Cupid's Perfect Match ( Cupid by FIFTY FIFTY)

(Chapter 3)Love and dead

I awoke to the gentle touch of sunbeams on my face, the warm light slowly coaxing me out of sleep. But the tranquility was abruptly shattered by a cacophony of noise from outside. A symphony of loud honks and yelling voices filled the air, jolting me awake. I peered out the window to witness a chaotic scene—an unfortunate collision between a bus and two cars. People spilled out of the bus, their voices raised in frustration and anger, while car horns added to the dissonance.

My heart raced as I sat on the edge of my bed, my hands instinctively covering my ears. Loud noises were my bane; they pierced through my skull, an agonizing assault on my senses. I had chosen a quiet neighborhood intentionally, seeking solace from the chaos of the world. But now, the very tranquility I sought was shattered.

I longed for the noise to cease, the honking to stop, the voices to quiet down. An overwhelming urge consumed me: Make. It. Stop. The pain in my head intensified, a throbbing reminder of my sensory sensitivity.

I scoured my room in search of my noise-canceling earphones, desperate to find respite from the auditory onslaught. But my search yielded no results, leaving me to endure the agony as best I could. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the clamor gradually receded, replaced by an echoing silence that seemed like a balm to my senses. I reached for a bottle of pain relief medicine, hoping it would alleviate the relentless headache.

In an attempt to divert my thoughts, I turned to my studies. The familiar academic content sprawled before me, but my concentration wavered. Thoughts of the enigmatic man I had encountered yesterday and the cryptic letter I had received persisted, their weight bearing down on me. Frustration gnawed at me; I wanted to escape these persistent thoughts, to focus on something—anything—else.

Taking a deep breath, I tried to channel my energy into my studies. But the words on the page seemed to blur together, my mind wandering into uncharted territories. Eros and Thanatos—two names that had barged into my reality. A thought emerged from the depths of my memory, a fragment of a myth. Eros, the god of life and love, and Thanatos, the god of death—their names had deeper meanings in the world of mythology.

A flash of insight pierced through the fog of my thoughts. According to the myth I remembered, those ruled by Eros were driven by the life instinct, striving to live and thrive. Those under Thanatos' influence, however, were in tune with the realm of death, their impending mortality granting them the ability to perceive things that those ruled by Eros could not.

And then it hit me—the letter I had received mentioned being "one of Thanatos' people." I blinked, the realization sinking in. Was it possible that there was some truth to this? The thought was absurd, the stuff of myth and legend. But there it was, a tantalizing thread connecting my own experiences with ancient tales.

Sighing, I shook my head at the absurdity of it all. I chided myself for allowing my thoughts to drift into the realm of mythological fantasy. I had better things to do—like studying, for instance. Yet, as I tried to refocus, my mind kept circling back to the mystery that had intruded upon my life.

Despite my skepticism, a sliver of doubt had taken root, curiosity gnawing at the edges of my consciousness. I pushed it aside, determined to get back to the business of my studies. But as the day progressed, the veil of skepticism seemed to thin, revealing the shimmering possibility that reality might be stranger than I ever could have imagined.

Unable to concentrate on my studies, I sought solace on my balcony, gazing out at the tranquil garden below. The lush greenery was a calming sight, yet an undercurrent of loneliness tugged at my heart. My family's absence felt like an ache, exacerbated by the desire for companionship—a close friend or a lover to share these moments with. However, my extended stays in the hospital and aversion to noisy places had left me isolated and disconnected from people.

A wistful thought crossed my mind—could I ask Cupid to make me fall in love? After all, I had seen him wield his powers earlier. But skepticism intermingled with my hopes. If Cupid had never directed someone's affection toward me before, why would he start now? Assuming, of course, that he was indeed a real presence and not a product of my imagination.

As I chuckled at the absurdity of my own thoughts, a flicker of movement in the garden below caught my eye. My laughter faltered as I realized there was a figure cloaked in black, their face obscured by a hood. A sense of wariness pricked at my senses. I retreated inside, ensuring I remained hidden from view as I observed the stranger from the safety of my apartment.

The garden belonged to an elderly couple and their granddaughter, and only the gardener had regular access. I knew the gardener—an amiable man whom the family held in high regard. He was unlikely to be replaced, given the fondness the family had for him. The rare guests they entertained usually left no room for suspicion. After pondering for a moment, I dismissed my unease, telling myself it was probably nothing to concern myself with. The cloaked figure could very well be an innocent passerby, and I decided there was no need to jump to conclusions unless there was evidence of any wrongdoing.

With a resigned sigh, I pushed my thoughts aside and returned my attention to the peaceful scene outside. The gentle rustling of leaves and the soft play of moonlight on the garden's features brought a modicum of comfort. Loneliness persisted, but for the moment, the beauty of the night offered a respite from my uncertainties.