Stalker?

In the midst of a deep and tempestuous summer night in Amsterdam, the atmosphere was gently circulating, ensuring the healthy growth of every tree.

In the heavens above, the crescent moon was now fully visible, casting the sky in a flawless display of beauty. Amsterdam was a sought-after destination for many tourists, who believed that everything was superior in the city.

However, not everyone's life here was ideal. Where the street lamps of Amsterdam flickered on and off automatically, the repetition seemed endless.

In the year 1997, Amsterdam's financial situation was not conducive to replacing the street lamps, despite it being the capital city of the Netherlands.

It's hard to say whether this issue was financial or related to administrative oversight. The gurgling sound of water broke the silence of the night intermittently. On the bridge, a man stood alongside him.

With wide eyes and a bewildered expression, he scrutinized the man. The man did not resemble a Dutch citizen; his eyes were large and round, and his clothing style was quite distinctive, almost as if he were from another world.

Eyes the color of chestnut, void of any emotion, the man stood there. He appeared to be in his mid-forties.

In the middle of the night, encountering a man with such a stoic expression and dressed entirely in black was unsettling.

But before he could stray too far into improbable thoughts, the man fixed his gaze on him and spoke,

—"Who are you, and why are you here?"

He spoke with a hypnotic tone that momentarily entranced him, but he quickly regained composure as the man released his grip.

No longer feeling the warmth of their touch, he finally realized that the man was peering into his soul. He spoke, albeit hesitantly and with fear.

—"V...Vincent!"

The man repeated his question in a more relaxed tone, perhaps to put him at ease.

—"Why are you here in the middle of the night?"

Vincent summoned the courage to respond.

—"To attempt suicide."

—"Has life become so unbearable that you decided to attempt suicide?"

The man's question rendered Vincent speechless. He felt distinctly uneasy and somewhat vulnerable. Then, the man suddenly turned his gaze to the right and noticed a wooden yellow bench.

Discarding his black trench coat, he moved towards the bench and sat down, gesturing for Vincent to join him.

Vincent had no desire to refuse; he had no one else in his life, and this was only the first person to invite him to sit beside them. Silently, he approached the wooden bench and seated himself beside the man.

They both looked ahead, where the half moon danced with the starry sky, casting light on the railing where Vincent had contemplated suicide just moments before, and then their gaze shifted to the street lamp, flickering intermittently.

The Amsterdam bridge was calm and quiet, with a gentle summer breeze blowing—a sensation unique to nighttime. And here were two strangers, sitting beside each other, who had never met before.

—"Do you reside here?"

Vincent studied the man's dark and mysterious figure, although the man did not bother to return the gaze.

—"I do live here. But..."

He paused before asking tentatively, taking a few seconds before finally speaking.

—"Why did you intervene to prevent my suicide?"

The man's words echoed in Vincent's ears.

—"I did not intervene to save you."

Vincent looked at him in surprise, struggling to comprehend the man's words. But before he could question further, the audacious man elaborated.

—"I am certain I did not save you; we are responsible for our own actions. Others may influence us, but ultimately, the decisions are ours."

For a few moments, Vincent was lost in a whirlwind of thoughts. He felt an inexplicable yet magical sensation after hearing the man's statement.

Since birth, Vincent had been compassionate and warm-hearted, always helping others without expecting anything in return. He was bewildered because, suddenly, he found himself contemplating suicide!

Now, he felt the deepest sorrow he had ever experienced. Despite having faced numerous crises before, life had once been a dream.

However, this time, the challenges seemed insurmountable, leading him to a foolish decision.

He marveled at how, when he had considered suicide, he had felt disconnected, as if inhabiting someone else's body with a different spiritual essence.

Vincent could no longer dwell on his altered state of mind before the man spoke again.

—"At times, we make wrong choices, and it's okay until we realize they're not okay at all. Can you tell me, Vincent, why did you make that decision about your life?"

Vincent was caught off guard by the man's question, though not exceedingly surprised. After witnessing someone nearly jump into a river, anyone would be curious.

The peculiar-looking man was no exception. Vincent turned his head towards the man attentively, then glanced at the wooden burgundy railing.

—"I'm thirty-three years old, an adult responsible for my own life since I don't have a family of my own. I grew up in an orphanage, financing my education myself because I've always valued learning; it brings me inner peace. Yet, from school to my workplace, everyone ridiculed...mocked my life and family. Despite working diligently for over six years at my job, no one respected me—not my boss, nor my manager, no one. I constantly tried to please them with my hard work, but unfortunately, they never appreciated me. I worked overtime, sacrificed weekends, but no one noticed. Yet, when I made mistakes, they didn't let it go; instead, they taunted me, calling me a...a coward, a loser. Their words felt like knives stabbing my heart. Mentally exhausted, unsure of my purpose. Still, I never stopped smiling."

Vincent fell silent after pouring out his heart a bit. He sighed, unsure why he was confiding in this man whom he hardly knew. He longed to share his emotional turmoil with someone.

The man's penetrating gaze remained fixed solely on Vincent, observing him closely and attentively. He awaited further explanation from Vincent. Finally, Vincent continued.

—"Sometimes, no matter how resilient we try to be and how little we care about society, it still hurts. During my employment journey, I remained composed for nearly six years. Do you realize how many seconds, minutes, and hours that adds up to?"

Vincent looked at the man with emotion in his eyes. Their gazes met, and the man responded with a slight smile.

—"189,216,000 seconds, 3,153,600 minutes, 52,560 hours!"

Vincent chuckled softly.

—"That's how long I remained composed, but now I'm exhausted from pretending. Today, I accidentally messed up something at work, and my boss didn't just let it go; he fired me. After six years of hard work, I received the opposite of what I expected. I don't know why he fired me, but I feel overwhelmed by the situation. So, in that moment, I decided to attempt suicide. Hopeless, helpless, jobless, lost, and labeled a failure; those are the words that drove me to that decision."

—"It was bound to happen when you're pretending to be someone you're not; eventually, everything collapses."

The man's statement puzzled Vincent. Did the man mean to imply that he was not genuine and respectful? Rather, a person pretending to be someone else?

—"What do you mean by that? Am I not authentic but a fraud?"

—"Yes. Because although you remained composed for a while, you couldn't sustain it, and perhaps you even lashed out at your boss. That's why he fired you, but to protect yourself from judgment, you didn't mention that in front of me."

Vincent's mind was blown after hearing the man's words. Could the man read minds? How could he pinpoint exactly what Vincent was desperately trying to hide?

His gaze intensified on the man. Was the man following him? Like a stalker?