The lighter clicked three times before it caught. I cursed under my breath, shielding the flame from the breeze curling over the twelfth-floor terrace. The cigarette flared to life, and I leaned against the concrete ledge, letting the smoke wrap around me like armour.

Down below, the city buzzed, a sprawling canvas of lights, horns, ambition, and exhaustion.

Dusk had always been my favourite time of day. It didn’t pretend to be pure like morning, nor did it lie about the darkness ahead. It was honest. In-between. And so was I.

“Didn’t think you smoked,” came a voice behind me.

I turned slightly, startled. It was Maya—from HR, of all people. The one with the sleek ponytail, those unreadable dark eyes, and the sort of quiet confidence that made people straighten up when she walked into a room.

“Didn’t think HR let themselves have vices,” I replied.

Maya smiled, the kind of smile that felt both warm, seductive and dangerous. She raised an unlit cigarette. “We allow ourselves all sorts of things. We just don’t put them in the employee handbook.”

I offered my lighter. Her fingers brushed mine—too warm. Skin flushed, but not from nerves.

She lit the cigarette, inhaled slowly, looked at the skyline and said as the smoke curled between them:

“Dusk is when the sky sheds its innocence… just before the night dares you to be honest.”

I looked at her sideways. “Poetic.”

“Truthful,” she replied. “Tell me something, what’s your opinion of the dark side?”

I blinked. “That’s a hell of a conversation starter.”

She exhaled with a quiet smirk. “Smoke breaks are where people say what they really think.”

I considered her, the faint glow of her cigarette pulsing with her breath. “Alright… I think the dark side is... seductive… easy… You don’t have to explain yourself to anyone. But most people don’t come back from it the same.”

“Why should they?” she asked. “Why should anyone go back to smallness after tasting power?”

I raised an eyebrow. “You talk like someone who's walked that road.”

She turned to face me, leaning against the rail. “I didn’t walk it, I ran. And never looked back.”

I gave a small laugh. “You sound like someone trying to convert me.”

“Not to convert you but to wake you up.” Her tone was soft, but deliberate. “You work ten hours a day, filtering your thoughts through layers of diplomacy. You fake smiles. You suppress instincts. And for what? A pay check and a polite obituary?”

I looked away, toward the skyline. “That's just how the world works.”

“No… That’s how they want it to work. The ones too afraid to live freely. Tell me—have you never wanted to break the rules just to see if the sky would fall?”

I didn’t answer, but thought I’d never.

“Liar,” she said, almost teasing. “You have... Probably more than once.”

“I’m not a bad person.”

“No,” she said. “But you’re not entirely good either. No one is. You’ve lied to people you love. Fantasized about revenge. Thought about doing things you’d never admit out loud. It’s in all of us.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

“Who decides what’s right?” she asked. “The people in power? The gods you don’t even believe in? Morality is just mythology with better branding.”

I stared at her. “You really believe that?”

“I know it.” Her eyes held mine. “Guilt is a leash. Conscience is a cage. But desire? Desire is honest. The only thing in this world that doesn't lie.”

I felt something coil in my stomach—fascination mixed with fear. “So what, you act on every impulse?”

“I choose the ones that matter. The ones that lead me closer to who I really am.”

I hesitated. “And who are you, really?”

There was a beat of silence.

Then she stepped closer.

“I’m what happens when someone stops pretending. When someone steps fully into the night… and finds they like the view.”

Her pupils dilated unnaturally in the fading light. Her skin shimmered—not with sweat, but with a heat pulsing from within.

I stepped back slightly. “What the hell are you?”

“I told you,” she said gently. “A recruiter.”

“For what?”

“For the version of you that’s buried under fear and manners.”

“I never signed up for this.”

“You didn’t have to. You’ve been flirting with this darkness within you for years. I’m just here to make it official.”

My voice was tight. “And if I say no?”

She smiled again—no longer warm, but knowing. “Then you’ll go back to your desk. Back to your self-denial. But the itch won’t leave. It never does. You’ll wake up in the middle of the night, wondering if you missed your moment.”

My breath hitched.

“Or…” she said, voice dropping to a whisper, “you could find out what you’re capable of. No more masks. No more guilt. Just you. Unchained.”

The terrace door burst open behind them. I flinched.

It was Anaya from Finance, phone in hand. “Sweetie, you coming? Boss wants everyone for the budget call.”

I turned slowly.

Maya was gone.

No sound of footsteps. No rustle of clothes. Just the ember of her cigarette still glowing on the concrete, burning far longer than it should’ve. A faint scorch mark beneath it curled outward like an inkblot—like a decision waiting to be made.

Anaya looked around, puzzled. “Who were you talking to?”

I didn’t answer. My eyes lingered on the ember, flickering against the wind, refusing to die.

“…No one,” I said, almost to myself.

Anaya shrugged and walked back in, letting the door swing shut.

I remained.

The city pulsed below—alive, endless, and indifferent. Dusk had melted into night, and the light was officially gone. But the ember still burned.

I thought of her words…

Of desires…

Of masks…

Of the quiet war inside everyone…

A part of me wanted to crush the ember underfoot. A part of me wanted to protect it. Feed it. Let it grow.

I took one step toward the glowing ash. Then stopped.

The breeze picked up.

And in that moment, no one watching could say whether I was walking away from the fire, or toward it. 

.    .    .