At the beginning of the week, our classroom. Jamal greeted me with a warm smile on seeing me, "Good morning."

I quickly responded, "Good morning," after hesitating for a few seconds, and walked briskly to my seat.

I didn't want to look like a coward, but neither did I feel like arguing with him early on a Monday morning. If possible I wanted to put some distance between us and not see his face for a while. Because looking at his face would remind me of that Friday night that had become a dark memory I wanted to bury as fast as possible.

Yet Jamal is a guy who at these times is oblivious to your concerns.

"Gabriella, your collar is awry, "he happily pointed out, and immediately stood before me as if it had been his place for a hundred years. He then fixed my collar with his elegant fingers."

His neck was beneath my eyes. For a moment I shut them tightly, as though I were brushing off my wandering reflections.

My collar was absolutely not awry.

"When are you visiting me next?" whispered Jamal.

He just wanted to bring Saturday's business up again.

"As brilliant as you are, after spending such a night you should be able to foresee if someone will ever come to your place again." I whispered with venom.

As far as he was concerned,

"I am free next week on Saturday evening. My father should be late on that day, too, because of a meeting of the association," He couldn't have been more nonchalant.

"Do you even think I'd say 'Yes'?" I grimaced.

"Do you even think I'd want to hear 'No'?" He smiled

"It looks like I need to be straightforward with you as you seem to get annoying when things don't go the way you expect."

I approached until we were nose to nose, and declared point-blank:

"You won't see me there a second time!"

To top off my remark, I flashed a Jamal-like smile.

"You needn't be embarrassed." However, the originator's smile was uninterrupted.

"From time to time you really behave idiotically, you know?" I said.

"Whereas you are always mealy-mouthed, right?" He spoke back. Composed.

Others looking on must have seen best friends, smiling at each other from that close distance but I felt we were like two tigers about to bite our heads off.

"Aren't Jamal and Gabriella kinda like... newly-weds...?"

And so some voiced unhappy, ill-informed comments with discontented expressions. Ola had made the newly-wed remark.

I didn't know what a baby blow fish looked like, but I figured it must be somewhat like Ola just then, scowling at me with her chin on his desk and blowing up his cheeks like a balloon.

Ola really was a peculiar guy. I reckoned there weren't many people that were that adorable when in an ill temper.

While I was happily observing the guy with a sidelong glance, Jamal said embarrassedly, "Did you hear that? Like newly-weds!"

"A bad joke indeed."

If by any chance Jamal had blushed with at least one cheek, so to speak, I might have reconsidered and I might have admitted his cute sides. Unfortunately though, Jamal Zaheer couldn't be understood that easily.

The next moment, his eyes changed to slits. The devil hath ascended to earth. In my eyes I could see a black pointed tail growing from him.

"Welcome home, darling. Would you like to take a bath? Or would you rather like... me?" Then he giggled amusedly.

To the others that didn't know his real nature, he must have looked like the purest guy who had successfully played a little prank.

"...a bad joke indeed." I said face palming.

But to me it was a nightmare in many senses. One of them being that there was that one girl that couldn't keep quiet when the topic revolved around Jamal Zaheer.

"Hey! Gabriella!"

There she stood, Tundun, with a grimace resembling the doorkeeper of hell.

"Of course it's the bath, right? You naturally go for the bath, right?"

Much to my chagrin, she was followed by a regiment of guys who were eager to support her "Say it!"

"If you do not choose the bath... you know what happens then, right?"

The group exchanged glances and then simultaneously cracked a friendly smile. They were disgusting.

"Well, as a woman it's clear what I take—"

It was up to me to choose, so what? Tundun and the others had no say about it.

"—as a woman one must take the meal, right?"

But I didn't like trouble.

"A wise choice, Gabriella" Tundun said.

"I'm so happy you understand what I mean, Tundun."

"Then let's go over there and hear what you have to tell us, shall we?" Tundun beckoned.

"...There are no words to express my current feelings appropriately." I felt tired already, and the day just started.

This marked the start of a lot of wasted time, during which I was going to be questioned whether I dated Jamal and during which I would have to assure them over and over that that was not the case.

Good grief, they hadn't a clue. They could only act that frivolously because they didn't know about the murder plan.

And without an inkling of my troubles, Jamal waved his hand cheerfully.

