EMMA

The room was dark and silent. It barely looked like two people were living in it. There were no windows to open—not because they chose to keep them closed, but because none existed. The air conditioning was faulty, yet somehow they could still breathe.

It was a jail. The rich preferred to call it a prison, but inside those concrete walls, wealth and status didn’t matter. Everyone there had been punished for something they did.

In this room lived two thieves.

One was Emerald—tall, dark, and strong. His silence made him intimidating, and his chiselled build betrayed a lifetime of hardship. He rarely spoke, but when he did, he often stared into the emerald ring he wore—perhaps as a reminder of his crime. He had stolen a priceless emerald from a museum, only to be caught soon after.

The other was Harry, who had a gentler face. He was tall and handsome, with lips that were unnaturally red and light brown eyes that glinted even in the dim light. His crime was poetic in its own way—he had stolen a girl’s heart. But more tragically, he had also taken part in a gang fight that landed him behind bars.

They spent their days doing routine prison chores, and at night, they talked.

Yesterday was Emerald’s turn. He had opened up about the poverty that pushed him into a life of theft. He ended his story in tears, whispering, “In this solitude, I’ve understood how wrong I was.”

Harry had nodded silently, his expression thoughtful.

That night, Harry couldn't stay quiet.

“Emma,” he murmured. “That was her name.”

Emerald turned to him.

The prison was always dark and stifling, but tonight the air felt heavier. Memories of Emma clung to Harry like shadows.

“She was everything to me. We loved each other,” he said, pulling out a folded photograph from his pocket.

He handed it to Emerald. The creases had worn into the paper, obscuring their faces. Emerald carefully opened it. One figure was clearly Harry, and next to him stood a girl with short brown hair. Her features were soft, but her eyes told stories.

Emma.

Emerald studied her. Her neatly shaped brows, the quiet smile, the way she seemed to lean into Harry even in the photo—it all painted a picture of silent strength. She looked like someone who kept her thoughts to herself, someone rare.

Emerald returned the photo.

“What happened between you two?” he asked.

“I was stubborn,” Harry sighed.

Then, breaking the silence, Emerald asked gently, “Are you okay?”

“Not really,” Harry replied.

He took a deep breath.

“We were in college together. Best friends. She knew everything about me—every thought, every move. God, she was perfect.”

His voice cracked.

Emerald offered him a glass of water.

“I was part of a gang… and they were against her. She warned me. I didn’t listen. That’s what led me here.”

“What happened?” Emerald asked.

“There was a fight between the gangs. I kicked someone… it was an accident…”

He looked away.

“…but he died.”

Tears welled up in his eyes.

“Every year, our college had a football match. This time, we lost. The other team kept mocking us… it felt unbearable. I know it sounds childish now,” he added, almost ashamed.

Emerald nodded.

“It does. But we all trust the wrong people sometimes.”

Harry's voice grew quieter.

“I want to get out of this place. I want to repair myself. Maybe Emma’s angry, but I believe she’ll understand. She always did.”

Silence returned to the room. Harry fell asleep, his head resting on Emerald’s lap like a child who had finally cried himself dry.

Emerald gently took a folded paper from Harry’s pocket and read it.

Dear Emma,

I know you’ll be upset with me.

You might be staring at the sea, waiting for me to walk out of this place.

Or maybe you’re searching for me in a crowd.

I want to hold you again and promise I’ll never go away.

There will be anger, frustration, and tears.

But they’ll be nothing compared to the laughter, the hugs, and the love we’ll share.

I want to cherish every day the Lord keeps you in my life.

Until then, wait for me.

Please.

Emerald’s eyes welled up. He looked down at the boy asleep on his lap. A strange silence wrapped around them again.

Then, a soft breeze found its way into the room—from where, no one knew.

It whispered something only Emerald could hear.

“The death knell is just minutes away.”