If I say I had?

Vincent was completely absorbed in Vanessa's story, marveling at the depth of her thoughts at such a young age. Throughout her narrative, he remained intensely focused, captivated by her words.

There was something about Vanessa that struck him as unusually strict and mature for her age.

As he listened, Vincent nervously tapped the table, anxious about what would happen next.

His gaze was fixed on the partition, and his ears were attuned to every breath and calm explanation Vanessa offered.

But then, abruptly, Vanessa fell silent. The sudden absence of her voice made Vincent panic slightly. Desperate to ensure she was still there, he quickly asked,

— "Vanessa! Are you here? Why did you stop all of a sudden?"

Vanessa didn't answer for the first few seconds, and then she spoke up, her voice sounding strained as she held her throat, though Vincent couldn't see her.

— "My throat is drying. I want to take a cup of tea."

— "Oh! Wait, I'll order one for you."

Vincent replied with relief. He was deeply interested in hearing more about Vanessa's past.

He couldn't pinpoint whether it was Vanessa's captivating voice, her intriguing story, or the simple fact that someone was speaking with him at length for the first time that excited him so much.

Vincent rang the bell, and within seconds, Lady Bellaruby appeared, her face adorned with a gummy smile but also a frown. She inquired politely,

— "What would you like to order, Vincent?"

Lady Bellaruby asked. Vincent glanced at her and gave his order, while Vanessa remained silent, not voicing any preferences herself.

— "A cup of tea and a hot coffee, please. And kindly try to serve it quickly."

Lady Bellaruby smiled and left. Surprisingly, she returned within a few minutes with the coffee and tea.

During the brief silence between Vincent and Vanessa, neither of them spoke. As soon as the tea arrived, Vanessa quickly took a sip.

Vincent heard the faint sound of Vanessa sipping her tea, and he smiled without any particular reason—sometimes, reasons felt overrated to him.

He took a sip of his coffee and glanced at the clock, which showed it was around 5 AM. Panic set in as he realized how quickly time was passing.

He wondered if he would have enough time to hear everything Vanessa wanted to share, as they only had an hour left, and the sky outside the café was already beginning to lighten.

Vincent noticed the growing light outside and felt a sense of urgency. He didn't want to interrupt Vanessa, but the silence was stretching out, and he knew they were running out of time.

Vanessa had fallen silent, lost in her thoughts, and Vincent hesitated before finally deciding to break the quiet.

— "But Vanessa."

He began cautiously,

— "Hadn't you heard the word 'prostitute' for the first time? How did you give such an explanation to your sister? If—if you want to answer."

There was a pause as Vanessa considered his question. The quiet hum of the café, the faint clinking of dishes being cleared away, and the soft murmurs of the early morning staff created a serene backdrop to their conversation.

Vincent waited patiently, sensing that Vanessa was gathering her thoughts. Vanessa finally spoke, her voice reflective.

Vincent heard Vanessa's honeyed yet deep voice, which slowly and steadily reduced his life's stresses. Her reply made him feel ashamed for asking what now seemed like a foolish question.

— "Don't forget, I was raped by a man at that time. Shouldn't I give Heidi an explanation to protect myself from my own sister's judgment? Indirectly, I also sold my body for money to purchase my mother's medicine."

Vincent tried to counter Vanessa's harsh self-assessment.

— "But that was for your need!"

— "Like a prostitute. Isn't it?"

Vanessa replied, her voice steady but filled with a profound sadness. Vincent was taken aback, struggling to find words to counter her poignant comparison.

He felt a deep sense of empathy and sorrow for Vanessa. Her words forced him to confront the harsh realities she had faced and the unjust judgments society placed on individuals in desperate situations.

Vincent remained quiet, trying to find the right words to respond to Vanessa. Her words were tough to hear yet undeniably true.

— "Vanessa, there's a difference. The anonymous man forced you. Why are you blaming yourself?"

— "I'm not talking about that night!"

— "Then which night are you talking about?"

