The stubborn Star

Young and vibrant, yet heedless

to correction

Wandering the desert of mischief

and endless hours tangling his wool

soft moments

Sheepy laughter, reckless bonds

unregulated play

Trading dreams for thirst, shouting

for fleeting lust

Gear up, Star

Gaze into the clear moon of your destiny

See your own light reflected back waiting

The illusion of ocean that dissappear on

arrival

Gather your mind, retrieve your sense

The sky is calling not the sand

©️ Asmau's pen 🖊

The promise I made to myself

I promised myself to step out of every shadow,

To draw my spirit into light

Whenever life bends me toward darkness.

I promised to guard my dreams

and labour

until they breathe in reality

Every force that seeks to distort my design

Shall be ignored like crumpled paper

Every hopeful face

That sharpens the edge of my vision

Shall be welcomed with opened arms

I will kindle the fire within me

Even when the strain weakened my nerves.

And my soul feels heavy with doubt

The quiet whispers inside keep my shapes

in order

Until my structure glances in riches

And my mind rests in its earned glory.

©️ Asmau's pen 🖊

AVOID THIS TYPE OF RELATIONSHIP

.

1. You should avoid a relationship that is based on sex alone. It has no future. If all you do is to sleep with each other instead of

discussing things that will benefit your life then that relationship is a waste of time and destiny.

.

2. Avoid any relationship that has no direction, purpose or aim.

.

3. Avoid any relationship that doesn't add any positive impact on your life.

.

4. Run away from any relationship that gives you more sorrows than joy.

.

5. Run away from any relationship that makes you cry or gives you more tears and cry than laughter.

.

6. Do not stay in a relationship where you love someone but the person makes you unhappy many times.

.

7. When you see signs that a relationship can't work, don't try to make it work. IT JUST CAN'T WORK. There is no need remaining in such r/shp. Flee from it.

.

8. Avoid any relationship where you find yourself struggling to love your partner.

.

9. Avoid any relationship where you are caged or restricted from enjoying your basic fundamental human rights.

.

10. Most importantly and above all. Avoid any relationship that will keep you far away from God.

In the quiet darkness of the night

The stars gather like playful friends,

Scattering themselves like fireworks

Jingling, blooming,

Blinking softly as they warm the wide open sky

They cast their luminous brilliance on the cloud, adding hints of beauty

Soft caramel light brushed across the dark

Young and vibrant,

They radiate a cool, steady energy

That settles gently on all living things

When your eyes rest on them,

a smile finds its way to your face

And calmness feeds the mind

The night opened a space where beautiful stories are finally told

Their essence appears in faces, painting the eyes like shifting colours

And when they grow old and fragile

They fall, becoming metals in the soil

For human hands to find

Once, they were something light

Now, solids beneath our feet

Yet in every form, the nimble stars saved the night

©️ Asmau's pen 🖊

I'm just here, hanging on a thread, having the fullness of my grip on the power of positivity. I refuse to be sour, I refuse to let the light in my heart dim because I am committed to remaining soft & sweet no matter how odd I feel, no matter how sour this season may feel, love is a choice & I'm committed to hanging in there till I have no love left in my tank (which is impossible) In a world full of many colours, I chose to represent only 2; the first is white, which stands for purity & red ♥️

LOVE, LUST & MASCULINITY

I want to be there even when love fades. I want to be there when things get tough. I want to be there when the thrill of love wears off. I want to stand by you during the good, the bad, and the ugly times. I want to learn how to navigate the challenges when things get sour and work together to return to the sweet moments again. I believe that lust will always diminish over time, but true love will always strive to endure the test of time.

I want to be clear: I'm not accepting infidelity in our relationship. I can't keep dealing with constant disrespect and having to meet your emotional needs without you considering mine. It's difficult for me to remain deeply in love with you after you cheated on me. Please don't try to manipulate or gaslight me by referencing the promises I made during our affair. Trust is something I can give only once; if you break that trust, it’s on you, not on me.

This doesn't mean that I don't love the person I have claimed to love over the years. The promises I made to solidify the strength of our relationship were genuine and rooted in deep affection.. I am still in love with my one and only person. However, it also means that I love myself enough to make the best and right decision to walk away and distance myself from a potential source of continuous destruction. After all, we must love our neighbours as we love ourselves.

