章 138: Story 138: The Fan Spins Slowly

The ceiling fan spun lazily, casting long, slow-moving shadows on the walls. The blades creaked as they rotated, creating a rhythmic hum that filled the small, dimly lit room. Sunlight filtered through the shutters, painting lines across the cracked plaster. On the dresser, a half-empty bottle of whiskey sat next to a faded photograph of a man in a suit—his stern face staring out as if judging the scene unfolding beneath it.

Johnny lay on the bed, shirtless, boots still on, hands behind his head. His dark hair clung to his forehead with sweat, the faint scent of whiskey and cigarettes lingering in the air. He watched Maria, her back turned to him, her slender figure framed by the golden light. She stood by the window, her hand resting on the sill as if she were ready to leave but couldn't find the strength to do it.

Neither of them spoke for what felt like an eternity.