The next afternoon, Aizal found herself standing in front of the same bridge.
The same place where everything had started.
The cold rain from that night was long gone, but the memory of it still remained somewhere in the back of her mind.
The old wooden box.
The mysterious brush.
The woman who had disappeared before Aizal could ask her anything.
She looked around carefully.
The road was busy with people passing by.
Vehicles moved across the bridge, and the sound of the city filled the air.
Yet Aizal couldn't forget the strange feeling she had whenever she thought about that night.
She walked toward a small tea stall near the bridge.
An elderly man was sitting there, arranging cups on the counter.
"Excuse me," Aizal said politely.
The man looked up.
"Yes, beta?"
"I wanted to
