The audience noticed too.
"WHY IS HE SO SERIOUS?"
"I HAVE NEVER SEEN HIM THIS SERIOUS."
"NOW I'M WORRIED."
One comment quickly rose to the top.
"IF THIS DEVIL SAYS A LETTER IS IMPORTANT...
....THEN THAT LETTER IS PROBABLY VERY IMPORTANT."
Thousands agreed.
The tension around the envelope had completely captured the audience.
Millions were focused on Maya's hands.
On the sealed letter,on Rahi's unusually serious expression.
Then—
Rahi took a step backward toward the balcony railing.
Maya didn't react.
Which should have been the first warning.
The audience, however, had no such preparation.
He simply said, "You should read it."
Then turned.
And stepped off the balcony.
For a split second—
Nobody processed what had happened.
Then chaos erupted.
"WHAT?!"
"HE FELL!"
"OH MY GOD!"
"DID HE JUST JUMP?!"
"CALL SOMEONE!"
The comment section exploded so violently that messages became almost unreadable.
Inside the livestream control room, the director bahar reacted immediately,
"Garden camera! Garden camera!"
The feed switched.
Thousands held their breath.
Millions stared.
The camera found the garden below.
And there—
Rahi was perfectly fine walking across the grass.
As if jumping from a balcony was a completely reasonable method of departure.
Not injured.
The internet collectively lost its mind.
"HE'S ALIVE."
"OF COURSE HE'S ALIVE."
"WHY IS HE WALKING LIKE NOTHING HAPPENED?"
"THAT MAN HAS NEVER FOLLOWED A SAFETY REGULATION IN HIS ENTIRE LIFE."
"USE STAIRS."
"THEY LITERALLY HAVE STAIRS."
"HE LOOKED AT A PERFECTLY GOOD STAIRCASE AND SAID NO."
Meanwhile, he continued walking through the garden.
Hands in his pockets, completely unbothered.
One viewer summed up the situation perfectly:
"Rahi treats gravity like a suggestion."
That comment immediately received thousands of likes.
"I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS."
"THE LETTER ISN'T EVEN THE CRAZIEST PART ANYMORE."
"IT SHOULD BE."
"BUT HE JUMPED OFF A BALCONY."
Back on screen, Maya watched him leave.
Her expression remained unchanged.
That only made the comments worse.
"SHE DIDN'T EVEN REACT."
"SHE LOOKS LIKE THIS HAPPENS REGULARLY."
"THAT IS NOT COMFORTING."
"WHY IS NOBODY CONCERNED?"
"BECAUSE APPARENTLY THIS IS NORMAL FOR THEM."
"I Also Think So. "
The director briefly replayed the footage.
The audience immediately saw Rahi casually stepping off the balcony again.
"NOPE."
"I HATED IT THE SECOND TIME TOO."
"WHY WOULD YOU REPLAY THAT?"
"THE DIRECTOR WANTED US TO SUFFER."
The garden camera followed Rahi for a few more seconds before he disappeared behind a line of trees.
Then the livestream returned to the main room.
Millions of viewers expected Maya to rush outside.
Instead—
She simply closed the balcony door.
Turned around, walked back across the room.
And sat down on the sofa.
As though absolutely nothing unusual had happened.
The internet collectively stopped functioning for a moment.
"...WHAT?"
"THAT'S HER REACTION?"
"HE JUMPED OFF A BALCONY."
"SHE DIDN'T EVEN CHECK."
"NO."
"I REFUSE TO ACCEPT THIS."
"HE JUST DEFIED COMMON SENSE."
One comment immediately gained traction:
"SHE REACTED TO RAHI JUMPING OFF A BALCONY THE SAME WAY MOST PEOPLE REACT TO A TEXT MESSAGE."
Thousands of likes appeared beneath it.
"EXACTLY."
Meanwhile, Maya sat quietly on the sofa holding the envelope.
Not opening it immediately.
That somehow made people even more curious.
"OPEN IT."
"PLEASE OPEN IT."
"THE INTERNET IS DYING."
"What kind of self-control does she have?"
"If someone gave me a mysterious letter, I would open it immediately."
"Same."
A psychology student watching the stream posted: " INTERESTING."
"What?"
"Most people would be distracted by the jump.
She isn't, her focus never shifted away from the letter."