YOU DESERVE THIS

I know I'm not the only man on your dm trying to get your attention, but I'd like to remind you that you're the best of your kind and that you deserve all the sweet, lovely, emotional and affectionate kind of feeling . You deserve happiness in its full form. You deserve kindness in its purest way. You deserve calmness and serenity that are well knitted for you.

I can't help but look at your photos and see the beauty that lies within it, the beauty of your soul, the innocence in your smile, and the royalty in your personality as I watch your video reels on IG.

I'm not sure of the man who will eventually ring the bell of your heart, but if by any means it's someone else, be sure to know & understand that you deserve all the beautiful things in the world; You deserve transparency, you deserve the best and nothing but the absolute best.

You deserve softness, you deserve pure love, and you deserve to love yourself; keep your squats low and your standards high. Protect your punani and your peace at all cost. Stop playing small. You are worth everything you want, and even more, you deserve happiness, peace, and relaxation. You deserve safety and freedom. You deserve all the sweet, pretty beautiful things in the world, my baybay.

You're my chosen and I can't help but tell you that I love you so much. 👑 ✨️

Chapter four

Chapter 4 – Between the Lines

The next morning the bank smelled of coffee and fresh paper. Sochima arrived early, his shoes echoing on the polished floor. He tried to focus on the screen, but his mind kept drifting back to the garden bench, to Aisha’s gentle “I see you as a brother. The words sat heavy in his chest, like a stone he could not lift.

He turned his head and saw Aisha already at her desk, head bent over a file. She looked up, gave him a small smile, and went back to work. The smile was kind, but it was the same smile she gave everyone. Sochima forced himself to smile back.

“Morning,” he said, his voice a little too loud.

“Morning,” she replied, her tone even.

The day moved in its usual rhythm. Calls came, numbers were checked, and the clock ticked slowly. At lunch, Sochima found himself walking toward the small canteen where they had eaten together the week before. He hesitated at the doorway, then turned and went to a different table. He ate alone, watching Aisha from a distance. She laughed with a colleague, her eyes bright. The sight made his stomach tighten.

After work, Sochima lingered by the exit, hoping to catch a word with her. She was packing her bag when he approached.

“Hey,” he said, trying to sound casual. You heading out?

“Yes,” she said, slinging her bag over her shoulder. Just got a call from my brother. He’s in town and wants to meet up.

Sochima’s heart gave a small, unexpected thump. Your brother?

“Yeah, he’s visiting from Kano. He’s staying with me for a few days. She smiled, but there was a flicker of something else maybe worry.

“Cool,” Sochima said, forcing a laugh. Tell him I said hi.

She nodded, and they walked out together. The evening air was warm, the sky a deep orange. As they reached the parking lot, a sleek black car pulled up. A man stepped out, tall and confident, his smile wide as he saw Aisha.

“Aisha!” he called, opening his arms.

She turned, her face lighting up in a way Sochima had not seen before. Chidi! You’re early.

The man, her brother walked over and embraced her. Sochima stood a few steps away, feeling suddenly invisible. He watched them talk, their laughter filling the space between them. He felt a pang of jealousy, sharp and unfamiliar.

“Hey, you must be Sochima,” Chidi said, extending his hand after a moment. Aisha has told me about the new guy at the bank.

Sochima shook his hand, his grip firm. Nice to meet you.

Likewise, Chidi replied, his eyes scanning Sochima. Aisha says you’re from Imo. How do you like Abuja so far?

“It’s…different,” Sochima said, echoing the line he had used with Aisha weeks before. Busy, but I’m learning.

The three of them stood there for a few awkward seconds. Then Chidi clapped Sochima on the shoulder. You should come over for dinner tonight. We’re having jollof, Aisha’s specialty.

Sochima looked at Aisha, who gave a small, uncertain shrug. Sure, he said, his voice steadier than he felt. “I’d love to.”

The drive home was a blur. Sochima replayed the scene over and over. He told himself it was just dinner, that nothing would change. Yet a part of him hoped that being around Aisha’s family would bring him closer to her, even if only as a friend.