"Goodbye, darling!"

Therefore I gave him an appropriate answer. "I'll be late tonight, honey." Annoyance drove me to it.

I am sure that a blanket of grief must have enveloped me as I was led away like a low-grade employee who must obey his boss.

—At the time, I had already noticed that an usually noisy classmate of mine, Ola, had been silent the whole time.

But I had no time to worry about her because I had my hands full dealing with Jamal, Tundun and the rest.

Well, it's hard to say if dealing with him then would have changed what happened after school.

The next day. It had been raining continuously since morning.

My feelings towards him were swaying in an unsure state. Too impure to be called love, yet too strong to be called interest.

It was the first time in my life that I was overcome by emotions. But if this was the price I had to pay for my autonomous mode of life, I was ready to accept and deal with that discomfort.

Of course, it was no doubt the murder plan that put a brake on my feelings.

I am most definitely not averse to mysterious guys, but even I feel a tiny bit uneasy when it comes to endorsing a secret that exceeds the bounds of good sense.

Murder being one example thereof.

It is not easy to accept a person who may have killed someone. Not only because of ethical reasons, but also because one rebels instinctually, fearing that one might become the next target.

In any event, in fact there was a break-out solution.

It was simple actually: I just had to go ask him directly whether or not he had killed anyone.

If he answered "No", I could dismiss my exaggerated ideas with a sneer, send the crumpled murder plan flying to the burnable trash and obtain an everyday life that was just a bit better than the status quo: a thrilling one including Jamal Zaheer.

Wasn't that sufficient to justify the venture? Asking for more would be greedy. There's always a straw that breaks the camel's back.

However, what if the answer were "Yes, I have killed someone"?

I gave thought to the fact that the content of the murder plan was in line with the cause of his mother's death. Anyone, even without a tendency to fantasize like me, should, provided these two facts, come to the conclusion that the murder plan was written with the objective of killing his mother.

Moreover, it is completely natural to consider the author of the plan as the murderer as a consequence.

I dropped my gaze to my shoulder. Before my eyes and nose, there was a lock of black hair painting an elegant curve.

As if riding a roller coaster, a water drop slid along that smooth hair just to eventually arrive at its end and jump into the dark gray air.

I lost a little heart when I associated my own fate with the last moments of that water drop.

Probably noticing my gaze, "Mh?" He inclined his head slightly while wearing that caring brother-like smile of his.

"I'm drawing a little nearer. Otherwise I'll get wet."

He happily snuggled up to me as though we were a couple.

Devil that he was, he must have been enjoying frustrating me.

But there was nothing I could do about it. It was raining and mine was the only umbrella, narrowing my options to one. Thus the distance between us was shorter than usual.

I suspected, however, that he was hiding a collapsible one in his bag. I couldn't believe that a forward thinker like him would forget his umbrella.

We had ended that day's work and were walking toward the nearby station. Seeing him to the bus station after work had been a regular task of mine since the day he told us of his potential stalker.

After that night, Jamal had told me, "I felt really safe when I was seen home by you. If it's not a bother, would you mind accompanying me all the time?". It was weird because one would naturally assume it should be the guy that would escort a lady to safety and not the other way around.

Naturally, I had immediately refused, "No, because it is," but sadly we had been in the staffroom just then, which had instead gained me the bother of turning the whole staff, led by Emma, against me: "Come on, do it!"

I had not escaped without begging off with, "Please, let's compromise with seeing him to the station!" It was truly incomprehensible.

However, life sometimes takes an unexpected turn. To my great joy, the way to the station was ideal for talking privately with her.

I waited for the moment the traffic light turned red. "When I watched the news yesterday, I started wondering—," I began, "—why do people kill?"

Actually, I hadn't watched the news the day before. But well, there was bound to have been at least one murder, considering the current state of society.

"Oh, you're quite the philosopher today, aren't you? I like your contemplative face!" he said in a voice that was strangely wet, as if not only his hair but also his voice had been hit by the rain. "Is it because of the rain? One always gets into a somewhat sentimental mood when it is raining, don't you agree? It gets you in the mood to read books you usually wouldn't."

"Indeed, if I am acting unusual today, then it might really be because of the rain."

His words gave me the hunch that I hadn't chosen the day by chance, but because of the bad weather.

