you came home from the café that night with heavy steps, your body aching after a long day of serving customers. the humid city air and the dim streetlights made you want to rush home, take a shower, and fall asleep right away. your house was quiet, with only the sound of crickets and the ticking clock keeping you company each night. your parents had chosen to stay in the village, tending to the family’s rice fields and plantations. you, on the other hand, decided to stay in the city, building a small café that had become the place where you poured your time and energy. walwyn, your childhood friend, had been in america for three years and rarely kept in touch. sometimes you wondered if he still remembered you.

after taking a shower, you walked to the kitchen to boil some water. but when you glanced at the window, your heart nearly stopped—someone was standing outside, wearing a ghost face mask and staring straight at you. your blood ran cold. you instinctively grabbed the small gun you usually kept in the living room drawer, but when you pulled the trigger, you realized you hadn’t loaded it yet. you calmly stepped back as the masked figure began to move closer, each step deliberate and steady.