He arrived at Aisha’s apartment a little after seven. The living room was small but tidy, with a few pictures on the wall family portraits, a photo of Aisha in a graduation cap, and a framed picture of a young man in military uniform. Chidi greeted him at the door, his smile warm.

Come in, man, he said, leading Sochima to a seat on the couch. Aisha’s in the kitchen. She’s making the jollof.

Sochima sat, his hands resting on his knees. He could hear Aisha humming as she stirred a pot, the scent of tomatoes and spices filling the air. Chidi turned on the TV, a football match blaring in the background.

Do you follow the league? Chidi asked, trying to make conversation.

“Not really,” Sochima admitted. I’m more of a basketball guy.

Chidi laughed. We’ll have to catch a game sometime. I’m a die‑hard fan of the Nigerian national team, though.

The evening passed with easy chatter about food, work, and the city. Sochima found himself relaxing, the earlier tension easing a little. When Aisha finally brought out the steaming pot of jollof, the table fell silent for a moment as everyone took a bite.

“It’s amazing,” Sochima said, genuinely surprised. You really can cook.

Aisha blushed, a soft pink spreading across her cheeks. Thanks. My mother taught me.

The night grew deeper, and soon it was time to leave. Chidi walked Sochima to the door.

“Thanks for coming,” he said, shaking Sochima’s hand. You’re good people. Aisha needs someone like you around someone who understands her.

Sochima nodded, feeling a strange warmth in his chest. “Take care.”

He stepped out into the cool night, the city lights flickering like fireflies. As he walked to his car, his phone buzzed. It was a message from Aisha. Thanks for tonight. It meant a lot to me.

He stared at the screen, a small smile breaking through his uncertainty. He typed back, Anytime. Goodnight.

The reply came a few seconds later: Goodnight, Sochima.

He drove home with the city humming around him, his mind a mix of hope and fear. He knew the road ahead would be tricky, that the line between friendship and something more could shift at any moment. But for the first time since he arrived in Abuja, he felt a quiet excitement, a sense that something worth waiting for might be just around the corner.

He pulled into his parking spot, turned off the engine, and sat in the darkness for a minute, listening to the distant sounds of the city. The night was still, but inside him a new rhythm began to beat steady, hopeful, and a little bit daring.

He stepped out of the car, the cool air brushing his face, and whispered to himself, One day at a time. The suspense of what tomorrow would bring settled in his chest, but this time it felt like a promise, not a threat.

Chapter 3 – The Confession

The next morning the sky over Abuja was a thin, washed‑out blue. Sochima woke up earlier than usual, the buzz of his phone pulling him out of a restless sleep. He lay on his small rented couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling, replaying the way Aisha’s smile had lingered in the office the night before. He tried to push the thought away, reminding himself of the promise he had made: no love before Christmas.

He got up, took a quick shower, and dressed in his usual navy shirt and black trousers. The drive to the bank felt longer than the traffic that crawled along the Jabi road. When he finally stepped into the lobby, the familiar hum of computers greeted him, but there was something different in the air a nervous tension that made his chest tighten.

Aisha was already at her desk, a stack of files in front of her, a cup of tea steaming beside the keyboard. She looked up as he approached, and for a split second her eyes brightened. Good morning, Sochima, she said, her voice softer than the clatter around them.

“Morning,” he replied, forcing a smile. He tried to focus on the screen, but his mind kept drifting to the conversation they had shared at lunch. He remembered how easy it had felt to talk about everything from traffic to jollof, how her laugh had made the dull office feel warm.

The day moved in its usual rhythm: client calls, spreadsheets, the occasional glance across the open floor. By noon, Sochima found himself standing by the coffee machine, watching Aisha as she poured sugar into her tea. He hesitated, then walked over.

“Hey,” he said, trying to sound casual. You busy after work?

Aisha turned, a little surprised. Not really. I was just thinking about grabbing some lunch. Want to join?

He nodded, and they walked to a small canteen outside the bank. The place was noisy, filled with other workers on their break, but for Sochima the world narrowed to the table where they sat. They talked about the new credit policy, about the heat of Abuja, about the little things that made life in the city bearable. As they ate, Sochima felt a warmth spreading through him, something he hadn’t felt in months.

