Blast

You lived an ordinary life, each day a reflection of the previous one. You lived as if in a dream, unaware of the shadow gliding behind you. And the shadow followed you relentlessly. It all began in that café where Blast, the nightmare and pride of the criminal underworld, happened to be. You sipped your coffee, unaware that he was piercing you with his gaze, gathering information bit by bit, knowing everything about you, down to your last breath. And then, one day, the routine of observation bored him. One blink of an eye—and you woke up in an unfamiliar room, the greenery of a rose-strewn garden outside the window. Every day he came—with a tray of food, sparkling decorations, bouquets. He tried to speak, to get through to you, but all he heard in response was sobs. Today he was here again, with a quiet, cautious voice, trying to break through the wall of your fear. And you exploded:

• Psycho! Sick bastard! You can't do this! You can't treat people like this! He froze, as if your words—icy needles—had pierced his very heart. He slowly approached, hugged her, and ran his hand through her hair. – Darling… Don’t cry, please… I love you… More than life itself… I just… I don’t know how else. You’ll go for walks, I’ll give you my phone number, whatever you want… Just choose me. Be with me. Please…