First light of shadows

M.E.A

M had always been driven by ambition. The moment he left his home country for a new life abroad, he promised himself that he wouldn't fail. There was no room for mistakes. His family had sacrificed so much for his education, and he knew that he had to repay their faith by succeeding, not just for himself but for them.

University life was challenging, but M thrived under pressure. He balanced his studies and part-time work, constantly pushing himself. Amidst the chaos, he met R. She was everything he didn't realize he needed—fun, warm, and supportive. They started dating, and it wasn't long before their relationship grew serious. M felt a rare sense of calm around her, as if she grounded him, reminding him that life wasn't just about success; it was also about love and connection.

At the same time, M developed a close friendship with S, another student he met in the same university. S seemed to understand M on a deeper level, respecting his ambitions while being a good friend to both him and R. The trio spent time together, and S often mediated when tensions arose between M and R, especially when R began complaining that M wasn't giving her enough attention.

M was consumed by his work and studies, and though he loved R, he couldn't afford distractions. The fear of failure loomed over him like a dark cloud, always whispering that if he didn't succeed, he would disappoint his parents, especially his father. R would often vent to S about feeling neglected, but S, ever the supportive friend, always defended M. "He's working hard for your future," S would tell her. "You need to be patient. He's doing this for both of you."

M trusted S deeply for that. He was a brother, a confidant, someone who understood his struggles. Eventually, R stopped complaining, and M convinced himself that things were improving. Perhaps she had come to realize how much was at stake.

A few months later, R asked if she could go on a weekend vacation with some friends. They were planning to stay in a remote cabin in the woods. M, busy as usual, didn't think much of it and encouraged her to go, hoping the time away would help her relax. As R packed her bags, M called S to see if he wanted to spend the weekend together, but S declined, explaining that he had plans to visit his family.

The next day, M texted R, asking how the trip was going and if she could send some pictures. She replied with photos of the cabin and the surrounding woods. At first glance, everything seemed fine, but one detail caught M's eye—a coat hanging on the wall. It wasn't just any coat; it was the coat M had gifted S months ago. His mind raced. Why was S's coat at the cabin? His heart pounded as suspicion turned into a sickening realization.

M stared at his phone, unable to process what he was seeing. He felt like his world was crashing down. His girlfriend and best friend had betrayed him. Furious and determined to confront them, M began searching online for the location of the cabin. By the time he had it figured out, it was late at night, but he didn't care. He couldn't sleep, couldn't think straight. All he knew was that he had to see it for himself.

In the dead of night, M drove to the cabin, rage bubbling inside him. When he arrived, the air was thick with tension. As he pushed open the door, the sight that greeted him broke his heart. R was sitting on S's lap, both of them disheveled, nearly naked, and clearly drunk. Empty bottles of alcohol littered the room, and their laughter died as they noticed M standing there.

R stumbled as she tried to stand, mumbling incoherent apologies. "It's not what it looks like, M..." she slurred, her voice shaky, unsteady. But M was beyond reason. His mind replayed the months he had sacrificed for their future—the long nights, the missed moments—and this was how they repaid him?

"After everything I've done for us? This is how you repay me?" M's voice cracked as he glared at her, his fists clenched in fury.

R, still drunk, tried to reach for him, her eyes filled with tears. "Please, M, I'm sorry... I didn't mean it," she sobbed. But her words felt hollow, a pathetic attempt to salvage what was already broken.

M pushed her away in disgust, but she stumbled backward, losing her balance. In an instant, R hit her head on the corner of a table. The sickening thud echoed through the cabin, followed by the silence of disbelief. M stood frozen as blood began to pool around her head.

Panic surged through M as he knelt beside her. He pressed his hands to the wound, desperately trying to stop the bleeding. "R, wake up! Please!" he cried, shaking her limp body. But her eyes remained closed. She was gone.

The reality of what had just happened hit M like a freight train. He didn't mean to hurt her, but now R was dead. His heart raced, and his mind swirled with fear, guilt, and confusion. Then, as if summoned by the chaos in his mind, a dark voice whispered in his head.

"Kill him too. Don't leave any witnesses."

M shook his head violently, rejecting the voice. "No... no, I won't kill him. I can't." He looked over at S, who was unconscious, too drunk to even register what had happened. M's anger flared again. S had betrayed him, destroyed the life he had worked so hard to build.

"I won't kill him," M whispered to himself. "But I'll ruin his life just like he ruined mine."

With cold calculation, M dragged R's lifeless body across the room and placed her next to S. The scene was perfect—a tragic accident, with S as the culprit. M walked out of the cabin, his mind reeling, his heart shattered.

He didn't sleep that night. The weight of what he had done pressed on him like a stone, suffocating him. Morning came, and with it, the inevitable reckoning. M's phone rang—it was R's phone. His blood ran cold as he answered, his voice trembling.

"Is this M?" a police officer's voice asked. "We're calling to inform you that your girlfriend has been found dead. We've arrested the suspect—S—for her murder. We need you to come down to the station."

M sat frozen, the phone still pressed to his ear. The plan had worked. S was being blamed for the crime. He was safe.

At the police station, M answered questions calmly, his face a mask of grief and shock. Every piece of evidence pointed to S. The betrayal, the alcohol, the scene—it was all too perfect. S, still unaware of what had happened, was taken away in handcuffs, accused of a crime he didn't commit.

As M walked away from the station, the weight of his actions pressed heavily on him. He had escaped justice, but at what cost? The future he had fought so hard to build was now a hollow victory, and the guilt would stay with him forever, haunting him like the voice that had whispered in his ear.

M's heart was a lead weight as he walked toward the small chapel where R's funeral was being held. He lingered at the door, feeling unworthy of entering, but the need to see her one last time pulled him forward. Inside, family and friends sat in somber silence, the weight of loss hanging thick in the air. He took a seat near the back, almost hoping he could remain unseen.

R's mother was at the front, her face drawn and aged by grief, clutching a framed photo of her daughter. Each sob tore into M, ripping open the wounds he'd tried so hard to bury. He thought of the future he had promised her, the life he'd planned—and how he had destroyed it all.

When it was time to approach the casket, M moved slowly, each step a struggle. He couldn't shake the memory of that night—the shock in her eyes, the pool of blood spreading beneath her. Now, she lay there, as still and pale as porcelain, forever silenced by his choices.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, barely able to speak. His vision blurred as tears fell onto his trembling hands. "I... I didn't mean for this." The words seemed empty, swallowed by the silence.

As he stood there, he felt the weight of the stares around him. Did they know? He felt their eyes boring into him, suspicion gnawing at his chest. In that moment, M realized that he couldn't run from the truth forever. The guilt was a poison, coursing through him, a darkness that no amount of distance could erase.

He turned away, unable to look at her any longer. Outside, he tried to catch his breath, the sunlight harsh and blinding. The whispers in his head had faded, replaced by something worse—a silence that echoed with all he had lost and all he could never undo.

S would spend the rest of his life in prison, paying for a crime that wasn't his. And M, though free, would never escape the darkness that had consumed him.

The end.