in my ears as I glanced around the pitch-black room. It was the same—cold, suffocating, and silent. But then, the silence broke.

The door creaked open, its slow, deliberate movement sending a shiver down my spine. Light spilled into the room, illuminating the silhouette of my captor as he limped inside.

My breath caught as I took in his condition. His leg was clearly fractured, his movements strained. Deep bruises marred his arms, and dried blood streaked across his clothes. He sank to the floor heavily, his breathing labored.

For a moment, I didn't move. Fear held me in place, but something else—something unfamiliar—pushed me forward. Slowly, cautiously, I crawled toward him.

"Are you… alright?" I whispered, my voice trembling.

He froze at the sound of my words. His dark eyes locked onto mine, wide with disbelief. There was something in his expression I couldn't place—shock, confusion, and perhaps even vulnerability.

He didn't answer, but he didn't stop me as I moved closer. I could feel his gaze on me, heavy and searching, as I reached for his injured leg. My hands trembled as I tore a strip from the hem of my dress, fashioning a makeshift bandage.

He hissed in pain as I wrapped it around his fractured limb. "Stay still," I murmured, surprised at the steadiness of my own voice.

His mask, so securely fastened before, slipped. It fell to the floor with a quiet clink, revealing the face beneath.

I froze, my breath catching in my throat.

He wasn't what I had expected.

His features were delicate yet sharp—high cheekbones, a defined jawline, and lips that seemed almost too perfect. His eyes, though shadowed by exhaustion, held an intensity that seemed to pierce through me.

He looked… ethereal. Otherworldly.

I couldn't tear my gaze away. My mind struggled to reconcile the angelic face before me with the man who had brought me so much pain.

He closed his eyes, his breathing steadying as he leaned back against the wall. Sleep seemed to claim him almost instantly, his body slackening.

I sat there, staring at him in stunned silence. The questions returned, louder and more urgent than before.

Who was he? Why was he doing this? And why did I feel a strange, inexplicable pull toward the man who had stolen my freedom?

My hands trembled as I picked up the damp cloth he had left earlier, carefully cleaning the blood from his wounds. The tension in the room was thick, but for the first time, it wasn't suffocating.

As the cloth glided across his bruised skin, one thought echoed in my mind: He wasn't what he seemed.

The answers I sought were hidden beneath the mask he had worn. And now that it had fallen, I wasn't sure I was ready for the truth.