Why?
1384 Words
Another year passed.
The candle remained untouched.
Ali lived each day as if walking barefoot over broken glass—careful, tense, her heart never knowing rest. Her family continued to demand more than she could give. At work, she endured the mutterings of coworkers who seemed to delight in reminding her she didn’t belong. Men leered, women whispered, and her boss barked orders that sometimes turned into insults.
But through it all, she endured.
The candle sat on her nightstand, silent, waiting. She dusted it every week, as though it were some ordinary decoration. She told herself she didn’t believe. She told herself she’d never light it.
But her nights told a different story.
In her dreams, she saw him.
Always the same man, the same shadowed figure who haunted the edge of her vision whenever she was half-awake. Tall, impossibly tall, with shoulders broad as stone pillars. He wore black, always black, sometimes draped in cloaks that looked like smoke, other times armored in plates etched with symbols she didn’t recognize. His face was hidden in shadow, but his eyes burned faintly, like coals smoldering in ash.
At first, he said nothing in her dreams. He only stood near—sometimes at her bedside, sometimes in the corner of her small apartment, sometimes at the end of the bridge where she had once met the old woman. She would wake drenched in sweat, her chest tight with something she didn’t understand.
Later, his voice began to join the visions. Low, deep, and commanding, it rumbled in her mind like thunder rolling across a distant mountain.
Why do you endure?
The words came over and over again, though she never answered. Each time, she awoke with the question still echoing. Why?
Perhaps she didn’t know herself.
It was late in summer when the moment came that changed everything.
Ali had stopped by her family’s apartment after work. She was already exhausted, her shoulders aching, her head pounding with the beginnings of a migraine. She had only enough money in her wallet for groceries for the week, but she knew what awaited her: demands, accusations, and endless dissatisfaction.
Her mother stood at the kitchen counter, arms crossed, glaring the instant Ali walked in.
“That’s it?” her mother snapped when Ali handed over an envelope with what little she could spare.
“It’s all I have left,” Ali said quietly.
“You always say that,” her mother barked. “Your brother needs tuition. Your father needs his medicine. What are we supposed to do with scraps? Do you even care if we starve?”
Ali bit her tongue. Her father entered then, already swaying with drink, and grabbed the envelope. When he saw the thin stack of bills, he growled, shaking it in her face.
“You useless girl. You think this is enough? After all we’ve done for you?”
The bowl came from her mother. Fast. Unexpected. It struck her above the eye, and pain flared instantly as blood trickled down her face.
Ali staggered, clutching at the counter. For a moment she thought she’d collapse. The wound stung, hot and wet, blood dripping past her eyebrow.
She didn’t argue. She didn’t cry. She simply left.
When she finally closed the door to her apartment behind her, her legs gave out. She leaned against the wall, her hand pressed against the cut. The room tilted around her.
She stumbled into her bedroom, intending to grab a towel.
But she froze.
He was there.
The man from her dreams.
No—he was no dream now. He stood tall, impossibly tall, in the middle of her room. His presence filled the space, making it feel suddenly too small, too fragile. His black cloak trailed along the floor like spilled ink, and the burning eyes beneath his hood locked onto her with unshakable intensity.
Ali’s breath caught, but she didn’t scream. She didn’t even flinch. She had seen him too many times in her dreams to be surprised.
Slowly, he stepped toward her. His boots made no sound, though she felt the weight of each step in her bones. He stopped only a breath away, towering over her petite frame, his shadow swallowing hers whole.
One massive, calloused hand lifted, hovering for a moment over the wound on her eyebrow.
“You’re hurt,” he said, voice low and rough, as though unused to speaking aloud.
She didn’t reply.
His hand came down gently, palm covering the cut. His touch was warm—strangely warm for a demon. A tingling sensation spread across her skin, soothing the pain. The warmth deepened, almost pleasant, and then faded as he pulled his hand away.
The wound was gone.
No blood. No scar.
Ali blinked. But she did not look shocked. She only looked tired.
“Why?” His voice cut through the silence. “Why do you not use the candle to escape this life?”
She lowered her eyes, saying nothing.
His tone sharpened, frustration edging into the words. “You are not like the others. Mortals light the candle for the smallest inconveniences. For vanity. For greed. They waste their souls for things that mean nothing. But you—” His voice grew harder. “You endure. You bleed. And still you do nothing.”
Ali swallowed, her throat tight. Finally, she spoke.
“I didn’t want my soul tied to your contract,” she said softly. “I still have so much to live for.”
The silence that followed was heavy, charged. His eyes flared faintly beneath the hood.
“f**k’s sake,” he muttered under his breath, the words rough and exasperated.
Her lips almost twitched at the unexpected curse, but she stayed quiet.
He studied her in silence, his presence filling the room like a storm waiting to break.
“You think your life still has value,” he said finally, not as a question but as an observation. “Even after all this cruelty. You cling to it, stubborn little thing that you are.”
Ali looked up then, meeting his gaze. Her voice trembled, but she didn’t look away.
“Yes. Because if I let it go—if I give up—then they win. All of them. My family. My boss. Everyone who’s ever tried to break me. If I light that candle, I’m admitting they’ve beaten me.”
For the first time, something flickered across his shadowed face. Not pity. Not anger. Something else—difficult to name.
“You confuse me,” he said. “You endure suffering that should have driven you to me long ago. And yet, you defy me without even trying.”
Ali shrugged faintly. “Maybe I’m just stubborn.”
“Stubborn,” he repeated, almost amused.
The room fell silent again.
His gaze dropped briefly to the black candle still on her nightstand. He raised his hand, and for a moment the shadows stretched toward it. But then, with a grunt, he let them retreat.
“You don’t know how long I’ve waited,” he said quietly, more to himself than to her. “Most who resist me do not last. But you—” He shook his head. “You endure.”
Ali folded her arms. “Maybe you should stop waiting. I told you—I don’t want to be tied to you.”
His eyes burned brighter, and for a moment she thought he might lash out. Instead, he leaned closer, his height overwhelming, his voice dropping to a growl.
“And yet,” he said, “you still dream of me.”
Her breath caught.
The words hung heavy between them, undeniable.
Ali opened her mouth to reply but found no words.
The Demon Lord straightened again, his cloak swirling faintly though no wind touched it.
“Careful, Ali,” he said, speaking her name for the first time. “Even without the candle, the thread between us tightens. You cannot run from it forever.”
With that, his form dissolved into shadows, leaving the room colder, emptier, and yet charged with something she couldn’t name.
Ali sat heavily on the edge of her bed, touching her healed eyebrow.
She wasn’t surprised he had come.
She was only surprised he had left.
- Writer