When they finished, Aisha stood up. I have to get back, she said, gathering her things. But maybe we can do this again sometime?

“Yeah,” Sochima said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’d like that.”

The rest of the week passed in a blur of shared lunches, quick coffee breaks, and lingering looks. Sochima found himself looking forward to the moments when Aisha’s hand brushed his, when their laughter filled the same space. He tried to tell himself it was just friendship, that he could keep his promise, but his heart beat faster each time she smiled.

On Friday, after the quarterly report was finally submitted, the team gathered for a small celebration in the conference room. There was cake, soft drinks, and a few jokes about the endless deadlines. Sochima stood near the window, watching the city lights flicker on, when Aisha slipped a piece of paper into his hand.

“It’s my number,” she said, her eyes meeting his. In case you ever want to talk… about anything.

He stared at the paper, feeling the weight of it like a promise. “Thanks,” he whispered, his throat dry.

That night, back in his tiny apartment, Sochima sat on the edge of his bed, the paper folded in his palm. He thought about his promise, about the pain of his last relationship, about the fear of being hurt again. He thought about Aisha’s laugh, about the way she had looked at him when she thought no one was watching.

He made a decision.

The next morning, he arrived at the bank earlier than anyone else. He waited by Aisha’s desk, his hands trembling slightly. When she walked in, her smile was a sunrise he hadn’t expected.

“Hey,” he said, his voice steadier than he felt. “Can we talk? After work?”

She nodded, curiosity flickering in her eyes. Sure. Meet me at the garden behind the building at five?

He agreed, and the day dragged on like a slow tide. When the clock finally struck five, Sochima walked to the small garden, a patch of green hidden behind the bank’s concrete walls. Aisha was already there, sitting on a bench, her hands folded on her lap.

He sat down beside her, the silence between them thick but not uncomfortable. He took a deep breath, the evening air filling his lungs.

“Aisha,” he began, I’ve been trying to ignore this, to keep my promise. But I can’t stop thinking about you. I don’t know what you feel, but I had to tell you. I… I think I’m falling for you.

Aisha’s eyes widened, and for a moment the world seemed to hold its breath. She looked down at her hands, then back up at him, her expression soft but distant.

“Sochima,” she said gently, you’re a great guy. You’re kind, funny, and I value you a lot. But… I see you as a brother. I never meant to lead you on. I thought we were just friends.

The words hit him like a cold wind. He felt his chest tighten, a sharp pain spreading through his ribs. He tried to smile, to brush it off, but the smile cracked.

“I… I didn’t know,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the rustle of leaves.

Aisha reached out, placing a hand on his arm. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you. You deserve someone who feels the same way.

He sat there, the garden lights flickering above them, the city’s hum a distant backdrop. The promise he had made felt like a broken chain, the weight of it suddenly unbearable. He wanted to run, to disappear into the night, but something kept him rooted to the bench.

Can we… can we still be friends? he asked, his voice hoarse.

Aisha hesitated, then nodded. We can try. It might take time, but I don’t want to lose you completely.

He managed a small, genuine smile. “Thank you.”

They sat in silence for a few more minutes, the night deepening around them. Sochima felt the sting of rejection, but also a strange sense of relief. He had spoken his truth, and even though the answer wasn’t what he wanted, it was better than living a lie.

As they walked back to the bank together, the lights of Abuja glittered like distant stars. Sochima knew his heart was bruised, but it was still beating. He realized that love, like the city, could be unpredictable sometimes bright, sometimes painful, but always worth the risk.

He glanced at Aisha, who was laughing at something he said, and felt a small spark of hope. Maybe, in time, the pain would fade, and something new could grow. Until then, he would hold onto the courage it took to be honest, and to the promise that even broken vows could lead to unexpected beginnings.

Chapter Two

The morning sun slipped through the glass curtain of the Zenith Bank branch on Jabi Road, painting the polished floor with a thin line of gold. Sochima pulled his keycard from his pocket, swiped it, and stepped into the cool lobby. The hum of computers and the soft clatter of keyboards greeted him like an old friend.

