And here I am, walking toward the place where I had agreed to meet my date. The night was beginning to fall, enveloping the city in a blend of artificial lights and elongated shadows. The cool evening air brushed against my face, and with every step, my mind wandered into dark thoughts and anticipations that only I could understand. I reflected on the girl I was about to get to know more closely. During our brief interaction, I had only caught a glimpse of her personality, but the mystery still lingered. Does she have a big family? I wondered fleetingly. Would anyone care deeply for her? Does she have friends who would look for her if she disappeared?
But I quickly dismissed those questions. I realized they didn't matter at all. The only thing that truly interested me about each of my victims was what they hid in their minds—the complexities of their psychology, the secrets no one else could see, the emotions and fears buried beneath the surface. Those were the true treasures, and I was eager to uncover them. A glance at my watch showed I still had about five minutes before reaching the park, so I let my mind wander back to that memory, to the moment I met her.
It had been an afternoon that seemed ordinary in every way, another exhausting day at the office when I decided to join some coworkers at the bar. The place was teeming with life and noise: lively conversations, loud laughter, and the clinking of glasses against tables. Amidst that chaos, my coworkers were drinking as if there were no tomorrow, their faces flushed, and their voices increasingly slurred from the alcohol. That's when I saw her, sitting alone at the bar.
She seemed fragile, almost out of place in such a chaotic setting. Her dark hair fell in soft waves around her face, and there was something about her posture—the way her fingers played with the edge of her glass—that caught my attention. I watched her for a moment, trying to see beyond her appearance. There was a delicacy to her, a vulnerability that made me want to approach her.
When my coworkers finally finished their beers, they were so drunk they probably wouldn't have remembered their own names. I knew they wouldn't notice anything I did, so I slipped away without a second thought. I approached her with a carefully calculated smile on my face.
"What's someone as sweet as you doing sitting alone in a bar?" I asked, leaning in just enough to make sure my words reached only her.
She looked up, her dark eyes meeting mine, and I noticed the flicker of surprise that crossed her face before being replaced by a shy smile.
"I'm waiting for someone," she replied, her voice soft and almost musical. Her fingers kept playing with the glass as if she couldn't decide whether to look at me or look away.
"Someone special?" I asked, tilting my head with an expression of genuine curiosity.
She hesitated for a moment, and I could see her weighing her words before answering.
"No, just a friend," she finally said, though there was something in her tone, a hint of uncertainty, that made me think she wasn't telling the whole truth.
I sat down next to her, careful not to invade her space but close enough to create a sense of connection.
"Someone like me?" I replied, letting my smile widen slightly. My tone was lower, more intimate, as if I were sharing a secret. In doing so, I was already building a closer connection without even truly knowing her.
She blushed faintly, her eyes meeting mine with a mix of distrust and curiosity. She took her time to answer, lightly biting her lower lip in a gesture I found endearing.
"You don't seem like just any friend," she said with a soft laugh, as if trying to read my intentions.
I smiled, adding just the right touch of confidence that I'd perfected over the years, and leaned in a bit more.
"Maybe I don't. But I could be someone interesting for you." I let the sentence hang in the air, and I saw her eyes blink rapidly, as if processing what I had just said.
There was a spark of emotion and surprise in her gaze, something I had learned to recognize and manipulate. I felt the moment was perfect to play my card.
"Do you have a boyfriend?" I asked, my voice now low and direct.
She froze for a second, the kind of pause that says more than words ever could. Then, she slowly shook her head, though something in her expression hinted there was more to the story.
"No…" she answered, though she seemed to hesitate, as if unsure of her own response.
I didn't give her time to think too much. I leaned in even closer, reducing the space between us to just a few inches, close enough for her to catch the scent of my cologne and feel the warmth of my presence.
"So, would you like to take a walk with me?" I proposed, my tone soft but firm, leaving no room for doubt.
Her eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, I could see the internal struggle in her mind. Finally, she nodded, a mix of excitement and surprise flickering in her gaze.
"All right, but…" she paused, as if about to back out, "do you have a phone number so we can keep in touch?"
I smiled, adding a touch of mystery.
"I don't have a phone. We'll have to set the day and time right now." The truth was that I did have a phone, but I didn't usually give my number to women I met like this.
She blinked, clearly puzzled by my response, but somehow it didn't seem to matter much to her.
"That's fine," she finally agreed, shrugging as if my peculiarity was just another anecdote to share later. So we set the date: Wednesday, seven in the evening, at a quiet park where we could walk and get to know each other better. We said our goodbyes, and I watched her walk away, wondering what secrets I might uncover about her.
I snap out of my thoughts as I finally arrive at the park. The place is calm, almost deserted, illuminated by the warm lights of streetlamps casting long, wavering shadows on the pavement. It's an almost perfect setting for what I plan to do tonight. I glance at my watch: seven, right on time. As always, punctuality is something I take seriously. To me, every second has a purpose, every moment matters, and being late is a sign of disrespect for the order I hold so dear.
However, as I look up and scan my surroundings, I notice there's no sign of my date. The park is empty, save for the whisper of the wind playing with the leaves in the trees. It's a comforting silence, though also strange. On one hand, the lack of people is ideal for my plans. But on the other, her tardiness begins to unsettle me.
I sit on a wooden bench, the cool surface pressing against my palms. The bench is placed under a streetlamp, its light creating a faint circle around me. I wait, letting time pass with the patience I usually pride myself on. But after a few minutes, that calm begins to erode. Five minutes pass, and a faint tingle of irritation creeps into my thoughts. What if she stood me up? The idea seems absurd. I remember her expression at the bar, the way she accepted the date. She didn't seem like the kind of person who would do that, especially not to someone like me. But the doubt lingers. What if something happened to her? If that's the case, I wouldn't be angry, but I would be disappointed. It would mean I couldn't carry out my plan, and this girl seemed like the perfect one to fulfill my goal.
As these thoughts swirl in my mind, they vanish the moment I see her appear. In the distance, her figure moves with hurried steps, almost tripping over her own urgency. Her dark hair sways with each movement, catching the light of the streetlamps, and her face carries an expression of both apology and embarrassment. Her presence calms me and, at the same time, stirs a new kind of frustration.
Ten minutes late. My mind screams silently. I can't stand people who are late. It's not that hard to be punctual, is it? In an age where apps can calculate exactly how long it takes to get anywhere, what valid excuse could anyone have for making me wait? Punctuality is a sign of respect, a demonstration of control over oneself and the circumstances. But instead of letting that irritation show on my face, I put on my best mask—the one I always wear to hide my true self.
When she arrives, she stops in front of me, still trying to catch her breath. The apologetic look on her face is almost endearing. Her cheeks are slightly flushed from the effort and the cool night breeze, her lips curling into a timid smile, as if unsure of how to apologize properly.
"Sorry for being late," she finally says, her voice soft and nervous. The sincerity in her tone is clear, though it doesn't entirely soothe my annoyance.
I look up at her, my lips forming a calm smile, as if everything were perfectly fine.
"Don't worry," I say with a casual, even friendly tone. "I just got here too."
She seems relieved by my words, and that's enough to erase any trace of discomfort she might have felt. I stand up from the bench, adjusting my suit jacket slightly to maintain my impeccable appearance.
"Shall we start walking?" I ask, nodding toward the path that winds through the park.
She nods, still a bit embarrassed, but also excited. We begin to walk side by side.
And so begins what I'm sure will be one of the best nights of my life.