Kidnapped - A Beautiful Blessing

The same routine persisted for two steady weeks—until an unexpected shift crept in, subtly altering the rhythm of Sasha's carefully maintained life.

Each morning, she entered the school to the familiar scent of chalk dust mingling with worn pages, the air thick with the hum of daily repetition. The soft shuffle of students' footsteps echoed alongside bursts of laughter and hushed conversations, filling the hallways with a kind of predictable noise she had come to rely on.

In the staff room, nothing seemed out of place. The creak of old chairs, the faint aroma of bitter coffee lingering in the corners—all of it comfortingly unchanged. And as always, there was Samuel, seated at his usual spot by the window, the soft morning light casting a glow over his neatly combed hair and warm brown eyes. The moment she stepped inside, his gaze lifted, brightening with effortless familiarity.

"Good morning," he greeted, his voice smooth and casual, yet carrying that underlying ease that made the words feel personal.

Sasha offered a small, almost automatic smile in return. Around him, such gestures no longer felt like a performance. Over time, they had become natural, slipping past her defenses without effort. He had a peculiar ability to make even the most monotonous mornings feel lighter, the heaviness she often bore briefly forgotten.

Samuel, never one to let a conversation sit idle, soon launched into one of his usual stories—this one involving a student and an unexpected confession. With a dramatic sigh, he leaned back. "You won't believe this," he began, his lips twitching at the memory. "One of my students decided to declare her undying affection right in the middle of her exam. Not in person, no—she wrote a heartfelt letter on the answer sheet."

Sasha quirked an eyebrow, intrigued despite herself. "Oh? And what exactly did she say?"

He gave a mock look of exasperation, hands gesturing animatedly. "Apparently, I'm 'handsome,' my 'critical thinking skills' are irresistible, and my intelligence is... well, 'captivating.'" He shook his head, laughing softly. "She even added a few lines about how grading papers must be lonely work."

Sasha smirked, a genuine flicker of amusement tugging at the corner of her mouth. "And how did you handle your admirer?"

Grinning, he leaned forward conspiratorially. "I gave her a zero, circled every grammar mistake, and suggested she devote her attention to Shakespeare rather than me." His chuckle followed. "But the best part? Later, I saw a similar story on Instagram. Turns out, I'm not unique. I've officially become a cliché."

Her laughter came easily then, ringing out in the quiet room. For a moment—a brief, fragile moment—the shadows of regret and betrayal that clung to her seemed to loosen their grip. The sound of her own laughter felt foreign and yet freeing, as though it belonged to a different woman, one she barely recognized.

But the respite didn't last long. The school bell shrilled sharply, slicing through the lightness of the moment. Reality reasserted itself, cold and intrusive.

They stood, parting ways with a nod, and Sasha moved through the corridors toward her classroom. There, she immersed herself in the physical rhythm of teaching, the controlled precision of self-defense techniques grounding her. She demonstrated moves with practiced ease, her voice steady as she corrected stances and guided hesitant students, her hands firm but patient. This was one of the few places where she still felt a sense of purpose, a fragile semblance of control in a life that had otherwise spiraled unpredictably.

By lunchtime, the routine resumed its quiet predictability. As she entered the staff area, it was no surprise to find Samuel already seated, unpacking his lunch with the same casual ease as always. Today, he'd brought eggs—a choice he often joked about, claiming they were "brain food" for teachers tasked with managing unruly students.

But the moment the sharp scent hit her, something inside her rebelled. A sudden, violent wave of nausea surged up, sharp and unrelenting. Her stomach twisted painfully, and before she could mask it, her body moved on instinct. She bolted from the room, hand pressed to her mouth, ignoring the startled glance Samuel shot her way.

The bathroom door barely closed behind her before she leaned over the sink, breathing shallow and fast. It felt like her body was betraying her, reacting without warning.

Several minutes passed before she composed herself enough to return. When she did, Samuel's easy smile had been replaced with something far softer, almost hesitant—a flicker of concern shadowing his features.

"You alright?" he asked quietly, his voice no longer teasing, but careful.

Sasha forced her expression into something resembling nonchalance, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Just an allergy," she replied lightly, waving a hand as if dismissing it. "Happens sometimes."

His eyes lingered on her a moment longer, skeptical but unwilling to push. Instead, he silently slid his half-eaten lunch aside, retrieving something bland and inoffensive from the canteen. They ate in near silence, the air between them no longer light, but thick—weighted down by questions neither of them voiced.

The remainder of the day slipped by in a blur. She moved through her classes mechanically, demonstrations flowing from muscle memory, but her thoughts felt scattered, unfocused. Every now and then, Samuel's concerned glance flitted through her mind, unsettling her more than she cared to admit.

By the time the final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, she was more than ready to retreat. But as she stepped outside toward the exit, she found Samuel waiting by the gate, leaning casually against his car, hands shoved in his pockets as though he'd been standing there for some time.

"I'll drop you home today," he said without preamble, his voice easy but leaving little room for refusal.

Sasha hesitated for only a heartbeat. There was no reason to argue—it was practical, convenient. She gave him a quiet nod and followed him to the car.

Inside, the hum of the engine filled the silence between them. Outside the window, the city blurred past—familiar streets reduced to streaks of neon light and shadows stretching long against the dimming sky. For a moment, it felt as if she were suspended between two worlds—the life she was living now, and the one she could never quite leave behind.

Then Samuel spoke, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of the car. "Sasha, are you married?"

