It was a lovely day, just like always. I was wandering alone in the forest. An hour ago, I’d been at a concert of my favourite idol, but as soon as it ended, I left my friends behind. I knew the idol wouldn’t stay much longer either, and I was already eager to reach my favourite spot.

The sky wore soft pink hues as I made my way from the stadium. Birds called to one another as they returned to their roosts. The lush green carpet beneath my boots and the cold breeze in the air made for a perfect evening.

The forest air bit with a quiet chill, so I wrapped myself in a charcoal turtleneck and a long brown coat, its weight a steady shield against the cold. My boots, worn smooth from countless walks, pressed into the damp earth with familiar resolve.

As the trees thinned, the lake appeared—stealing the breath from my lungs. Almost round, but not quite—its imperfect edges gave it a kind of living charm. Behind it, a sheer cliff stood like an ancient sentinel. The sky’s pink glow spilled across the surface, broken only by a fish leaping or a petal drifting from the wildflowers along the shore.

I stayed there until the weight in my chest loosened, until the air filled my lungs without resistance. This place had become a ritual for me. I told myself it was the water—the gentle ripples, the way the fading sunlight danced across them—that drew me here every evening. But deep down, I knew better.

It wasn’t the lake. It was him.

I laughed at the thought, half in shame. Let’s be honest—stalking was the truer word. A criminal of the heart. Still, I couldn’t look away. Every movement of his felt effortless, as if the world tilted toward him without him knowing. I told myself not to imagine things—that someone like him would never notice someone like me—but my heart never listened. He was a drug, and I had no wish to recover.

I’d found this place by accident half a year ago, running through the woods on a warm day, the air laced with pine and earth. A strange, warm scent of water had pulled me off the trail, through birdsong and the crackle of twigs, until I saw the lake for the first time. Since then, the evenings blurred together—same ripples, same stillness, same quiet escape from everything else.

At first, it was an escape. Then, a habit. Now, I can’t tell if I come here to find peace… or to lose myself entirely.

Every time my older brother visited, he scolded me for staying out late. His voice was firm but never truly angry: Why are you late again? Don’t you know it’s not safe outside? The same words, over and over, his frown deep with worry. He didn’t live with us—he studied abroad—so I let him scold. It wasn’t as if he hated me… I hoped.

Still, anxiety tightened in my chest whenever his eyes met mine in disappointment. The fear that he might hate me too sat so deep it sometimes stole my breath. My best friend always stepped in to smooth things over, somehow able to tame my brother—who felt like a lion to me—while I was just a small cat in his shadow.

One day, I told my friend why I kept coming to the forest. Since then, he’s been frustrated with me for never talking to the one person I came here to see. I wanted to—God, I wanted to—but something always stopped me. You expect me to go up to my crush without stuttering? Not happening. I barely dare to stand here and watch him, where I assume he lives. I never even asked why.

The lake was deep, and swimming was forbidden because of the cliff behind it. Its height wasn’t a joke—too many had ended their lives here. They called it Mystery Lake, though no one seemed to know why.

Still, I was grateful I’d found it. It didn’t just pull me out of my problems—it gave me something I hadn’t had before: hope. And oddly, it seemed like this place belonged only to me and me. No one else ever came here. I almost felt sorry for my friends; I knew they’d love it too.

"Now, where is my heart?" I muttered, scanning the shore. First, it had been the lake, but now I only came because of him. Yet today… he was nowhere to be seen.

"Where did he go?" I whispered again, sighing hard enough that my lips trembled. My shoulders slumped, and I dragged a hand through my hair. I missed him so much.

Just before leaving, I turned for one last look at the lake. My eyes travelled from the shore to the top of the cliff—and froze. My chest locked, blood roared in my ears. It felt like my heart had stopped. My hands flew to my hair, gripping hard.

“What the fuck!” I screamed. Fear clawed at my throat; my knees weakened. My breath caught between my lungs and mouth, thoughts fracturing into panic.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! You can’t lose it now. Move!” I snarled, pounding my fists into my thighs, forcing life into them.

I sprinted toward the cliff. The slope wasn’t rocky, but it was far from smooth. My lungs burned, my heart pounded like it might tear through my ribs. I wasn’t a runner—my legs already felt like lead.

“No… no… not while I’m here,” I whispered, pushing forward through the fire in my chest.

The pink sky shifted above me, like my thoughts—fear and hope colliding, a single truth cutting through: I’d follow him even into hell.

I didn’t see the trees. I didn’t hear the animals. Maybe I crushed flowers beneath my boots, but none of it mattered. The only thing in the world that mattered was him.

When I finally reached the cliff, I heard his sobs—raw, broken, nothing like the warm voice I knew.

"Why? Why? Why..." he cried, voice cracking. "Why can’t this world accept me the way I am? Why?" His words shook, a sob breaking through.

"I’m ending this today. I can’t bear it anymore," he screamed.

His pain tore something inside me. Rage surged—rage at the world, at life, even at him, my reason for breathing.

I hadn’t even caught my breath. The climb had taken me half an hour, even though the path was short despite the height. I dragged in as much air as I could.

"Will it be over if you jump?" My voice cracked as it left me, thick with emotion. I gasped, my throat tight, every word a struggle for breath.