Sam folded the letter neatly by the table before writing her name behind it. Then, in a second, she paused to think. Sam turned and quickly fished for the bottle of perfume inside her luggage, something she had not opened ever since she moved in. She paused again, deciding if it was a wise move to spray the letter.

She was worried it would send a different message. Unable to decide, Sam held out the paper quite from the bottle and spritzed lightly, just to get the letter to smell fragrant.

Then, she was off to the Heelshire mansion. But instead of leaving right away, Sam tried to knock once again. Maybe this time he'd show. It would be strange if he won't considering they both clearly know each other.

Sam stayed a little longer, persistent to meet Brahms. She wasn't the patient kind. Sam gripped the paper in her hand.

One last knock, she convinced herself before stomping her way down the porch stairs.

Of course, she was disappointed. It was clear that Brahms wasn't really interested to meet her. She looked up at the Heelshire mansion, hoping she'd get a glimpse of a shadow of a man behind the windows. She hoped she did when she saw movement by the third window by the left.

Was he really avoiding her or was she just seeing things?

But if he wasn't really interested, he wouldn't respond to her messages, she tried to believe.

Unless he was married. She shook off the idea and hurried back to the porch to slide the letter under. But Sam didn't want to. She was hoping she'd hand it to him this time.

"I've got all day," she said to herself a little louder, just in case he really was avoiding her. Sam did not have anything else to do but read. And wasting her day to wait was just the same as the other days.

But he never came out.

Sam was hoping he'd show up. She had spent the last few days in denial that she wasn't lonely, that she wanted a life away from everyone but she knew half of it wasn't true. She knew that all she could ever want was to have someone who understood her for once.

And finally, she realised that she could not depend on a stranger for happiness.

Disheartened, Sam stood. And with eyes welling up, she spoke loudly, "Fine! You don't want to meet me, fine." She turned away, but hesitated and faced the tall door to express her dismay, "Y-you could've at least come out here to tell me you're married or uninterested! It's not that hard, B-Brahms!"

Her voice broke but she stood her ground, "Or you could at least tell me I'm not that pretty for you. Or complicated! That's what they all say!" She began laughing.

After a while, Sam realised he was never really going to come out. Finally, she looked at the crumpled paper in her hand and bit her lip. Then, she kept it in her pocket to throw away at home.


Sam wanted to see Brahms — it was the first time in a long time that he had seen someone beg for his presence. Although the previous girl handled it well, he wasn't sure if Sam could, too.

This was not the same. There's no doll to take care of. No doll to take the blame. No doll to use as an excuse. It was all him.

Hearing her voice break had sent him weak. If there was anything Brahms understood about other people deeply, it was sadness...loneliness. And he saw it etched on her face. Sam was lonely, and so was Brahms. He was reaching for the knob, tired of looking through the peephole. He was so close to opening the door for her. But she crumpled the paper.

Brahms thought that she had given up. But he wasn't going to let her go.


He waited until night time before coming to visit her house. He anticipated Sam's frantic departure, just like everyone else. Instead, he saw her crying on the floor, her back facing him, giving him an opportunity to look closer.

He could almost hear her sobs.

"Sam..." he whispered quietly in such a soft voice. Slowly, he touched the glass window, hoping he could touch her warm skin.

Later, he saw her quiet down. She moved, making him immediately hide. But all Sam did was slide comfortably on her bed to sleep.


I'm sorry.

Sam had been staring at the note for an hour without moving. It's taking her a while to decide if she was going to reply or ignore him completely from then on.

"What the hell do I say to you?!" she said out loud, wishing she could just speak. It seemed better than exchanging vague messages.

She groaned, wondering what she was supposed to say. What was he even sorry about? Did he see her cry? Does that mean he was there watching and did not even show up? Is he sorry because he's married?

"Why are you so..." she groaned again and gave up.

There's nothing left to do.

Sam ripped off a paper from her notebook and jotted down a paragraph of her thoughts. When she reread the message, she couldn't help but roll her eyes. She sounded so needy. How appalling for a stranger.

She ripped it apart and wrote a new letter.


I'm not sure what you're apologising about.

She was wondering if it was even worth walking to the mansion just to send a single line. She wasn't even sure if he would respond properly.

But then again, she remembered, it wasn't as if she had anything else to do.

So she went, despite the bad weather. She fought the wind and walked to the mansion with the letter in hand. But she promised herself it would be the last time if he pissed her off again. There's quite a lot of people to befriend in the town, anyway, she tried to tell herself while walking to the Heelshire's.

As she reached the porch, Sam thought about giving it another chance. Maybe his apology meant that she could finally speak to him. But even before she could hold up her hand and knock, she heard rattling from inside.

Bingo, she thought.

"Brahms?" she knocked quickly, trying to make sure he would hear her before he left. She knocked repeatedly.

It fanned a flame in her — and this time, she wasn't going to let him have his way.

A door slammed. She wasn't sure which part of the mansion but the message was clear. This man was avoiding her.

"Seriously?" she scoffed, "Fine."

She held up the letter and turned to show it around before speaking as loud as she could, almost adorably, like a young girl.

Brahms really hoped he didn't forget to close the kitchen door. He was in a hurry.

He had fallen asleep trying to watch her that night and only woke up to the crunching of leaves as she was leaving her house.

Brahms hoped that she wouldn't find the back door after it slammed thanks to the strong wind. And he had hoped she would just head straight home and leave the letter.

But Sam shouted one last time before storming off, "If you want the letter, then come get it. Feel free to knock on my door when you're ready."