The madness that loved her

--- Anaya’s POV I wake before the sun, the way I always do. The village is still quiet, wrapped in that soft moment where night hasn’t fully let go and morning hasn’t yet claimed the world. The air smells of wet earth and wood smoke. Somewhere, a rooster crows too early, confused like the rest of us. I sit up slowly, pushing my hair back from my face. The floor is cold beneath my feet, familiar. Comforting. I like this part of the day—the silence before voices, before footsteps, before the world remembers me. Outside, the sky is pale blue, like it’s unsure of itself. I wash my face, braid my hair loosely, and step out into the courtyard. Amma’s plants line the wall, leaves heavy with dew. I touch one absently, wiping my fingers on my dress afterward. Everything is the same. Everything is safe. At least, it feels that way. I don’t know why, but as I walk toward the well, a strange feeling settles in my chest. Not fear. Not exactly. Awareness. Like when you turn suddenly because you feel someone behind you—except there’s no one there. I glance down the path. Empty. I tell myself I’m imagining things. I always do. The village has a way of making you feel watched—too many eyes, too many familiar faces. Everyone knows everyone. That’s all this is. Still, I walk a little faster. --- Salar’s POV Seoul never sleeps. It breathes. Pulses. Watches. From the thirty-eighth floor of my building, the city looks obedient. Lines of light. Controlled movement. Order carved into concrete and glass. I finish my workout without checking the time. I don’t need to. My body runs on discipline now—something I learned early, when chaos took everything else. “Sir.” Min-jae stands near the door, tablet in hand. He doesn’t speak unless invited. I trained that habit into him myself. “Talk,” I say, drying my hands. “We found them.” I pause. Not because I’m surprised—but because a part of me expected this moment to feel different. “Location?” I ask. “A folk village. Remote. Quiet.” He hesitates. “There’s a girl.” That catches my attention. “A girl?” I repeat. “Yes. Anaya.” The name settles somewhere I don’t expect it to. “How old?” “Nineteen.” I take the tablet and scroll through the file. Names. Dates. Old photographs. Faces that mean nothing to me—except for what they did. And then— Her. The photo is simple. Unposed. A girl standing near a well, head slightly turned, sunlight caught in her hair. She isn’t smiling, but her expression is soft. Unaware. Too unaware. I feel something sharp twist in my chest. This is her? This is what came out of them? “She lives with relatives,” Min-jae continues. “No criminal record. No suspicious behavior.” I don’t hear the rest. My eyes stay on her face. “She doesn’t know,” he adds carefully. “She was a child when it happened.” I hand the tablet back. “Send men,” I say. Min-jae stiffens. “Sir?” “Not to touch her,” I clarify. “Just watch.” I don’t know why I say it like that. As if the thought of anyone else touching her—even hypothetically—makes my jaw tighten. “Yes, sir.” As he leaves, I turn back to the window. I tell myself this is business. I tell myself I hate her. --- Anaya’s POV By midmorning, the village is awake. Children run barefoot through dust and laughter. Women gather near the well, voices overlapping. I help Amma knead dough, my hands moving on instinct while my thoughts drift. The feeling from earlier hasn’t left. It lingers—soft but persistent, like a question without words. “Anaya,” Amma says gently. “You’re quiet today.” “I’m fine,” I reply, smiling automatically. And I am. I think. Still, when I step outside to hang the clothes, I feel it again. That sense of being seen. I turn slowly. Nothing. Just the trees. The path. The sun climbing higher. I hug myself, suddenly unsure why my skin feels warm—too warm. --- Salar’s POV The first report comes in before noon. “She follows a routine,” Min-jae says. “Wakes early. Helps at home. Walks the same paths every day.” “Anyone close to her?” I ask. “No.” Good. I don’t know why that matters. I only know that it does. I pull up the live feed on my phone—grainy, distant. She’s hanging clothes now, arms raised, sunlight catching on her skin. She looks— Normal. And somehow, that infuriates me. I expected guilt. Or fear. Or something that would justify what I feel when I look at her. Instead, she looks untouched. I clench my jaw. “She doesn’t even know,” I mutter. Min-jae watches me carefully. “Sir… should we proceed?” “Yes,” I say, without looking away. “But no one goes near her.” “Understood.” The feed flickers slightly as the camera angle changes. She pauses. For half a second, her gaze lifts—straight toward the lens. Toward me. My breath stills. It’s impossible. She can’t see me. And yet— Something in her eyes shifts, like she feels the weight of my attention. A warning bell rings somewhere deep in my chest. This wasn’t supposed to happen like this. I close the feed. I tell myself again: I hate her. But hatred has never felt like this. --- Anaya’s POV That night, I lie awake longer than usual. The moonlight spills across the floor, pale and quiet. I listen to the sounds of the village settling into sleep. I don’t know why my heart feels restless. I don’t know why, for the first time in my life, I feel like my world has moved—just slightly—out of place. Somewhere far away, someone I’ve never met is thinking of me. I don’t know that yet. But I feel it. ---