Author · Educator · Creative
By day, Melissa D'Cruz teaches the art of storytelling. By instinct, she paints, stitches, animates and plays — her random doodles inspired by the world around her (blame Lemon and Mango, not her). Then 2020 happened — and Red Strings came out instead. A psychological thriller with a twist she's been keeping to herself. Consider yourself warned.
Book One · Malaysian Local Edition · RM40
LAVENDE
"They say love comes when you least expect it. You either recognise it or you don't. But when the eyes of the heart open, it takes two to make it last a lifetime…"
At least, that's what some writer wrote in a novel I once read.
I didn't give it much thought. I never imagined I'd experience anything like love at first sight again—until he walked through my front door.
Welcome to Café Avec Amour—home for freshly brewed coffee, and a place where you can pour out every thought and worry.
I'm Andrea… but you can call me Rhea.
My first love is the bittersweet scent of roasted coffee beans—ground, brewed, and released into the café before the visitors spill in. This place started as a part-time hobby, really. Something to take my mind off work. But somewhere between learning different beans and pouring techniques, the café began to become… people.
Some come in bright with joy, eager to share what they've experienced. Some come hand-in-hand with lovers. And then some arrive with the sort of quiet sorrow that has nowhere else to go.
That's where I come in.
I sip my coffee and glance at the clock. "Customers should be coming in soon," I murmur. "Best get the kettle on and clear the counter."
Krinng…
The doorbell chimes.
The chill of the night is slowly eating into my bones.
Which, when you think about it, is rather amusing.
Just think about it for a second.
"Death actually feels the cold."
How entertaining is that thought? That irony is not lost on me.
Popular imagination has never been particularly kind to my profession. Depending on which century one chooses to visit, I am either a skeletal monstrosity hidden beneath layers of black cloth or a hooded spectre dragging an oversized scythe through graveyards beneath a full moon.
The scythe, admittedly, is real.
People seem oddly attached to that detail.
The rest is mostly fiction. Conjured from the very imagination of the human mind.
Even so, I still look human. At least, human enough.
Inside the interrogation room, Ava sat in front of me, motionless. Slumped with her head tilted backwards, her eyes rolled back. One wrist remained secured to the metal ring fixed to the table.
Moments ago, panic had twisted her features into something almost unrecognisable.
Then came the realisation. That very moment every soul eventually reaches.
The crossing had already begun.
The first thing she remembered was the silence as she hit the cold waters.
Not the fall.
Not the impact.
Just the silence.
Grief. Disappointment. Betrayal.
Every second as she sank further was deafening in an unexplained manner, as it welcomed the pressure and weight to fill her body. Each passing moment slowly presses in from all sides, thick and absolute, swallowing every sound she tries to make.
"No… Not like this... it was not supposed to be like this…."
Then—
Like shards of ice pierce into the skin. Raw. Biting into the nerves to the bone.
Everything hits all at once.
The water closes over her like a second skin, heavy and immediate. Her body tries to react before her mind does, limbs thrashing against a weight she cannot see, cannot fight.
The more she struggles, the more her lungs burn in despair.
Panic.
Water rushes in. Swallowing her whole into the dark deep.
The waters seek her soul. Bitter. Wrong. Demented.
Read it? Tell Melissa what you thought — she reads every single one. 🐝