The cool breeze hit Maria's bare back as she stood in the middle of the forest, wondering how she had gotten here as tears formed at the corner of her eyes, she blinked them away as she walked barefooted towards the lake;she had already lost her sandals while struggling with that guy- whatever his name was she couldn't remember, or rather, she didn't care. She quietly approached the lake, she squatted, and touched the water.It was freezing. She couldn't quite place the reason she was brought here.Just as she was about to drift to the world of thoughts she heard some footsteps; it was him, he was back from wherever he had gone.Maria carefully tiptoed back inside the crumbling hut before he could see her; he'd already warned her not to leave the hut but Maria being a curious young lady went out to explore her surroundings and maybe have a little clue of where she had been taken. but the surroundings were just trees with the decaying hut sitting in the middle of it all. The lake was the only thing she thing she focused on. She carefully closed the door behind her and laid down on the dusty mattress. CHAPTER TWO Maria laid on the dusty mattress, her heart thudding softly against her chest, as if trying to whisper warnings she couldn’t yet understand. Her breathing slowed as she tried to calm the noise in her mind — the chaos of questions with no answers. Who was this man? Why her? Why here? The floor creaked. She froze. His heavy boots scraped against the wooden floorboards just outside the door, then paused — as if he sensed she’d moved. Her fingers curled around the edge of the thin, moth-bitten blanket. She didn’t dare breathe too loud. When the door finally creaked open, she shut her eyes, pretending to be asleep. His shadow loomed, dark and silent. Seconds passed. Then the door closed again. Relief washed over her, but it was too brief. She couldn’t stay like this forever. She had to know what was going on. And then... she had to escape. Later that evening, when the soft orange of dusk filtered through the broken window, Maria sat up slowly. The man hadn’t spoken to her since the morning he dropped a plate of food on the floor and grunted something about staying put. She had memorized the shape of his face from the brief moments she had dared to glance at him. A rough beard, tired eyes, and something... something familiar about him that she couldn’t place. Restless, Maria scanned the room again. There was hardly anything — just the mattress, a rusted chair, and a worn-out duffel bag leaning against the far wall. That same bag he always kept close, always zipped, always in sight. But now, it was slightly open. She stared at it, her pulse quickening. A part of her screamed not to touch it. But the louder part — the one that had questions burning holes through her — couldn’t resist. She crawled quietly to the bag and slowly pulled down the zipper. Inside were clothes, a pocket knife, a pair of reading glasses... and then, tucked into a thin brown folder, something that made her gasp. It was a photo. Her photo. She pulled it out with shaking hands. It was a picture of her and her mother, taken years ago in front of their old apartment. She remembered that day vividly — her mother’s laughter, the way her arms wrapped around her so tightly, like she never wanted to let go. But how did this man have it? Maria blinked at the picture again. There was a faint mark at the bottom corner — her own scribble from when she was seven. This wasn’t a copy. This was *her* picture. The exact one pinned to her mirror at home. Her blood ran cold. Who was he? And why did he have something that had never left her room? Maria's hands trembled as she stared at the photo. Her mind raced, struggling to make sense of what she was holding. There was no doubt — this was *hers*. The folded corner, the smudge of ink on her cheek, even the faint scent of her mum’s old lavender perfume somehow still clung to it. She clutched it to her chest as panic slowly bloomed in her stomach. Why would a stranger have something this personal? Unless… unless he wasn’t a stranger. Suddenly, the floor creaked again — closer this time. She panicked, shoved the photo back into the bag, and zipped it shut just before the door swung open. He walked in, eyes scanning the room like he’d left something behind. Maria turned her back to him, pretending to be asleep again. He paused. Her heart pounded. Then… silence. No footsteps. No sounds. Just stillness. And then his voice — low, scratchy, and oddly calm. "You went outside again." It wasn’t a question. Maria didn’t respond. He sighed, then walked past her and dropped something beside the mattress. It was bread and water. She didn’t look at him, but she could feel his eyes on her for a moment too long.Then he left. And locked the door. *** She waited until nightfall, counting every breath, every minute. When the only sound....