"Anyway, would you mind sharing your thoughts?"

Our background music was composed of the rain drops lapping against my umbrella, the watery sound of tires on the asphalt and the blood circulating through my veins.

"Well—"

Jamal brushed away the black hair that had stuck to his forehead, releasing a nice scent.

"—Because they feel like it, perhaps." His voice was indifferent.

"...Because they feel like it? That's all? Do you claim that that's reason enough to kill someone?" I was offended by his obviously negligent answer.

"That's not it." He said.

"What do you mean? Unless you elaborate some, a mere mortal like me can't comprehend your genius, I'm afraid." I said dryly.

"Oh don't be angry. I'm not joking, really. I do think so!" He shrugged his shoulders slightly upon noticing my sidelong glare at him.

"You see, I think that in most cases the problem could actually be solved without resorting to murder, for example if it's a grudge or a fatal tangle of jealousy. Of course there are exceptions like life insurance murder."

The cars stopped, allowing people to cross the road. A swarm of umbrellas was set in motion, leaving behind only the pink umbrella under which we stood.

"Don't you think that there are numerous ways of taking revenge or venting a grudge which are more effective than killing?"

I had trouble thinking of one, but I had no trouble assuming that Jamal knew of some.

"Every murderer has to atone appropriately for his misdeeds, be it through the law or social sanctions. There is the saying 'Live by the sword, die by the sword'. I think that applies to murder as well. Thus it is a foolish and careless method and nothing more in my opinion. There are probably many ways to call it, 'fury' or 'impulse' for instance, but it sums up to a matter of mood—a matter of 'feeling like it'—for me," he said, then added, "I consider all irrational actions as a matter of mood."

"As you say, murder might indeed be a nonsensical conduct."

I concurred with his opinion. I was even moved. But that was probably also the reason that queerly comfortable moment seemed a bit off-kilter to me.

At first glance, his well-reasoned speech made him seem like an upright model student. However, upon further thought, he was only really talking about the means of reaching a goal.

Put in a nutshell, he had only argued about the effectiveness of murder as a method.

Didn't that mean that he was not absolutely disapproving of murder?

"But as you admitted yourself, there are exceptions, right?" From my diagonal angle, I could not see all of his face. Only his mouth was barely in view.

"...For example?"

And that mouth of his was smiling.

There we stood together under a round, small umbrella, surrounded by a massive wall of rain and night.

Even though the town was filled with all kinds of sounds, painted in various colors and packed with people, I felt somewhat separated from everything, as if we were alone in an elevator at midnight.

"For example, if you were able to kill completely unnoticed."

The cause of that phenomenon was simply me: I had locked out the world.

At that moment, Zaheer Jamal was the totality of my world.

"Could you be a little more specific? Your twisted thoughts are too complicated for an honest person like me to understand, I'm afraid."

He affected a shrug, teasing me.

"I am talking of the perfect crime, as a third party in the know would call it if a premeditated murder was deemed an accident by all the world, rather than the crime it is."

When I was done with my explanation, Jamal answered, giving his full concentration.

"—Indeed, we need to draw a line between unplanned murder and a perfect crime, which you can certainly not commit just by feeling like it. You have to keep a cool head and be rational if you aim for perfection."

The focus of our discussion was fully and solely on utility and efficiency—ethics and morals were not under discussion.

"But our country's police are respected worldwide, aren't they? I hear scientific crime detection is making rapid progress, too, compared to the past. Isn't the perfect crime impossible in fact?"

He smiled as if to imply that it was all just a pipe dream.

It was then that I finally found a possible reason for the awkward feeling I had sensed earlier:

Our conversation was clearly too unromantic for two youths clinging together in the midst of the street under one umbrella. And yet there I was, absorbed in it, which was most likely because that's the kind of person I am.

The death or life of someone unrelated is of no concern to me. At most I would be curious about the death of such a person. No, my only response would be curiosity.

I was very well aware of my slightly unconventional sense.

But what about him?

Would the renowned, upright Zaheer Jamal really allow such an immoral conversation? For someone as tolerant and ever-smiling as her, talking about it with me without showing the faintest displeasure should have been no problem, even if she had to hide her disfavor.

However, it didn't look like that to me.

