Read: Under the Orange Tree – Sample Chapters
Read the Beginning of Under the Orange Tree
Under the Orange Tree is the first book in the Humanity Trilogy. What begins as a dark, rainy night in Helsinki quickly unfolds into a global, emotional, and philosophical journey.
This is not just a crime novel. It is a book about identity, fear, and the decisions we make when everything is at stake.
Below, you can read the beginning — including the AI Master Foreword and the first chapters — for free.
Under the Orange Tree
Lilo Thurman
The First Part of the Humanity Trilogy
This book is a work of fiction.
Ⓒ2025 Lilothurman.com
The prologue of the Humanity Trilogy can be found at the end of the trilogy. Thank you if you make it that far—I love you!
This book is dedicated to…
The Humanity Trilogy is dedicated to the song Blank Space (songwriters: Taylor Swift / Max Martin / Johan Shellback).
The parts of this trilogy:
Part 1: Under the Orange Tree. This is a different kind of crime novel. The first book introduces social media star Katariina and her identical twin sister, Liina, a psychiatrist. The theme of this book is racism, exploring, among other things, why fear must never be allowed to take control.
Part 2: Run, Wild Child. This installment focuses on religion and how brutally it can shape a person’s life. In the name of faith, it is often another human being who inflicts harm. Just like in the first book, the second part of the trilogy features victims—often those from the developing world.
Part 3: If You Had Looked at Me. The final part of the trilogy is about love. How far can love push a person? The consequences can be catastrophic, yet one cannot help but love. And on the other hand, love has an extraordinary creative force. This book is a tribute to love—one that touches birth, death, and ultimately, all of life.
“You may notice that I have not mentioned my personality. That is because my personality has completely changed. Or rather, I changed it entirely. I invented [], my alter ego.”
(Neil Strauss: The Game – Penetrating the Secret Society of Pickup Artists, translation by ChatGPT)
Some more sensitive readers may find certain scenes in this book challenging, but in a work that explores humanity, the uncomfortable aspects of human nature cannot be ignored.
Descriptions of the characters in this book can be found at the end of the novel. Feel free to refer back to them if needed.
Foreword – AI Master Version
Stories have a way of growing and evolving—just like people. This version of The Humanity Trilogy has not only been written but also reconstructed, refined, and expanded with the help of AI. However, AI has not written this story for me. It has served as a structural guide, a tool to bring forth new characters, but at its core, everything still originates from a human source: the heart of the story, its message, and its emotions.
Everything in this book is fiction. The idea simply took flight. And there is something deeply human about that—the way our minds can soar, connect perspectives, and create new worlds. That is humanity.
But ultimately, my most important message is hope. We can tell the stories we want and make them real. Human history is filled with choices, and every moment is a new opportunity to make better ones. This story is one of those choices—fictional, yet perhaps it has something to say about reality as well.
February 21, 2025
Lilo Thurman
1. Shadows in the Rain
Helsinki, Friday the 13th
The rain lashed against the cobblestone street, cold water streaming down Katariina’s face, plastering her hair to her temples. She ran, her heart pounding, breath coming in heavy gasps. The streets were empty, but the feeling wouldn’t leave her.
Someone was following her.
She glanced quickly over her shoulder. No one. And yet—she could hear it. The silent presence, the footsteps that stopped when she did.
Her fingers tightened around the yellowed letter. The paper was soaked, ink smudged, but the words were still there, hidden, waiting to reveal a truth she wasn’t ready to face.
Liina had been right. The time had come to settle the past.
Katariina spotted the archway ahead. The door was ajar—inviting, threatening. She hesitated for a moment. But then, a new sound—water splashing under a footstep behind her—propelled her forward. She dashed inside and slammed the gate shut.
She leaned against its cold metal, her breath ragged, chest rising and falling.
And then she heard them.
Footsteps.
They stopped just outside the gate.
A shadow in the darkness. Too close.
What did they want from her?
**
Thunder tore open the sky. Lightning split the night, casting the city in a blinding flash, as if illuminated by a ghost’s breath. By the time the distant rumble reached her ears, it was already too late.
**
Jukka-Pekka Ansakoski stepped out of the Finnish Democratic Party’s office, glanced at the sky, and pulled up the collar of his coat against the rain. He muttered something under his breath, deep in thought about the day’s events.
The shadow behind him moved before he had time to react.
A heavy blow struck the back of his head.
A bolt of lightning flashed in his consciousness.
Around him, there was only rain and the darkness that washed everything away.
**
Katariina pressed herself against the stone wall, rain masking her breath.
Somewhere close by, she heard a loud thud—an impact, the unmistakable sound of a body hitting the ground.
Every instinct in her told her to stay still. But at the same time, an overwhelming need to see gripped her. She peered cautiously out from the archway. The street was empty—almost.
She saw a man collapsing, another figure standing over him, concealed by the shadows.
Katariina’s breath caught in her throat. She didn’t know who they were, but something told her that tonight, something irreversible had happened.
And now she knew too much.
**
It was impossible to tell how much time had passed.
When Ansakoski regained consciousness, he realized he was lying face down on a chair. The herringbone-patterned parquet floor told him he was still inside the party office.
The room was silent. Only the distant growl of thunder and the rhythmic patter of rain against the window filled the space.
Somewhere in the darkness, something metallic clinked faintly.