Vincent asked, holding his breath. He struggled to get his question out all at once, so after a brief pause, he continued,

— "Did you meet him... again?"

— "If I say I had?"

Vanessa's reply was unexpected. Vincent felt like he was on a rollercoaster, emotions surging and plummeting.

He stayed calm and, in a gentle voice, asked her to continue her story, which had been interrupted a while ago.

— "You can speak again, Vanessa. It's already five past five."

Vincent's voice broke the silence, signaling the passage of time. On the other side of the partition, Vanessa couldn't help but chuckle at Vincent's excitement.

It was a rare feeling for her, knowing someone was eager to hear her emotions and story, rather than just being interested in her body.

In their own unique ways, Vincent and Vanessa's lives were somewhat similar yet distinctly different.

Both had never had someone they could truly call their own, and perhaps they never would.

Vanessa took one final, lingering sip from her cup, then set it down on the table to her left. She gazed out at the cozy view of the early morning, unable to believe she had been here for over two hours.

As she spoke, her eyes remained fixed on the outside world, where the sky seemed to be eagerly awaiting the sunrise.

— "I didn't know what to do at that time. Should I find work for myself? Or should I choose the option my mind was suggesting, to become a prostitute? As an uneducated teenage girl, I didn't know how to earn money. I felt trapped, with no options other than thinking about money. I was torn, especially with my mother's condition worsening despite the medicines we were giving her. She needed a doctor to diagnose what was happening to her physically. She had been ill for around eight months."

Vanessa paused, taking a moment to collect her thoughts.

— "Financially, I'm the one who can help her and Heidi. I couldn't even say anything to Heidi, as she was the one doing all the household chores. She became the mother of the house, it seemed. I couldn't sleep that day, nor could I do anything. The whole night passed with thousands of thoughts swirling in my head. But by the end of the night, I realized I should contact our new neighbor. I didn't have any other option. Perhaps I felt the worst about myself, resorting to asking a man for help, but at least I could help my family. I love them more than they could ever imagine."

Vanessa continued speaking while Vincent calmly listened to her words.

He couldn't believe that the person who had been rude to him during their first meeting was now saying she loved her family more than they could ever imagined.

Vincent smiled, realizing once again that love had the power to change anyone, no matter how rude or unapproachable they seemed at first.

— "Is it possible to love someone without any expectation in return?"

Vincent asked, his question born out of curiosity. On the other side of the partition, Vanessa glanced in the direction of Vincent, as if trying to see him through the barrier.

She was genuinely intrigued by his question, wondering who this person was who seemed unaware of the simplest feelings in the world. Returning her gaze to the street outside, she began to answer.

— "To be honest, it's not possible. Expectations automatically arise when love starts to grow within us. However, it is possible to love someone without expecting anything in return when that person doesn't even know about your existence. But eventually, there always comes a moment where everyone expects something in return."

Vanessa's words were thoughtful and reflective, echoing the complexities of human emotions.

— "Then why did you say you didn't expect anything?"

Vincent queried, his voice filled with curiosity.

— "Because I never got it from anyone."

Vanessa replied quietly. Silence fell between them, heavy with the weight of Vanessa's words.

Vincent was stunned by the depth of emotion buried within Vanessa's soul. It wasn't just Vanessa's soul, but the souls of everyone present, even those reading the story now.

Suddenly, music began to fill the air, its every beat resonating deep within their hearts and souls. Music had a healing power, capable of both comforting and causing pain, much like love itself.

My pain is  self-chosen

At least so the prophet says

I could either burn

Or cut off my pride and buy some time

A head full of lies is the weight

Tied to my waist

The river of deceit pulls down, oh-oh

The only direction we flow is down

Down, oh down

Down, oh down

Down, oh down

Down, oh down

My pain is self-chosen

At least I believe it to be

I could either drown

Or pull off my skin and swim to shore

Now I can grow a beautiful shell for all to see

The river of deceit pulls down, yeah

The only direction we flow is down

Down, oh down

Down, oh down

Down, oh down