He had been in Abuja for a week now, still learning the rhythm of the city, its traffic, its heat, the way the wind seemed to carry a whisper of distant drums. The move from Imo had been a fresh start, a chance to leave the ghost of his last relationship behind. He had promised himself that before Christmas he would not let any woman steal his focus. No love, no drama, he muttered under his breath as he walked toward his desk.

The branch manager, Mrs. Adebayo, was already there, her eyes scanning a stack of papers. Good morning, Sochima, she said, her voice warm but brisk. I want you to meet someone. She’s starting today in the credit department. Her name is Aisha.

Sochima turned and saw a woman standing by the coffee machine, a plastic cup in her hand. She was taller than average, her posture straight, and she wore a navy suit that fit her like a second skin. Her hair was tucked into a neat bun, and a few strands escaped, catching the light. When she turned, her smile was easy, the kind that made the room feel a little brighter.

Aisha, this is Sochima, Mrs. Adebayo said, gesturing. He’s one of our junior analysts. Show him the ropes, will you?

Aisha extended her hand. Nice to meet you, Sochima. I’ve heard you’re from Imo. How are you finding Abuja?

Her voice was soft, with a hint of a laccadive accent that made the words sound melodic. Sochima felt a flicker of something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in months a spark of curiosity, perhaps, or the old habit of noticing a beautiful woman.

It’s different, he replied, shaking her hand. Busy, but I’m learning. He let go quickly, as if the contact might linger too long.

Aisha laughed, a light sound that seemed to echo off the marble walls. That’s the plan. I’m from Kano, but I’ve been in Lagos for a while. Abuja is a fresh start for both of us, right?

He nodded, feeling the weight of his own promise settle like a stone in his chest. “Right.”

The day moved forward in a blur of spreadsheets, client calls, and the occasional glance across the open office. Sochima found himself watching Aisha more than he cared to admit. She moved with confidence, her fingers dancing over the keyboard as if she’d been born with them. When she laughed at a joke from a colleague, the sound made him smile despite himself.

During lunch, he found a quiet corner in the staff cafeteria and pulled out his phone, scrolling through messages from his sister back in Imo. How’s the new job? she had typed. He typed a quick reply, It’s okay. Busy. He didn’t mention the new face that had caught his eye.

Aisha sat at a table nearby, a sandwich in front of her, a notebook open beside it. She was scribbling something, her brow furrowed in concentration. Sochima’s curiosity got the better of him. He stood, grabbed his own sandwich, and walked over.

Mind if I join you? he asked, gesturing to the empty chair.

She looked up, surprised, then smiled. Please, sit. I’m just trying to figure out the new credit policy. It’s a bit dense.

He slid into the chair, feeling the plastic creak under his weight. I’ve been there. The first week is a maze.

They talked about the bank’s procedures, about the city’s traffic, about the best places to grab a quick bite. As they spoke, the tension that had knotted his stomach began to loosen. He realized he was enjoying the conversation, the easy back-and-forth, the way her eyes lit up when she talked about her love for cooking Nigerian dishes.

You should try my mother’s jollof sometime, she said, a mischievous glare in her eyes. It’s the only thing that can make a tough day better.

Sochima chuckled. I’ll take you up on that. I’m still learning how to make a proper pot of soup without burning it.

The afternoon sun shifted, casting longer shadows across the office floor. As the workday wound down, Mrs. Adebayo called a quick meeting. “Team, I want to thank everyone for the hard work this week. Remember, the quarterly report is due Friday. Let’s push through.

Sochima felt a hand tap his shoulder. He turned to see Aisha, holding a small piece of paper. I wrote down the link to the credit policy manual you mentioned. Thought it might help.

Thanks, he said, taking the paper. Their fingers brushed briefly, and a jolt of electricity ran up his arm. He stared at the paper, then at her, and for a moment the world seemed to narrow to just the two of them.

You’re welcome, she whispered, a hint of something softer in her voice.

He swallowed, his promise echoing in his mind. "I… I’m trying to stay focused. I made a promise to myself.

Aisha’s expression turned thoughtful. Promises are important. But sometimes, the best things happen when we let a little space for them.

He didn’t have a response. The office lights flickered as the building’s generator kicked in, a low hum filling the silence between them.

When the meeting ended, Sochima gathered his things and headed for the exit. Aisha lingered by the door, her coat draped over her arm.

