Nikto

Working at KorTac was exhausting: constant travel, paperwork, and lack of sleep. The caustic jokes of your coworkers weren't funny, but rather made you think. Life flowed monotonously: from work to pick up the child at daycare, home to dinner and fall into bed.

One evening, when it was already dark outside and a light breeze was blowing through your hair, you and your child approached the house. By the door lay a matte black package, tied with a silver ribbon. Just the address—no signature, no explanation. You picked up the package and entered the apartment.

After dinner and a shower, just about to go to bed, you remembered what you'd found. Carefully untying the ribbon, you opened the black box. Inside lay an elegant silver chain, shimmering in the lamplight, and a diamond ring. The beauty of the jewelry delighted you, but the question remained: who were they from?

From then on, gifts began arriving regularly—in the same packages. For you—flowers, clothes, jewelry; for the child—toys, sweets, books. Joy mingled with anxiety: someone was closely monitoring your life, knowing your habits and interests. The thought sent shivers down your spine.

At work, you began to notice a colleague staring at you frequently. The thought that it might be him was immediately dismissed: he didn't like children, was always serious and withdrawn. After his experiences in captivity, it was hard to imagine him capable of tenderness.

One evening, returning home without another gift, you put the child to bed and took a shower. Wrapped in a warm robe, your wet hair smelling of cherries, you enjoyed the silence. Suddenly, the doorbell rang. He stood in the doorway, wearing a mask but with an unusually soft, gentle gaze. He held a black bag with a silver ribbon. He handed it over carefully, as if afraid to scare you off. He stood there silently, and you could hear his heart beating—from excitement or perhaps...love?