How so? Well, because I felt that, just like me, he—enjoyed immoral topics to the fullest.

"Okay, but then as a purely hypothetical question—"

I carefully touched the left pocket of my shirt from above. Inside it was a four-times folded scrap of paper.

"—what would you do if there was a plan that made the perfect crime possible?"

I always carried the murder plan around with me.

The next moment, he gave a smile that reminded me of the sound of a bell.

"A good question. Indeed, I might consider murder as a means of achieving an objective if I were able to commit the perfect crime. But in my case," he said with a mischievous, crescent moon smile very much to my liking, "I would never base such a conduct on a written plan that might remain as proof later on. It would be ridiculous if a plan that makes the perfect crime possible caused it to fail. I think a plan should only and entirely be in one's head."

He pondered for a few moments, humming, and then added, "...if you ask me and think simply about it, it doesn't matter whether it is planned or just a product of coincidences. After all, it's a perfect crime if no one notices your willful action, right?"

Something unfolded before my eyes that exceeded my expectations. It almost went so far that I suspected I was dreaming while awake.

"It is entirely the result that determines whether a crime is perfect or not. However perfect a plan is, it's over as soon as someone else takes note. Put the other way, however 'flimsy' a plan is, it is a perfect crime as long as no one takes note."

Suddenly, I noticed that I was shivering.

"But don't you agree that mistakes are inherent if a human takes part? Humans are imperfect, after all. It's the imperfect human that makes the mistake in the very end. So, eventually I think it is the executor who holds the final key."

Not because I was cold. Not because the weather was getting dreadful. Not because he scared me.

"To sum up my thoughts, the most important condition for a perfect crime is neither a perfect plan nor a perfect execution, but a perfect human—"

I was probably trembling with excitement. Because I seemed to be extremely agitated.

He chuckled.

"Laughable, isn't it? That's just another impracticable theory on paper; perfect humans do not exist after all. Well, of course the ones who are to investigate the crime are human, too, so there are mistakes on that side as well. But still I think that a perfect crime is infeasible unless you come upon a remarkable succession of coincidences."

SoICantHaveKilledMyMotherRightGabriella?

Perhaps my warped personality was just playing with me, but I couldn't help thinking that that was what he proclaimed.

I shook my head strongly.

"Highly doubtful."

I turned towards him and looked into his cold eyes. "Why?" He asked, giving a moon-like smile again, while reflecting me on his retina.

"You lied. You claimed there were no perfect humans in the world—but I know of at least one in my vicinity."

He didn't ask "Who?" but only nodded briefly, "I see."

...he got me there. That way it was only funnier!

It was all Jamal's fault that I was more talkative than usual and felt my heart throb with excitement.

Why were the thrilling conversations with him so amusing?

Perhaps I was simply drawing pleasure from talking about immoral topics—but what if the other party hadn't been him? Would it have been just as enjoyable?

On the one hand, I tended to be annoyed by his behavior, but on the other hand, there seemed to be some anticipation of associating with his deep within my heart.

So did it even matter what we would talk about? By associating with him, wasn't I just seeking a thrill that hadn't existed in my previous everyday life because of the murder plan? Wasn't that the reason why I—unconsciously—kept on walking a tightrope without getting to the point?

Wasn't I afraid of awaking and being drawn back to the boring reality if I confronted him with the murder plan?

There was no sense of justice in my actions. There was only interest, curiosity and the desire to learn more about him.

So all I wanted might have been a link to the fascinating person named Jamal Zaheer.

However, at the same time I also wanted to make sure whether he really had used the murder plan to kill her mother. I contradicted myself.

—Yes. I was about to make the next step towards him.

I was craving knowledge of a face of his that no one knew.

The cars started moving again.

The rain still showed no sign of weakening and hit the asphalt in a steady rhythm. The crush of people heading towards the station, however, had become sparse as the temperature dropped in town.

I recovered my breath silently so that he wouldn't notice my growing excitement. Then I slowly led my fingers through between my buttons, reaching into my inside pocket.

—I had made up my mind. I intended to ask her directly about the murder plan.

But then, all of a sudden, Jamal embraced me from the front. I was caught with my fingers still in my pocket, unable to take them out.

"...I'm cold," murmured Jamal along with a white sigh before I could raise my voice in surprise.