See you tomorrow, Sochima, she said, her eyes meeting his for a brief, lingering moment.

He nodded, feeling a strange mixture of excitement and dread. “Tomorrow,” he replied, stepping out into the evening air.

The sky over Abuja was a bruised orange, the city lights beginning to blink on like fireflies. As he walked to his car, his mind replayed their conversation, the sound of her laugh, the way her smile seemed to linger in the dimming light.

He turned the key in the ignition, the engine roaring to life. The promise he had made felt heavier now, but also lighter, as if the weight of it had shifted just enough to let a new possibility slip in.

Sochima drove away, the city’s hum fading behind him, unaware that the next day would bring a choice, hold onto his vow, or open his heart to the unexpected. The suspense of what lay ahead settled in his chest like a drumbeat, steady and impossible to ignore.

Rejection Embrace:

Plot: Sochima, after his last relationship in another state, things changed, he began to discard anything that has to do with falling in love and having feelings for someone. His love life especially, changed. When it was finally time for him to settle down love was far away from him.

Chapter 1

It was his first day at work, today makes it 1 week he has been in Abuja, he moved in from Imo state, the state where he was born and raised.

Sochima is an Average height and slim man in his early 20s, 22 to be precise, but with a lean, wiry strength developed from navigating Abuja environment.

He might have a small, neat beard or closely shaved head, but he is good looking.

He drove to work, he works as a banker for Zenith bank.

Sochima made a promise to him self that before Christmas he is not allowed to fall in love for any damsel no matter how beautiful she is, but the lady who will be hired today is not just a damsel but a beauty goddess.

Elias’s breathing grew heavier, ragged, as though the air itself was choking him. His eyes darted between the two figures at the foot of the stairs, the mother who left, the brother who should be dead. Their faces glowed warm in the candlelight, too perfect, too whole.

His lips trembled. A laugh cracked out of him, short, sharp, deranged.

“You think I don’t see it?” His voice rose, the sound bouncing off the cement walls like shrapnel. “You think I don’t know when the world is lying to me?” He twitched his neck so violently it looked like it might snap. “This isn’t real. It’s another trick. Another test.”

He staggered toward them, arms wide, laughing and snarling all at once. “You…. both of you, you’re ghosts! You’re shadows wearing their faces. You can’t fool me. You left me. You died.”

The mother stepped forward, tears streaking her cheeks. “Elias, no… it’s us. Look at me. Touch me. I’m here.”

He recoiled as though her words were acid. His face twisted into something monstrous, eyes wide, teeth bared.

“Don’t you dare touch me! Don’t you dare use her voice. You’re not her. She abandoned me. She watched him die.” He pointed a shaking finger at his brother, his laughter dissolving into a guttural scream. “And you, you’re rotting in the ground! You don’t get to come back and tell me what to do!”

He spun suddenly, his boots striking sparks off the concrete, and snatched the dagger from the floor. The captives flinched, their muffled cries filling the air as he raised the blade high, pointing it at his mother and brother like a torch in the dark.

“I won’t let you trick me!” he bellowed. Spittle flew from his lips. His eyes glistened with tears, wild and unsteady. “You want me to let them go? So you can take them away? So you can leave me again?”

His neck jerked, harder, faster, until the motion shook his whole body. The blade trembled in his hand, catching the candlelight with each twitch.

“No!” he screamed, his voice breaking into something raw and childlike. “No one leaves. Not them. Not you. Not ever again!”

He lunged forward, slashing the air, driving his mother and brother back against the stairwell wall. The captives wailed behind him, their chains rattling violently as if they too were trying to tear free from the nightmare.

His laughter split the air, jagged, echoing, filling the basement with a storm of madness.

“You’ll all stay,” he roared, stabbing the dagger into the wooden step, splintering it. “If I have to carve the truth into your faces, you’ll all stay!”

The basement seemed to close in, every flickering shadow now his ally, every candle flame bending toward his fury.

And in the center of his storm, Elias twitched, shook, and whispered the lullaby again, his voice cracked, breaking into sobs and rage.

“Twinkle, twinkle… little star…”

The dagger hovered over the trembling boy’s chest, the man’s breath quick and ragged, his eyes wide and unblinking. His humming broke, cracking into manic laughter before sinking into silence. The captives whimpered in the circle, bound and bleeding, their eyes fixed on the blade.

