Dear Love The Spring I May Never See

"Is the video good?"

A deep voice broke the silence, accompanying the steady steps of a man who opened the door without knocking. His black shoes made soft contact with the deep red carpet, the faint sound still echoing in the room, filled with a stifling atmosphere.

The walls and tables were adorned with bright red hues, the fabric serving as a base for chains, handcuffs, and other shiny tools under the cold white light. In the middle of the room, four camera lenses were lined up, pointed at the large bed with tangled sheets-traces of chaos still clung to its surface.

In front of a small screen, a muscular man stood, grinning with satisfaction. The echoes of groans and soft sobs from the video filled the room, the woman in the recording trembling helplessly. Tears stained her cheeks as her eyes radiated an overwhelming despair that seemed to swallow the last remnants of hope.

"Nice, right?" he asked, glancing at the man in the doorway while pointing at the screen. "The masochists will definitely pay a lot for this."

There was no answer. Only a thin smile on the face of the man standing tall in an immaculate black suit. His golden-brown eyes remained fixed on the screen, emanating a frightening calm.

"I don't care about the buyers." His voice was flat, yet firm, as if it slipped through the air like a sharp knife. "If the result is good..." His gaze stayed locked on the screen, following each gasp that cut through the silence. "You can make another video with her."

The muscular man chuckled lightly, his eyes sparkling wildly. "I look forward to it!"

The dark-skinned man stood and walked toward the bathroom, his strong, trained body displaying remarkable contours. "Her cries are beautiful; you'd be missing out if you don't try it," he said before disappearing, the sound of water splashing following shortly after.

When he returned, the room was submerged in silence. The bed in the center of the room still held the traces of the figure lying beneath the thick blanket, unmoving since their brief encounter that night.

The man stepped closer, a cold smile curling on his lips. "Ann," he called softly but with certainty. "You even cried with satisfaction, didn't you? Don't worry; I'll send the video once it's done. So, make sure you remember your beautiful face in this recording."

Without waiting for a response, he began packing up his equipment, leaving the room in darkness. The remaining light vanished, leaving the room enveloped in a red shadow that swallowed every corner.

On the bed, the red blanket swelled, shielding the small body trembling in silence. Her breath was shallow, as if trying to blend with the surrounding stillness.

Her eyelids slowly fluttered open, revealing dark but clear irises, sweeping the room with an empty gaze. Tears flowed quietly down her cheeks, carrying a bittersweet beauty in every drop.

She moved slowly, pain slicing through each step toward the bathroom. As cold water touched her reddened skin, her swollen lips pressed together tightly. Her gaze was vacant, staring at the bathroom ceiling, her voice barely audible among the splashing water.

"I miss Grandma..."

At 5:00 AM, in front of a large mirror, Ann's small reflection gazed back solemnly. The thick black hoodie covered her shoulders, paired with pants hidden beneath a dark green skirt. Her face, once radiant, was now pale and empty-without traces of tears, only a frozen silence.

She took a deep breath, her chest rising slowly as if trying to fill the emptiness inside her. After a few seconds, her trembling hand reached for the strap of her bag lying on the floor. Without a word, Ann stepped out of the hotel room, leaving the quiet space that now held its own dark secrets.

"Look! Room 510!"

"She's out."

"Which one is she?"

"Shhh... Quiet down."