I do not understand why he’d come now. I knew he has been trying to reach me for a long time―just to ask my name.


Again, I felt the same pulse.

It thumped me up, right on my chest, stronger than before, as if a throng of timpanists clashed the drums and create a battle among themselves. I always ignored it until the beat of ordinary turned to be frenetic, perpetual sound. Restless, unease, they shrouded me in anxiety. Something’s missing in me since the dreadful ordeal took them away, both who I loved―mom and dad. Something dark; something hollow; which began to harass inside my head and distracted my consciousness. And I haven’t figured it out. Not yet.


“Your sins won’t simply be vanished by sipping a cup of coffee.”

The voice was right in front of me. I looked up, raised my chin to find a man with his dark-shiny hair, sat in peace without worrying me to scream at any time―or slap his beautiful face with hot water.

“Your name?” he asked while tilting his head.

We examined each other by looking into our eyes. His were dark, very dark, as if no mercy in it.

The dim light in the corner of the room made his brown skin as black as his thick jacket. I saw Bob was too happy making a cup of coffee in the bar and no one seemed to realize his presence here.

“Your name―or I’m going to storm this place in one second,” he spoke as if he was threatening me.

I shook my head, gave him a glance of a smirk, “Are you trying to be funny?”

“Am I?” The way he looked at me was hideous. His long fingers kept tapping on the table. It only took a few seconds for me to obey. He was impatient and I was alone.

“Bila,” I muttered, “Nabila.”

There was a sense of satisfaction hidden behind the motion of his lips. The hard jaw he has got sturdy. I guessed he was relieved. I swore for my dead rabbit that I have never met him before, but he looked pleased, right after I mentioned my name.

“I’ve been looking for you, Nabila,” his fingers formed a fist, “and I have never understood how you could escape from me for such a long time.”

His head ducked, hid his face from the gray of the night. I grabbed the handle of my cup, didn’t want to let it go. Again, I noticed Bob wasn’t interested in me sitting with this stranger. An old couple at another corner wasn’t caring neither. When he raised his head, the heartbeat of mine was roaring, gave a pain of grieving. And the next scene I remember was just shimmering light all over me. I heard Bob shouting my name and when I forced my eyes to peek out of the light, he was trying to wake me up, pounding my body which laid helpless.

The anon was clutching my wrist, took me away from my body. I’ve never thought that I was allowed to look into his face. A little disappointed that he did not give me a chance to ask just one question.

Yes, the death dealer.


In response of Daily Post’s writing prompt challenge “Greetings, Stranger“:You’re sitting at a café when a stranger approach you. This person asks what your name is, and, for some reason, you reply. The stranger nods, “I’ve been looking for you.” What happens next?

Thank For Your Visit Huglooms


Indonesia | Southeast Asia | Nusantara Tanah Airku

The Pieces of Words

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