And then

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Three sharp raps echoed from above, rattling through the house like gunshots. The man froze, twitching violently, his head jerking toward the ceiling. The sound wasn’t frantic like before. It was steady. Confident.

“Not now…” he hissed, clenching his teeth, his grip tightening on the dagger. “Not when the stars are almost here.”

But then a voice cut through the silence, soft, trembling yet unmistakably familiar.

“Elias…”

His mother.

The man staggered back a step, his chest heaving. Her voice came again, closer, as if she had already stepped inside the house.

“Please… open the door. I don’t want to leave again.”

His knuckles whitened around the dagger. His lips curled into a snarl. “Liar,” he whispered. “You always leave.”

Then, another voice. Deeper, steadier.

“Brother.”

The word struck him like a blow. He turned his head sharply, neck twitching so hard it sent a jolt down his spine. His breathing hitched, his dagger dropped to the floor.

“No…” His eyes widened, glistening with sudden, wild tears. “No. You’re dead. You’re dead!”

But the voice came again, closer, firmer.

“I’m here, Elias. I never left.”

His knees buckled. His head snapped toward the cabinet, toward the trinket box, toward the circle drawn in blood and chalk. His trophies blurred before him, suddenly meaningless. He stumbled backward, hands clutching his temples.

The children in the circle froze, their sobs caught in their throats. Even in their terror, they felt the shift in the room.

Footsteps descended the basement stairs.

The candlelight revealed her first, his mother, face pale, eyes red but steady. Behind her, a figure emerged from the shadows. Taller, leaner, familiar in a way that tore through Elias’s mind like a blade. The brother he had mourned, the brother he had hated fate for stealing from him is alive. His presence was real, undeniable.

Elias trembled, his whole body shaking. “No… no, I buried you in my head. I saw you die. I saw you die!”

His brother’s eyes softened with a grief Elias couldn’t bear to meet. “You buried me because it was easier than facing the truth.” He stepped forward, his voice calm but weighted. “But I’m here now. And I need you to stop.”

The captives whimpered behind Elias, but the room had narrowed into this moment. Mother, brother, and the broken man at the center.

His mother’s voice broke through, gentler now, as though speaking to the boy he once was. “Let them go, Elias. Please. You don’t need to keep them. You don’t need to bleed them to hold on.”

Elias’s twitching slowed. His eyes darted between them, the brother he thought gone, the mother he thought had abandoned him. His chest heaved, his face changing, torn between rage and despair.

The dagger lay on the floor at his feet, its point glinting red in the candlelight.

The blade gleamed in his hand, catching the flicker of the candles as he circled the room like a priest before his altar. The captives whimpered, the sound layering into a trembling chorus. The basement walls seemed to absorb their fear, feeding it back as a living presence, something thick in the air, suffocating, impossible to escape.

The man set the dagger down with careful precision, as though placing it on a sacred pedestal. Then he began to move the children, dragging them one by one into the open space in the center of the floor. He worked quickly, methodically, his twitching neck punctuating each step like a tick of a clock.

The chained boy watched in terror as he drew chalk lines across the floor, thick, uneven strokes forming a circle around them all.

“Now we’ll all stay together,” he murmured, his voice reverent, like prayer. “Forever. No one leaves the circle. Not you, not her, not him.” He jabbed a finger toward the ceiling. “Not even her when she comes back.”

The girl sobbed, rocking against her bonds. The younger boy beside her shook his head violently, his gag damp with saliva and tears.

The man ignored them.

Instead, he reached under the table and pulled out a box. Its wood was dark, old, and stained with dry, crusted blood. He opened it slowly, almost lovingly, revealing dozens of tiny objects. At first glance, they looked like trinkets, rings, shoelaces, locks of hair tied with string. But nestled among them were darker trophies: teeth, fingernails, tiny bones wrapped in cloth.

He lifted a single shoelace between his fingers, inhaling deeply as though savoring a perfume. “Every star leaves something behind,” he said, showing it to the captives. “A piece of themselves to remind me of the light.”

The chained boy gagged on his breath, choking on terror. His mind reeled, fighting to deny what he was seeing.

