between love and danger

The strange visitor

Chapter 4

Betty walked home with a heavy knot in her chest. The late afternoon sun stretched amber shadows across the cracked pavement, and a faint breeze carried the scent of rain on hot concrete. She sank into the plush, ruby red cushion chair in her bedroom, its softness swallowing her weight. The walls were lined with glossy prints of sun kissed beaches and moonlit rooftops, and a half burned lavender candle released its lingering scent into the air. The ceiling fan hummed lazily above her.

Her mind churned. Did I really hear Ryan from Sandra’s mouth,Could it be the same Ryan I once knew,She pressed her thighs together, a nervous rhythm that made the chair creak. Rising, she retrieved an old, photograph from a dusty drawer. In it, she and a young man eyes bright, arms wrapped around each other smiled at a world that now felt distant. A bittersweet smile tugged at her lips before exhaustion pulled her into a shallow doze, the photo slipping from her fingers onto the carpet.

The room seemed to hold its breath as the afternoon light faded into twilight. Betty’s thoughts drifted like leaves in a slow moving stream, each memory of The young man resurfacing with a sting. She remembered the way he used to laugh, the way his hand felt when it brushed against hers, and the sudden, sharp edge of his departure. The photograph, now lying on the floor, seemed to pulse with a quiet accusation. She shifted in her chair, feeling the weight of unanswered questions settle deeper into her bones.

Betty, half asleep in her bedroom, felt a sudden chill run down her spine. She opened her eyes to the dim light, the photograph still on the floor, she remembered Sandra again,no l must investigates he said reaching out to her phone,She dial a number,hello l wanna see you tomorrow, it's very important, don't fail to come she said,her voice loud and clear with a commanding tone, Okay ,the voice from the other end said,the call went dead,

Sandra sank on the worn sofa cushions in her sitting room,as the dim glow of the evening sun cast a warm orange through rhe window,she stared blanky at the window,her thought filled with her discussion with betty,why did she gave me that sharp look when l mentioned Ryan,she said he eyes furrowed in confusion,no l must be mistaken,she shook her head dispelling the doubt creeping in,anyways l will see how this whole thing ends but am never giving up on Ryan she whispered,he voice firm as her eyes narrowed with determination,she stood up to take the empty plates to the kitchen

In the sleek, glass walled office of Garbchars Plaza, Ryan stared at a mountain of papers and a glowing laptop screen. The air smelled of fresh coffee and faint ozone from the electronics. His fingers danced over the keyboard, each click echoing in the quiet room.

A security guard knocked and entered, head bowed.

Sir, a lady requests to see you, he said, voice low.

Ryan didn’t look up. Let her in, he replied, eyes still fixed on the data.

Moments later, the door swung open. The same 23 year old woman from earlier stepped in, her blue trousers and oversized polo crisp against the polished floor. She paused, eyes scanning the room, then lowered her voice.

Good day, sir. She gave a slight, respectful bow, her tone surprisingly loud in the hushed office.

Ryan raised an eyebrow, adjusting his chair with a soft swivel. How can I help you, young woman, he asked, his gaze lingering as if trying to place a half forgotten face.

She smiled, a dim almost mischievous curve. I’d appreciate a chair before we start,she said, her voice steady.

Ryan gestured to the empty seat across from him. She settled, crossing her legs with practiced ease.

I’m here to deliver a message, she began, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. The back you turned against is now turning against you. Her eyes flickered, and a faint, unsettling grin played on her lips. I’m sure you’ve received the call and the text.

Ryan’s jaw tightened. A flash of anger sparked in his eyes. His hands clenched, knuckles whitening as if ready to strike.

So you’re the one behind those calls What do you want from me,Why threaten me with my girlfriend I love her so much to lose her. Who are you, stranger, he demanded, voice rising, each word edged with frustration.

She tilted her head, eyes glinting. You think I’m the real enemy, You’re mistaken. When you’re ready, dial the number. She slipped a small, crumpled piece of paper onto his desk, stood, and walked toward the door, her steps echoing on the hardwood.

Ryan watched her disappear, the paper’s ink blurring in his mind. The real enemy who could it be, he whispered to himself. The office suddenly felt too large, the hum of the airconditioner a distant, ominous thrum.

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