The clock struck three fourteen past midnight.
The city was asleep...
The ancient buildings groaned softly, and the wind passed through the alleys as if exhaling from a heavy chest.
In one of the old neighborhoods, where even dogs dared not bark, stood a gray house, its door locked with a rusty chain, its windows hidden behind torn black curtains.
But in the basement, three meters below ground... life pulsed.
A life without a face, only hearts. Many hearts.
On the walls, glass jars were lined up, each containing a human heart, beating… or so it seemed.
The flickering light reflected on the preserving fluid, casting a red glow, like blood.
In the center of the room, Selim sat, bare-chested, staring at a freshly removed heart taken just hours ago.
It was small, soft to the touch.
He lifted the jar to eye level and smiled, whispering as if singing:
"My little one… do you still remember his touch when he betrayed you? Don't worry… no one will touch you again."
Then he laughed. A quiet laugh, yet long, a laugh unlike any human's, more like something created to provoke.
He drew a long knife from the wooden table before him and slowly scraped it across his hand, as if pain helped him focus.
Then he wrote something in a leather notebook, short words:
Name: Nasreen
Heart: Soft – Pinkish – Smaller than usual
Notes: Opened eyes after death – Laughed
Liked it…
He closed the notebook and rose. The room fell silent; even the old fridge seemed to hush, as if afraid of him.
He climbed the cold iron stairs and opened the door leading to the kitchen. The house above was calm, ordinary.
A worn brown sofa, a small TV, old photographs of him with a woman of unknown features.
But in the corner, on the wall opposite the window, hung her only portrait… Sara.
She was smiling, a pure, innocent smile.
He approached it, touched the picture with trembling fingers, whispering:
"Tomorrow is your birthday… I will light a candle for you in my heart… no, in someone else's heart."
Then he turned toward the window, where the wind howled and the sky threatened rain.
He gazed at the sky, a lover of clouds, rain, and cold.
He opened the window, pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, took one, placed it on his lips, and lit it.