His upward-glance was watery, his black hair soaked, but he had grown cold indeed.

It was my mistake to have him talk that long in a wet state, but neither was I crazy nor so experienced in love matters as to hug a guy with all the eyes of the town upon us just because of that.

I put my hands on his shoulders, wanting to release myself from his embrace, but he immediately shook his head, stubbornly saying, "No!" and hugged me even stronger.

It was then that I felt a vibration at Jamal's chest which were pressed against me.

"...what a shame for the good mood."

While making a regretful face, he took his mobile phone out of his chest pocket. It was quite ticklish when he operated it at zero distance.

I slid my hand out of my jacket and tucked it into a pocket of my trousers. My excitement was entirely spoiled by that intrusive phone call.

"...Yes, Zaheer speaking."

His expression became earnest promptly after he had begun the conversation.

"...my father? No, I haven't heard of anything. He was at home when I left for school this morning."

As they exchanged words, his expression got darker and darker. I couldn't perceive what the caller was saying, but it was obviously not good news.

"...Yes. I understand. I'll return. Yes. If I find out something I will immediately give you a call."

He cut the connection and let out a tired sigh.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

He gazed at me with watery eyes for a few seconds, hesitating.

"...my father was absent without notice from the gym he owns at" he replied at last, "He would never do that. Thus, someone of the staff was worrying about him and gave me a call."

"Maybe he's sick?" I voiced a cheap word of consolation.

"I wonder... he told me that he has tried calling our home number several times. Of course, he tried his mobile as well. But it didn't connect, so he called me, his son since I might know something..."

I let out a sigh. Somehow I sensed that nothing but trouble was waiting for me.

"Let's hurry home."

I grabbed his cold hand firmly and walked towards the station, pulling him behind me.

"...eh?" I heard his confused voice from diagonally behind.

"Seems like you're in for some trouble, so I won't stop you any longer and go home," I said quickly. "—Saying that would have suited me better, I guess... But seeing you make such a face, how should I leave you to your own devices? Besides, I don't even want to think about Emma's reaction if I left you at this point."

To my plain remark, he replied: "This warped side of your personality is so lovely."

I heard his pleased voice from diagonally behind.

Thinking that he was teasing me, I promptly searched for a nice objection. However, when he whispered, "...Thanks," at my ear and I felt his freezing fingers that held firmly to me, I became unable to complain.

Not a soul was to be seen in the dark and cold residential area. The ceaseless rain falling upon us conjured up a sense of isolation in me, notwithstanding that Jamal was by my side.

We hurried up the long, steep stairs, at which end thathouse awaited us—with its very unique geometrical design that made it stand out from the rest of the rich neighborhood.

Jamal had tried countless times calling his home phone and her father's mobile phone on the way, but the only voice he got to hear was the response of the network provider. Because of pressing restlessness, I suspect, I heard none of his easygoing remarks anymore by the time we reached our destination.

Pathetic though it was, I found myself unable to find the right words to console him.

I followed Jamal through the entrance. There was an absolute silence inside.

The end of the long corridor blended with the darkness. The dire situation made it seem to me as if we had lost our way into an eerie haunt of devils.

When I took off my loafers at the entrance, he said, "...you'll catch cold. Wait a moment, I'll get you a towel."

While swiftly proceeding through the dark corridor, Jamal confidently flipped several switches on the wall, filling the house gradually with light.

I slowly walked through the lit corridor to the living room, where I started to wait for him.

I gazed at the arrangement which had remained unchanged from last time, and as it had then, the tranquility made my ears sensitive. Thinking back, we were alone that night.

So this time we were probably alone, too.

No one else was here. That's what my intuition told me the moment I had made my first step into the building.

Well, of course it was possible that her father had collapsed somewhere in the house, but judging from what Jamal said when he returned, "When I went to fetch the towel, I also peeked into several rooms, but I didn't find him. He might not be here...," his father was absent.

"I just hope he hasn't been involved in some accident..."

I smiled at the pondering Jamal.

"But maybe it's not such a big deal and he just didn't feel like going to work because of all the rain today, you know." I said.

"You mean he simply ditched work?" He asked. "That's unlike him, he takes his gyming exercise religiously."

"Well, I, for one, often seriously consider escaping from school or work and going out somewhere nice." I found my own remark laughable.