While millions of viewers were still recovering from Rahi's departure,
Maya appeared to have already moved on.
The jump hadn't mattered.
Her fingers paused for only a fraction of a second before she broke the seal.
Inside—
A single sheet of paper.
The livestream leaned in without physically moving.
Millions of viewers holding their breath at once.
She unfolded it slowly, her eyes lowered.
And then— She read.
Line by line.
The room around her did not change.
But something in her did, only in her eyes.
That strange emptiness—
flickered just slightly.
Like a distant light briefly disturbed by wind.
Her breath, however, did not change.
The comment section exploded immediately.
"WHAT DOES IT SAY?"
"WHY DID HER EXPRESSION CHANGE?"
"SOMEBODY TELL US."
"DIRECTOR PLEASE ZOOM!"
On command—
the broadcast feed tightened.
Zooming in.
The paper filled the screen.
At first the handwriting was blurred.
Then clearer , then fully visible.
The audience finally saw the words.
★ ——— ★
If I had not died, this letter was never meant to reach your hands.
Heh... Heh.....
It's strange.
Even now, while writing this, I find myself laughing.
All my life, I imagined many ways I might die.
None of them involved sitting down and writing a dramatic farewell letter like some tragic character from an old story.
And yet, here I am.
So tell me, Little Rose—
How have your days been?
Have the mornings been kind to you?
Do you still sit quietly by the window when it rains?
Do you still stare at the sky as though it is hiding answers from you?
I wonder.
I suppose I will never know.
Now I am gone.
My sins are gone with me.
And perhaps, for the first time, there is peace.
There is happiness.
Happiness...
Ah.
I forgot.
You never truly understood emotions, did you?
Then let me tell you what happiness is.
Happiness is a bird. A beautiful little bird.
It lands on your shoulder when you least expect it.
It sings softly enough to make you believe it belongs to you.
And just when you begin to cherish it—
just when you reach out to hold it—
it spreads its wings and flies away.
Never asking permission.
Never looking back.
Leaving behind only the memory of its song.
That is happiness and that is life.
Little Rose. My precious Rose.
Your arrival in my kingdom of sin was like an earthquake.
You shattered a world that I had spent years building.
A world made of lies.
Of blood, Of darkness.
Of things I can never take back.
When I discovered that you knew the truth about my kingdom—
that you knew what I was—
my heart stopped.
For a moment, it truly felt as though it stopped.
The walls around my heart, the walls I had built brick by brick over countless years, collapsed all at once.
Every word you wrote.
They tore through me like blades.
I remember reading your diary and feeling something I had not felt in years.
FEAR.
Not fear for myself.
Fear of how you would look at me once you knew.
Fear of what would happen when you finally saw the monster beneath the mask.
For the first time in a very long time—
I had no words.
Do you know something?
In the middle of all that darkness—
you became my only source of light.
My only source of warmth.
My only source of comfort.
You never knew it.
And perhaps that is for the best.
Did I ever tell you about my sister?
No, I don't think I did.
She was troublesome.
Annoying, always following me.
Always talking, always smiling.
She filled every empty corner of my life with noise.
And somehow, I loved her more than life itself.
She was all I had.
The only family left in my world.
Then one day she became sick.
A terrible fever.
I remember how hot her forehead felt.
I remember how frightened I was.
I carried her all the way to the hospital.
The road felt endless.
With every step, she grew weaker.
As I carried her, she kept asking me something,
"Take me to Mom and Dad."
Over and over.
How was I supposed to explain?
How was I supposed to tell her that Mom and Dad were already gone?
That the place she wanted to go was somewhere I could never take her?
I reached the hospital.
I begged, pleaded.
i cried , promised anything.
But no one listened, no one cared.
The nurses looked at me and saw nothing worth helping.
And so...
My little sister died right in front of me.
I watched the light leave her eyes.
I watched her hand grow cold in mine.
I watched my entire world collapse.
That day I cried until there was nothing left inside me.
I cried until my voice broke.
Until my lungs hurt, until breathing itself became painful.
I buried her beside our parents.
And with her, I buried the last gentle part of myself.
After that day—
I never cried again.
I built an empire of sin with my own hands.
Hardened myself, erased every trace of weakness.
I burned every photograph.
Destroyed every memory.
