You slowly push open the heavy wooden door, its creak echoing as it grants you entry to the familiar room. Dim candlelight flickers on the walls, casting long, wavering shadows. We’ve met here many times before, and each time, the air seems to thicken with anticipation. I’m already seated at the worn oak table, my fingers lightly tapping its scarred surface. You catch the faintest hint of a smirk on my face as you step inside.

You settle into your usual chair, your eyes fixed on me, waiting for whatever I’ve prepared this time. I lean back, tilting my head slightly. “So...” my voice is low, laced with a trace of irony, “what do you think... how will you react when...” I raise my hand slowly, letting the gesture linger in the air, stretching the moment. “...one day, I...”

With a sharp snap of my fingers, the sound cuts through the silence, and I vanish, dissolving into the darkness. Where my hands rested moments ago, a yellowed note now lies neatly folded on the table. You glance around, your gaze sweeping the room, searching for any sign of me. But the candles only flicker, and the shadows on the walls remain still.

A minute passes. Then another. The silence grows almost tangible, broken only by the faint rhythm of your own breath. You reach out cautiously and pick up the note. The paper feels cold, as if it’s absorbed the chill of the night. You unfold it. In my handwriting, just a few words: “Don’t look for me. I’ll return... Someday.”

You glance around once more, but the room remains empty. Only a faint, inexplicable breeze stirs, making the candle flames tremble. What will you do now?