February 15, 1990 – 2:30 AM
The tension between my fiancé and me had been building up for about a week. It was a constant tug-of-war, but the breaking point finally came just four hours ago. His father showed up at our door to cut all ties and end our engagement for good.
I'm a wreck. Since that moment, I haven't been able to leave my room; I've just been crying, feeling completely crushed. I loved him with everything I had, only to realize it was all one-sided.
And of course, I was the only one holding on.
My parents don't seem to care; they have no idea how much this is hurting. Not a single person stood by me. Honestly, maybe it's too much to expect them to keep up with the drama of five different daughters.
Everyone in the house is sound asleep while I sit here alone, crying until it feels like my soul is literally leaving my body. The suffocating feeling was too much, so I stepped out onto my balcony just to breathe. I needed that cold air to hit my chest—I felt like I was running out of oxygen.
It was freezing, one of those bitter winter nights. It's almost 2:00 AM now. The cold air felt like a reset; my lungs cleared, and I felt a spark of energy returning. I closed my eyes and finally let my soul drift...
I felt like I was finally on the verge of breaking free from my sadness. A light rain started to fall on my face; I smiled and reached out my hand to feel the refreshing touch. I've always loved the rain—it feels like a gift from above, a winter rebirth.
But that peaceful moment shattered, replaced by pure terror. My heart started pounding like war drums, signaling a brutal new battle. I saw him. The young man from the building across from ours—the one whose balcony is directly facing mine.
That building is completely empty except for his apartment. He lives there all alone; a mysterious guy who never seems to stop scowling
Whenever I happened to be on my balcony, he'd quickly retreat into his apartment and slam the door shut in my face. But tonight... tonight was different. I saw him get out of his car, carrying a girl who looked drugged or unconscious.
The moment she started to stir and move slightly, he pressed a handkerchief over her face again, forcing her back into a deep, forced sleep.
I let out a muffled scream. I was terrified he might see me—or worse, hear me. In that split second, a wave of pure danger hit me, as if I were the one drugged on his shoulder, helpless and trapped.
It wasn't just about me anymore; my heart was aching for that girl. I was terrified for her because there was no doubt about what I was seeing—he was kidnapping her by force.
He glanced left and right before heading into the building's entrance, making sure no one was watching. I quickly ducked into the corner of my balcony before he could spot me, especially since my balcony is somewhat close to the ground.
What made it easier for him was how isolated we are from the city; the distance between the buildings isn't small, and his building is a new one that was only put up recently.
He knows exactly what he's doing—it's dangerous. And he's definitely not drunk; he looks fully conscious and aware of every move.
I was losing my mind, spiraling with questions about that girl's fate. Is he going to assault her? Kill her afterwards so she can't go to the police or tell her family? Or did he kidnap her for ransom?
I was like a restless ghost, pacing back and forth on my balcony, my eyes fixed on his. Anxiety was eating me alive—for her and for my own sanity. I just wanted to know she was okay... I wonder what's happening to her in there.
Two or three hours later, at most, she finally emerged. She was running, crying hysterically, and covered in blood—it was everywhere, on her body and her face. She was frantically trying to fix her torn clothes, looking around wildly for anyone to help her. I was about to scream, to tell her to come up to me or that I was coming down to help...
But then, I heard the creak of his balcony door. I knew he was opening it, that he was coming out right now. My terror reached a whole new level. I collapsed onto the floor of my balcony, my heart pounding a rhythm of pure panic. It was a terrifying moment that sent a violent shiver through my entire body—I was paralyzed by fear.
The girl's scream pierced through the air—it was so loud, so raw. I could only imagine the terror she felt when she saw him; she must have been shaking uncontrollably before she just bolted, screaming in pure panic.
In that exact moment, I felt like I couldn't breathe. It was a suffocating sensation, as if a massive mountain were crushing my chest. I kept crying, gasping for air, until it felt like my soul was about to leave my body. I have no idea how I eventually drifted off, right there on the cold balcony floor.
I didn't wake up until I heard my mother's voice, sharp and loud, snapping at me:
"So, you little brat... if you get sick now, we're the ones who have to pay for it! We only have enough money for your treatment this month, nothing more. Do you even have a brain in that head of yours? Or is it just empty??"
Panic filled every inch of my soul. I had a nervous breakdown; I kept trying to scream, but I had completely lost my voice. I fought with my own throat, desperate to make a sound, but I just collapsed. I was conscious, seeing and feeling everything around me, but I couldn't say a single word.
It was as if I had turned into a wax statue. Before I knew it, my mother rushed over, terrified, and pulled me into her arms, holding me tight...My mother could barely drag me back inside my room. But I couldn't help it—I had to take one last look at that monster.
I turned my head toward his balcony before she could pull me in. There he was, standing still, watching everything unfolding between my mother and me. I couldn't tell if he'd been there from the start or if my mother's screaming had drawn him out.
The moment our eyes locked, my heart convulsed with pure terror. I pointed my finger at him, screaming in a total mental breakdown, until everything went black. I drifted into another world and didn't wake up until I found myself in my bed, an IV drip in my left arm.
When I opened my eyes, my siblings and my mother were all gathered around me, crying over my condition. My mother kept repeating the same sentence over and over...
"All of this for that lunatic? I swear, honey, you'll find someone much better. Just be patient. Your beauty and your character are priceless—that idiot just didn't know your worth. Why would you let yourself get this heartbroken over him??"
All my siblings were talking at once, their voices blurring into a loud, confusing mess around me. I couldn't understand a word. I was like a sleepwalker, caught in a strange psychological state that only got worse with hallucinations and a high fever. It took me a full week to even start feeling like myself again, recovering from the mental and physical collapse of that terrifying day.
One day, my mother told me that someone had come to ask for my hand in marriage. She said he was a respectable young man from a prominent, wealthy family. She even followed up the news with prayers that he would be "my destiny," even before I'd laid eyes on him.
I refused to see him or meet him. Honestly, I was rejecting the idea of men entirely. Of course, I didn't escape my parents' verbal abuse; they called me "cursed" and said that poverty and bad luck followed me wherever I went. They even went as far as calling me an "owl"—a bad omen. I couldn't keep stalling or resisting their rage for much longer.
The constant pressure and the threat of taking everything away from me eventually worked; I gave in and agreed to sit with that groom—forced and defeated.
The promised day arrived. I got ready and walked into the salon, carrying a tray filled with hospitality items. My face was flushed, a mix of deep embarrassment and awkwardness. Then, my father's voice reached my ears, filled with excitement:
"Come forward, my daughter, and greet your groom... we've already agreed on everything."
As usual, my opinion didn't matter, and no one cared whether I agreed or not. Even though I'd truly loved my previous fiancé, what matters now is that I looked up, forcing a polite smile onto my face.
The face staring back at me... I wished I had died before I ever had to see it.
It was him. It was our criminal neighbor—the one who caused me to be bedridden for a week, paralyzed by a fear so deep that I was even terrified to move between the rooms of my own home. My balcony, which used to be my sanctuary, had turned into a gateway to hell—and I no longer had the strength to ever open its doors again.