Erased every feeling.
I convinced myself that love was a disease.
A weakness, a foolish thing.
I buried my heart beneath stone.
And I became something else.
Something darker.
Then —
I met you.
I still remember the river.
The sound of the water.
The wind and you.
Lost.
There was something in your eyes.
Something familiar.
A sadness I recognized immediately.
And for the first time in years—
my heart moved.
Just a little, i felt sorry for you.
That was how it started.
At least that is what I told myself.
So I brought you with me.
I thought I was helping a lost child.
I never realized that child would become my greatest weakness.
When did it happen?
I don't know, i truly don't.
I don't know when concern became affection.
I don't know when affection became attachment.
And I certainly don't know when attachment became love.
All I know is that one day I looked at you and realized that your happiness mattered to me.
More than my own.
And that realization terrified me.
I wanted to teach you how to live.
To understand joy.
To understand sorrow.
To understand what it meant to be human.
I taught you how to draw.
I tried to teach you emotions.
And every day, without realizing it, you were teaching me something too.
How to care again.
I thought my secrets were safe.
I thought my kingdom was hidden.
I thought you would never discover the truth.
How Arrogant I Was.
You knew.
All along.
You knew.
And somehow, you never let me realize it.
You watched and learned.
You understood and you never said a word.
Do you understand how frightening that is?
You deceived the king of a kingdom built on deception.
To this day, I still find that amusing.
You truly are a clever, Little Rose.
Far cleverer than I ever gave you credit for.
The day I realized the truth—
I couldn't breathe.
For all my power, for all my influence, for all my sins.
I felt helpless.
Completely helpless.
I know about my birthday.
I know you prepared things, know you drew pictures for me.
And seeing that made my heart ache.
Because I had already made a decision.
After my birthday, I planned to take you somewhere safe.
An Orphanage.
A place far away from me.
Far away from my sins.
Far away from my darkness.
I knew it would break my heart.
But I thought it was the right thing to do.
You deserved a future untouched by my shadow.
But fate had other plans.
Everything fell apart.
Everything ended before I could keep my promise.
We never celebrated that birthday together.
I never got to see your gift.
I never got to keep my word.
And that regret...
That regret will follow me even beyond death.
So forgive me.
Please.
Forgive me for every promise I couldn't keep.
Forgive me for every goodbye I never got to say.
Forgive me for leaving before I was ready.
Most of all—
forgive me for causing you pain.
Hum..... You sing beautifully.
Would you sing a song for me?
Just once.
For this sinful man.
For this foolish brother.
For the man who could never fulfill your wishes.
Let this be the one wish you fulfill for him.
Please.
And when you sing—
don't sing with sadness.
Sing as though the bird called happiness has landed beside you for a little while.
Because if I can hear anything from wherever I am—
I would like that to be the last thing I hear.
Goodbye, Little Rose.
Live.
And don't follow me into the darkness.
★
Forever your sinful brother.
★ ——— ★
Millions of viewers stared at their screens.
Nobody moved, nobody blinked.
The letter remained visible.
Each line seemed heavier than the last.
Each sentence felt like a wound left behind by someone who had already disappeared.
For a long moment—
there was nothing.
Only silence and Maya.
Still sitting on the sofa holding the letter.
Her expression unchanged.
Yet everyone who watched her felt as though something inside her eyes had shifted.
Something invisible, something painful.
The livestream chat, which had spent hours moving faster than anyone could read, suddenly slowed.
One message appeared.
Then hundreds.
Then thousands.
Then millions.
Comments:
"...."
"I don't know what to say."
"Why am I crying?"
"I've never even met these people."
"My chest hurts."
"That letter destroyed me."
"Who was he?"
"He loved her like a sister."
"No..."
"He loved her more than that."
"I don't think labels matter anymore."
"That man carried an ocean of regret."
"He buried his sister..."
"And then spent his whole life pretending he didn't care."
"That's heartbreaking."
"I wasn't prepared for this."
"Neither was I."
"Little Rose..."
"That nickname alone broke me."
"The part about happiness being a bird..."
"That was beautiful."
"I screenshotted it."
"So did I."
"I'm keeping that forever."
"He burned every picture of his sister."
"That sentence hurt."
"Imagine being in so much pain that you destroy your own memories."