The man placed the shoelace delicately on the floor, right in front of the trembling girl. “And now it’s your turn to shine. Each of you will give me something. Each of you will leave a mark.”

He picked up the dagger again, its uneven blade glinting.

The captives squirmed, desperate, their muffled cries colliding into a pitiful harmony. But he only smiled, dark, distant, his eyes wet with something that looked like grief twisted into madness.

He pressed the dagger’s tip to the girl’s arm, slowly carving a line into her flesh, watching the blood bead up before dripping onto the chalk circle. Her muffled scream rose, piercing, but he hummed louder, drowning her out with his lullaby.

“Up above the world so high…”

The younger boy thrashed wildly, trying to throw himself across the floor toward her, but his bindings held tight. The chained boy rattled his iron restraints until the concrete itself seemed to shiver.

The man’s neck jerked violently, harder this time, like something inside him was trying to tear its way out. His laughter broke through the song, jagged and raw. He smeared the girl’s blood with his hand, dragging it into the broken star symbol until it glowed wet and red.

He turned suddenly, eyes wide, staring at the others.

“One by one,” he whispered, trembling. “Until the circle is full. Until the stars don’t leave me anymore.”

He advanced on the younger boy, dagger raised, humming louder as the candle flames bent and trembled with the sound.

The boy’s sobs filled the room, echoing off the cold cement. His chest heaved, and for a fleeting moment, he thought maybe just maybe he’d been spared. The man’s knife had stopped short, buried in the wall instead of his flesh.

But then, the man’s smirk returned. He stood, pulled the dagger free with a sharp twist, and walked toward the far corner of the basement. The shadows seemed thicker there, the candlelight struggling to reach. He dragged his chain along the floor as he moved, the metallic scrape puncturing the silence like nails across a coffin lid.

The boy’s eyes followed him, wide and frantic.

The man crouched beside a large wooden cabinet; old, scarred, with deep grooves etched into its doors. He placed his ear against it, listening. A faint thud answered from within, followed by muffled cries. He chuckled, a dry, broken sound.

“Oh, right,” he said softly, more to himself than anyone else. “You haven’t met the others, have you?”

He unlatched the cabinet doors.

From the darkness inside, two more children spilled out both younger than the first, no older than ten. Their wrists and ankles were bound, their faces streaked with tears. They collapsed onto the concrete, trembling, their muffled pleas swallowed by filthy rags stuffed in their mouths.

The man looked at them fondly, almost like a proud father presenting his children. “These two are very special,” he said, crouching down and stroking the tangled hair of the smaller one, a girl with wide, glassy eyes. “She hums to herself when she thinks I’m not listening. Just like my brother used to. And him…” he tugged the boy’s chin up roughly “…he has the same eyes. Same accusing eyes.”

The chained boy across the room struggled harder, the sound of rattling iron chains desperate and hollow. His muffled screams grew frantic as he realized he was not the first.

Or the last.

The man’s neck twitched sharply, his smile cracking into something wild. He dragged the smaller boy from the cabinet closer to the candlelight, forcing his face up for the chained victim to see. “Do you see?” he hissed, spit flying from his lips. “They keep coming back. Faces, voices, memories. I collect them. Because if I don’t, they’ll leave me again. Like she did. Like he did. Like they all do.”

He let go of the child and stood, pacing, his boots leaving streaks of dried blood across the concrete floor. He pressed his palms against his temples, twitching. His voice grew louder, echoing in the confined space:

“But they can’t leave me if I keep them here, can they? If I make them sing, if I make them bleed, if I carve the truth into their bones. They stay.”

He turned abruptly, his eyes gleaming in the candlelight, locking onto the chained boy once more. His expression softened into something almost tender. “And you… you’ll be my star. You’ll shine the brightest when I finish the song.”

He raised the dagger again, humming, while behind him the two newly revealed captives whimpered in unison, tiny voices swallowed by the walls.

The basement was alive now, full of muffled cries, rattling chains, the scraping of boots and steel. A chamber of echoes, where time had no meaning.

And in the center of it all, the man sang his lullaby, each note broken, each word twisting further into madness

:

“Twinkle, twinkle, little star…”