On the wet sand beside the seashore, the strong, tall man was laying with a cigarette in his hand. His bike parked a few feet away from him. The environment there was serene and noiseless as no one was allowed then on the beach that he owned. It was...
Please read!!! We Bangladeshi students aren't well. We were protesting decently for our rights which turned out in a horrible massacre in a span of few days. Students are being brutally murdered and we faced a complete shutdown for 5 straight days. No wifi, net, news and stuff. Please pray for us and make your friends aware of our sufferings, situation. Remember us in your duas. Jazakallah.
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A rough area of London, marked by its run-down charm, old buildings standing as silent witnesses to time’s passage. Narrow alleys twisted and turned, a labyrinth of neglect and decay. At the end of one such alley, a building rose from the worn-out streets, its facade weathered by years of abandonment.
A skinny figure, with an unhealthy pallor, approached the stairs. Her hair was haphazardly tied into a rough bun. Each step she took made the floorboards creak beneath her feet, the sound echoing through the desolate hallway. The plastic bag she carried rustled with every movement, brushing against her leg with a persistent, grating whisper.
Her ears perked up, and her eyes stilled when she reached her door. It was unlocked. A thrill of dark excitement coursed through her veins, but she forced herself to appear calm, her eyes flicking to the corners to catch any hint of movement. Fully aware of the stakes, she stepped inside, instantly sensing the presence of the intruder.
Her heart pounded a frantic rhythm, yet she maintained an outward composure as she advanced further into her small studio apartment.The air was thick with tension, his gaze almost palpable on the walls. A shiver of twisted pleasure ran through her, her mind savoring the dangerous game unfolding. Sweat beaded on her brow, but a wicked smile spread across her lips.
She thrived on this suspense, this dance with danger. Her voice, dripping with a sinister edge, cut through the silence. "Give me my son, and I’ll leave you alone."His attention snapped to her instantly.
In the dimly lit room, he turned to face her, revealing a tall figure shrouded in dark attire. His face was an unreadable mask, framed by a neatly trimmed beard, his eyes cold and calculating. The dark clothes he wore blended seamlessly into the shadows, giving him an almost spectral presence.
Her demand seemed to bounce off him, unacknowledged. His hands remained hidden in his pockets, and she eagerly awaited their reveal, anticipating the menace they might conceal. When he finally freed his hands, the look of disappointment in his eyes was unmistakable.
Her body, a tight coil of fear and exhilaration, began to show signs of her inner turmoil. Despite the cold, sweat trickled down her back. She gritted her teeth, exhaling loudly, trying to project an intimidating facade.She moved deeper into the room, her steps a grotesque ballet of madness, each one deliberate and exaggerated.
Her eyes, wide and gleaming with a manic light, never left his. "You thought you could frighten me?" she taunted, her voice a low, almost melodic whisper. "I knew you’d be here. I knew, and I came anyway."