"I think he loved Maya because she reminded him of hope."
"Maybe."
"Maybe she reminded him that he still had a heart."
"The scary thing?"
"What?"
"Maya is reading the most emotional letter imaginable and still looks completely calm."
"Look at her eyes."
"Please zoom in."
"Director, zoom in!"
"PLEASE."
The director slowly zoomed closer.
The camera focused on Maya.
The room collectively held its breath.
The livestream audience searched desperately for something.
A TEAR, A REACTION.
Yet Maya remained still.
Like a statue carved from moonlight.
And somehow—
that hurt even more.
Comments flooded again.
"She doesn't know how to cry, does she?"
"Oh God."
"That thought hurts."
"He spent the entire letter teaching her about emotions."
"And she's still sitting there trying to understand them."
"I think she loved him."
"How can you tell?"
"Because she's still reading."
"Look."
"What?"
"She keeps rereading certain lines."
Millions immediately looked closer.
And they noticed it.
The letter had stopped moving.
Her eyes remained fixed on the same paragraph.
Again.
And again.
And again.
"The part about singing."
"She stopped at the part about singing."
"Oh no."
"He called himself her sinful brother."
"Why does this feel like a goodbye he never wanted to make?"
"Because it is."
Another comment appeared.
It quickly rose to the top.
Thousands liked it.
Then tens of thousands.
Then hundreds of thousands.
"The saddest thing isn't that he died."
"The saddest thing is that Maya finally received the words he wanted to tell her."
"And he's no longer here to hear her answer."
The entire comment section froze again.
Thousands reacted.
Hundreds of thousands.
Then millions.
"No."
"Stop."
"I was already crying."
"Whoever wrote that comment deserves jail."
"My heart actually hurts."
"That is the cruelest sentence I've read all year."
Inside the mansion—
the letter rested quietly in Maya's hands.
The morning sunlight drifted across the floor.
The room remained silent.
And across the world—
millions of people sat before their screens.
Simply staring.
At a girl called Maya.
And a letter from a man who was gone.
A letter filled with regret.
With affection.
And with a final wish, from his Little Rose.
Maya said nothing.
The letter remained folded loosely in her hands.
Slowly, she leaned back against the sofa.
Yet somehow, it drew every eye in the room.
The sunlight filtering through the tall windows painted pale gold across the floor.
Dust drifted lazily through the air.
Quiet.
Her gaze slowly lifted.
It settled on the empty space near the entrance hall, she simply looked.
Seconds passed.
She only stared.
As though searching for something that was no longer there.
As though her mind had wandered somewhere far beyond the mansion walls.
Far beyond the millions of people watching.
The livestream chat began slowing again.
Comments
"Why is she looking there?"
"...."
"She looks lost."
"I don't think I've ever seen her like this."
"She isn't crying."
"But somehow this hurts more."
"Look at her eyes."
"They feel empty."
"No."
"Not empty."
"They look like someone searching for a voice they can no longer hear."
Thousands immediately reacted.
"Oh."
"That Comment Hurt."
The camera focused on her, the silence stretched.
Long enough for people to become uncomfortable.
Long enough for people to realize how accustomed they were to noise.
Then one viewer typed:
"Maybe she's remembering him."
"Maybe."
A third wrote:
"Or maybe she's trying to understand what the letter meant."
Inside the mansion, the grandfather clock ticked softly.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Each sound seemed louder than before.
His fingers tightened slightly around the paper.
Most people would have missed it.
But the camera caught everything.
The chat noticed immediately.
"WAIT."
"She squeezed the letter."
"She did."
For some reason, that tiny movement affected people more than anything else had.
A woman watching from her apartment wiped her eyes.
A university student stared silently at his screen.
A retired teacher removed her glasses.
Nobody could explain why.
And yet— it felt important.
As if that folded piece of paper had become the last connection to someone who would never write another letter.
She remained leaning against the sofa.
Her dark hair spilled over one shoulder.
Comments :
"Did anyone else see that?"
"See what?"
"For a second..."
"For a second she looked confused."
"Confused?"
"Like she was trying to understand why her chest hurt."
The comment spread rapidly.
Millions saw it.
For a long time, she stared at the ceiling.
The mansion was silent, the livestream was silent.
Millions waited.
No one knew what she was thinking.