"I hope so." He said. But thanks to his aughing faintly, I was spared from self-loathing.

"Perhaps there's a message for you somewhere? A note or something that says where he is and what he's doing?" I suggested.

"You're right. I'll take a look."

Jamal nodded cheerfully at my suggestion. Apparently, he had regained her usual composure.

I unobtrusively followed Jamal into the kitchen.

As much as I felt bad about taking advantage of his worries about his father's safety, I certainly did not intend to miss out on a chance to openly search his home.

An elegant system kitchen with a yellow theme filled my view.

While Jamal was inspecting the kitchen, I looked around without anything better to do and took one of his mother's cookbooks to flick through it.

I didn't actually hope to find a message. Would be nice if there was one. Personally, I hoped much more to find something related to the murder plan.

For example—a bit of new information about the plan.

I was aware that I was being indiscreet. However, in all honesty I was fond of that kind of mood. I was enjoying a thrill comparable to detective work or exploring a cave for a treasure.

"It looks like there is nothing here. Maybe in his room...?" said Jamal gloomily and left the kitchen, wordlessly followed by me.

He opened one of the doors alongside the corridor. The instant the door went open, I could smell the overly sweet scent of perfume.

The walls were covered with white wallpaper, a curtain decorated with lace, a dressing table against the wall and a dresser that was laden with countless makeup goods. It was obviously the room of his father.

"You get on well with your father, don't you?" I asked.

"Yes, certainly not badly." He said.

On the nightstand by the bed, which had a flower pattern, there were several picture frames, each of which depicted Jamal and his father.

"Did your parents sleep separately?"

There was only one bed in the room - a bed for one person only.

"I have always thought this way was natural, but is it more common that spouses sleep in one room, after all? Well, it probably is. Perhaps they did so because both of them had to work, and I guess it was more convenient this way due to those circumstances." He said.

"At my place, both the parents sleep together, whether peacefully or not I couldn't say, in a king-size bed. But judging from the 'I woke up in the middle of the night because you kept stealing my blanket', which I often hear my mother shout in the early morning, I guess they get on well." I said.

He flashed a warm smile while listening to me. "You have fantastic parents."

Therefore, I just answered expressionlessly, "They're normal."

"I don't want to stay too long in a man's room," I said and left the room quickly to wait in the corridor. I was merely annoyed by the overly-strong perfume.

I asked Jamal , who was searching the area around the dressing table in the meanwhile: "Where is your mother's room?"

I can't say I had no ulterior motive.

"You can find it just on the opposite side." He said, still searching around.

Neither can I deny that this was a pretext to explore her house on my own.

"We should probably search separately. I'll look through the room of your mother." But it's also true that I wanted to do a good deed, much as it didn't suit me, and help him out at least a little after seeing her behaving with such maturity.

"That would be a great help. But her room might be a little dusty. It has been left untouched since his passing...," said Jamal apologetically.

"I don't mind," I replied and headed towards the door opposite.

My first impression was that it looked like a library.

All of the books that covered one wall of the room dealt with construction, which I noticed when I fixed my eyes on their spines. On the shiny silver desk was a large pile of books and a desktop PC. Both sides of the desk were equipped with a cordless telephone each. I figured that this room served as both his library and working area.

As Jamal had warned me, my steps left behind footprints outlined in dust on the floor. There was also a lot of dust on the window frames.

I stopped. I had registered a sound.

According to Jamal , that room was supposed to be untouched. But still a subtle sound resembling the buzz of a mosquito reached my ears.

It was the sound of a small fan.

I stood before the silver desk. The PC seemed to be turned on, though in sleep mode. I pressed a random key.

"—Jamal ."

The instant I saw the display, I called his name.

He then came from the neighboring room and, squinting one eye, asked, "Mm?".

"This," I said, pointing at the screen.

Indeed, his father had left a note with a message.

"That's...," he muttered, surprised, and kept silent, staring at the screen, as though time had frozen. The only sounds in the room was the rain hitting the window and the regular buzzing of the computer fan.

At the time, I could do nothing but watch his beautiful yet so sorrowful face from the side.

His mother's name was typed in the "notepad" on the screen, it started with;

«I'm sorry»

On that day, I didn't get home until past four at night in a police car.