The question came out of nowhere, so abrupt it felt almost like a jolt. Sasha's fingers tightened around the edge of her coat without thinking, her knuckles pressing white against the fabric. Still, she forced her expression to remain composed, carefully masking the sudden tension that flared beneath her skin. Her eyes drifted toward the window, focusing on the blur of streetlights passing by.

"No." Her voice was steady. The answer slipped out too easily—almost deceptively so, as if it carried no weight at all.

From the corner of her eye, she caught Samuel glancing at her, his features relaxing. A slow smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, playful, almost boyish. "Well, that's a relief," he murmured under his breath, the words laced with something light, yet deliberate.

She turned her head slightly, arching an eyebrow at him. "Why?"

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, filling the confined space between them. "My mom keeps pestering me to settle down. She's dying for grandkids already." His grin widened, as though the idea itself amused him.

Sasha exhaled a quiet laugh, the sound hollow but polite. "Then marry someone. She'll get what she wants soon enough."

Samuel made a dramatic face, throwing his head back slightly. "Oh no, not just anyone. I'm holding out for a love marriage, not one of those boring arranged deals." His eyes flicked toward her, glinting with mischief.

"So?" She shot him a sidelong glance, her tone dry. "What's stopping you?"

He gave her a knowing look, leaning back in his seat like he had all the time in the world. "I don't have a girl to talk about... yet."

She tilted her head faintly, studying him. "What kind of girl do you like?"

Instead of answering directly, Samuel's lips curled into a smirk. He tapped his fingers lightly against the steering wheel. "Why don't you tell me what kind of girl I should like?"

Her gaze lingered on him, assessing. Then, after a beat, she returned his smirk with one of her own. "You like someone strong-willed," she said, voice teasing but precise. "Someone who doesn't let you win easily. She has to challenge you, make you laugh, keep you on your toes. Oh, and of course, she has to be beautiful." Her smile sharpened as she added lightly, "Wouldn't want to deprive your mother of good-looking grandkids, would you?"

Samuel laughed, the sound filling the car. He shook his head, glancing at her with a glint of something more in his eyes. "Well," he said, voice deliberately casual, "that all sounds a lot like you."

The words hung there, hovering between them like something unsaid but heavy. Then, without missing a beat, he added, almost flippantly, "Why don't you marry me?"

Sasha's smile faltered, freezing in place.

For a fraction of a second, the air inside the car seemed to shift—becoming thicker, heavier, as if the space between them had suddenly narrowed. Her pulse stumbled. She turned her head slowly, searching his face, trying to read if there was anything behind the lightness in his tone.

Samuel caught her reaction almost immediately. He laughed again, but it was a little too quick, a little too forced. "Relax, I'm just messing with you," he said, brushing off the moment with an easy grin.

Sasha inhaled softly, forcing herself to breathe past the tightness in her chest. She offered a half-smile, polite but distant, her gaze sliding back out the window. But something about his words lingered like an aftertaste she couldn't quite shake.

They drove in silence for a few minutes, the streets rolling past under the dim glow of streetlamps. Then, as if the tension had never happened, Samuel suddenly perked up, pointing at something outside.

"Hey, look," he said brightly. "Ice cream."

Her eyes flickered toward the glowing sign of a small shop as they passed. She shook her head faintly. "I'm not in the mood."

He didn't relent. "What if you get in the mood after eating it?"

Sasha sighed quietly, her resistance softening if only out of weariness. "Fine."

Samuel grinned like he'd won a battle. He pulled over smoothly, hopping out and returning quickly with two chocolate cones. They found a bench just outside the shop, the night air cool around them.

She sat quietly, eyes fixed on her cone, absently swirling the soft texture with her spoon. The sweetness felt muted on her tongue.

Samuel stole a glance at her. Something about her was off tonight. The usual spark in her eyes seemed dimmed, her posture just slightly more slumped, as if she carried an invisible weight pressing down on her.

Deciding to try anyway, he cleared his throat and leaned forward. "Sasha," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching mischievously, "do you know why ice cream cones always carry an umbrella?"

She blinked once, slowly. "No."

"Because they're afraid of a little drizzle!" he announced, grinning wide.

She stared at him blankly, not even a twitch of amusement crossing her face.

Unfazed, Samuel plowed on. "What's an ice cream's favorite movie? Cone Hard."

Still nothing. Sasha merely raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

Determined now, he tried again. "Why did the ice cream go to therapy? It had too many emotional layers!"

Silence.

He sighed, clutching dramatically at his chest. "Tough crowd tonight." He waited a beat, then leaned in conspiratorially. "Alright, last one. What's an ice cream's least favorite day of the week?"

Sasha arched an eyebrow, mildly curious despite herself.

"Sunday," he declared triumphantly. "Because it always gets eaten!"

That did it—just barely. A small, reluctant smile tugged at the corner of Sasha's lips, fleeting but unmistakable.

Samuel grinned, satisfied. His voice softened, almost an afterthought as he said, "See? Your smile could kill anyone."

For the first time that evening, something deeper flickered in his tone—something genuine, unguarded. Sasha felt it, felt the weight of it pressing at the edge of her defenses. She quickly looked away, choosing to ignore it.

They finished their cones in companionable silence, the night wrapping around them cool and still. When they returned to the car, Samuel kept stealing glances at her, something thoughtful in his expression.

There was something different about her tonight—a quiet fragility beneath the usual sharpness. In the dim light, she almost glowed, a distant kind of beauty that felt untouchable.

And yet, despite the strength she carried so effortlessly, Samuel couldn't shake the impression that beneath it all… she looked heartbreakingly lost.