Meesha woke up to the darkness of nighttime, feeling a hint of improvement. She walked to her kitchen, only to find an array of dishes prepared on the table and in pots. Meesha stared blankly at the food, but her appetite was nonexistent.

She took a seat at the dining table, her eyes drifting to the cockroaches' box. Meesha let out a deep sigh, her chest rising and falling. "My life is so miserable," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Meesha propped her chin with her palm, lost in thought. Her eyes dropped to the table, and her expression saddened as memories of the videos she had watched flooded back. She raised her eyes to look at the cockroaches.

"Everyone wants me to die," Meesha said, her voice cracking. "Do you think it's even worth living in a world where everyone hates you?" Tears welled up in her eyes.

Meesha's gaze fell on the knife lying on the table. Her fingers wrapped around the hilt, her grip tightening.

But instead of harming herself, she plunged it into the cream cake in front of her. She stabbed it repeatedly, the icing scattering across the table. As she destroyed the cake, Meesha felt a wave of relief wash over her, easing her emotional pain.

She scooped up some cream with her finger and licked it off, but the sweetness was lost on her. Meesha slumped back into her chair, her tone resigned. "I'll just stay indoors forever, till I die of depression and loneliness."

As she watched the cockroaches scurrying about, a pang of sadness struck Meesha, and her eyes welled up with tears again. She tried to hold them back, but they fell like a dam, streaming down her face.

Meesha folded her arms on the table, crying into them. Her sobs intensified, filling the room with the only sound. After crying until she was spent, Meesha sniffled, sitting upright. Her sweater sleeves were soaked with tears, and her eyes felt dry and puffy. She wiped away her tears, her face streaked with sadness. Her sweater felt cold and uncomfortable, so she took it off, revealing her plain white T-shirt underneath.

Meesha sat motionless for over thirty minutes, her tears dried. Suddenly, a spark of excitement flickered in her eyes, though sadness still lingered. "I have something to show you," she said to the cockroaches, rushing out of the room.

She returned with a brown bag and sat in front of the cockroach jar, pulling out a green bottle. Meesha moved the bottle closer, wriggling it. "Do you know what this is?" she asked, her brown eyes widening.

The room fell silent, awaiting a response. Since the cockroaches didn't reply, Meesha answered herself. "It's called LIQ-OUR," she said, stressing the last word. "My old friends told me it takes away all pains and sorrows."

Meesha's expression turned nostalgic. She remembered when her friends had bought her the liquor during an outing, telling her to drink it when she felt depressed. Now, they had abandoned her, leaving her alone.

Meesha forced a smile, taking a deep breath. "…so I'll try it out… maybe it would help cure my depression." Summoning her courage, she took a big gulp.

As the drink touched her tongue, her lips curled irritably. She managed to gulp it down, her face scrunched. "Ugh, it's so bitter," she said, nauseated.

Despite the unpleasant taste, Meesha realized the gulp made her feel slightly better. She took another gulp, and another. Slumping back into the chair, her head tilted to the side.

Meesha's senses swirled, the liquor coursing through her veins like liquid fire, its warmth spreading through her chest. Yet, amidst the haze, she detected a faint, ominous presence, like a whispered warning. A dark aura seeped into the room, making her skin prickle with unease. The air grew thick with an unsettling energy, making her skin crawl.

Suddenly, a low, menacing voice whispered behind her, "Meesha." 

Her heart skipped a beat as she froze, unable to move. The voice was hauntingly familiar, sending a shiver down her spine, making her breath catch.

Her gaze drifted to the floor-to-ceiling door in the kitchen, where a faint reflection of a tall figure in a black coat appeared. Though his face was hazy, something about him seemed very familiar. 

As she turned, her eyes widened with excitement. Xanqer stood a distance away, the same black coat draping over his shoulders.

Tumbles of dark hair fell around his head, with strands brushing against his forehead, ears, and the back of his neck, accentuating his breathtaking features. 

His eyes seemed to hold a thousand midnights, dark and mysterious and endlessly deep. He had thick and velvety eyebrows that added depth and dimension to his eyes, framing them like a work of art. His nose was straight, and finely proportioned to his other facial features. His lips were lean, a perfect balance of expression and sensuality. 

A small, delicate gold circle glinted in his left ear, adding a touch of understated elegance to his overall look. His face was devastatingly handsome, capable of leaving a lasting impression.

Her eyes widened, her pupils dilating as she took in his appearance. He looked even more handsome than before.

But Meesha missed the murderous glint in his eyes, hidden behind a mask of stoic indifference.

Instead, Meesha felt a rush of happiness, her eyes sparkling with joy. "Xanqer!" she gasped, stumbling out of the chair and running to him. Her face lit up with a bright smile as she wrapped her arms around Xanqer. She inhaled his scent, a subtle blend of leather and wood, her smile widening.

"You know better than to touch me, Meesha," he said, his voice low and even, but Meesha detected a hint of tension beneath the surface.

Meesha reluctantly let go of him, taking a step back. She pouted, her vision blurring from the alcohol. "Xanqer, you're still as cold as ever," she slurred, her words tinged with disappointment. "You left two years ago without even saying a word to me. I was so depressed and cried every day."