She watched him from behind the glass, hiding between the café curtains, staring at his features as if afraid she might one day forget them. Every movement of his sent a tremor through her heart, and every casual glance seemed to her like a secret signal. She whispered to herself, “Tonight… he will be mine alone.”

As evening fell, she stood on the path he crossed every night, holding in her hand a cup of juice that looked ordinary, but the drops of sedative she had dissolved in it were enough to plunge him into a deep sleep. She smiled when she saw his steps drawing near, and offered him the cup, saying: — “I thought you might need something to refresh you after this long day.”

He took the cup from her, pretended to take a sip, swirled the juice in his mouth, then swallowed loudly as if convinced. He handed the cup back to her, feigning dizziness, as though the drink’s effect was beginning to weigh on his head. She smiled inwardly and moved cautiously toward him until his body was within her arms.

— “Do you feel… dizzy?” she whispered in a worried tone, trying to hide her smile. — “A little…” he replied in a sluggish voice.

Without hesitation, she opened her car door and settled him into the back seat, resting his head on the pillow, then closed the door gently. Sitting behind the wheel, her heart pounded with triumph as the car glided into the darkness of the street.

But suddenly, his voice came from the back, clear and steady: — “Do you know what’s amusing? I never drank your juice at all.”