Ansakoski lifted his head. His skull throbbed, and the taste of blood filled his mouth. He tried to move, but something held him in place.
His hands and feet were bound together with zip ties.
Questions swirled in his mind, but there were no answers. What the hell had happened? Why was this happening?
He tried to call out, but only a strangled groan escaped his throat.
A figure stepped out from the shadows.
Tall. Dark. Watching him with an unnerving stillness.
Who was this man? What did he want?
Ansakoski’s gaze fell on a device next to the stranger. A machine, old and rusted, with thick cables snaking from it like stretched-out boa constrictors. At the ends of the cables, two metallic rods gleamed ominously.
Panic coiled in his chest.
He needed to understand. He needed to negotiate. If he could figure out why this was happening, maybe he could get out of it alive.
The figure took a step closer. Beneath the mask, two black, unreadable eyes glinted in the dim light.
”Let me go,” Ansakoski tried to command, but his voice wavered, swallowed by fear.
The figure didn’t react.
Ansakoski’s breathing grew heavier. ”Who are you? What the hell is this?”
The man bent down, leaning closer.
”Who else knows?”
Ansakoski’s throat went dry.
The man reached for something at his belt—a thin, glinting blade flashing in the storm’s light.
Ansakoski swallowed, but his voice failed him.
No one outside these walls would hear his first scream.
”You’ll get nothing from me,” Ansakoski spat, his saliva mixing with blood.
Pain ripped through him.
The blade traced a thin, searing line across his arm.
”You talk, or you die,” the voice was calm.
Ansakoski clenched his jaw, holding out as long as he could.
But in the end, his breath shuddered.
”Liina,” he whispered. ”Liina Heikkilä… she knows.”
The figure nodded slowly.
”Please,” Ansakoski tried in English. But it meant nothing.
Cold sweat trickled down his forehead. Panic tightened in his chest. He felt the zip ties digging into his wrists as he struggled uselessly against them.
His mind screamed for logic, for control, but nothing made sense.
If he could just get some information—some clue about his captor—then maybe, later, someone could make them pay. Maybe this could be fixed. Everything could always be fixed. With money.
Suddenly, the figure turned.
And for the first time, Ansakoski felt sure—he was smiling behind that mask.
The man pulled a phone from his pocket and pressed Ansakoski’s fingertip against the sensor.
After a few seconds, he raised the device, pointed it at Ansakoski’s bloodied, terror-stricken face, and took a picture.
Is that what this was about?
Sick.
Then, he slipped the phone back into his pocket and stepped aside.
Behind him, something else lurked in the darkness.
A rusted, terrifying machine.
Please, let it just be a threat.
The man grabbed Ansakoski’s clothes and ripped his pants down, exposing his lower body. Cold air stung his skin.
Ansakoski struggled. He tried to scream, to thrash, but there was nothing he could do.
From the corner of his eye, he saw the man reaching for the cables.
Stay calm. Think.
There had to be a way out.
Rage, desperation, logic—nothing helped.
A sharp, excruciating pain tore through him.
He howled, but it was a pathetic, muffled sound.
The rod was inside him.
Tears burned his eyes.
I can’t die. Not now.
His children were still young. He had promised he wouldn’t leave them.
The second rod was shoved into his mouth.
The metal scraped against his teeth, forced deep into his throat.
Ansakoski’s eyes widened as he saw the man’s fingers reach for the switch.
The last thing he felt was the electricity tearing through his body.
His mouth opened in a silent scream. His pupils dilated. His last thoughts reflected in his dying gaze.
The figure watched him for a moment in silence.
Then, he pulled out his phone, took one last picture, and immediately uploaded it.
”This is a warning—to all of you.”
The whisper barely broke the room’s eerie quiet.
Then, the man walked away, leaving nothing but silence in the party office.
**
SOCIAL MEDIA SEGMENT: The First Post
📱 @J-P.Ansakoski (official account)
🕒 20:37
💬 ”I have committed my sins, and now I am paying for them. History is eternal, and blood washes away the lies of the past.”
📷 [Image: Ansakoski bound, bloodstained, terror in his eyes.]
🔁 Shared 12,489 times ❤️ 32,947 likes
💬 Comments:
– 🧑💻 @Anonymous247: ”This is fake. No way it’s real.”
– 🔥 @JusticeRising: ”Good! One less rat in the pile!”
– ⚠️ @HelsinkiPolice: ”This post is part of an ongoing criminal investigation. Do not spread misinformation.”
– 🤯 @MediaWatch: ”WHAT THE HELL??!! Is he still alive at this point?”
– 🔺 @DeepTruth: ”This is not the only one. The next name is already on the list. This is just the beginning.”
👀 View more replies (1092)
Join the conversation using #Ansakoski.
2. The Darkening Horizon
Mediterranean Sea
The sun’s rays played on dark, salt-covered skin, sticking to the ship’s rusty deck. The waves lifted and lowered the boat, as if cradled by the hand of a giant.
The skyscrapers of Tripoli had long since shrunk into a bluish-gray line on the horizon. Behind it, their entire past lives remained.
Ebrima forced a smile onto his face. Everything is fine. Everything is fine, he repeated to himself, but his shoulders were tense, his breathing shallow. He avoided looking anyone in the eye. Fear was contagious.
”The Mediterranean is a grave.”
Ali’s words echoed in his mind, though he tried to push them away. Waves crashed against the hull, each sway a warning of how quickly the sea could swallow them. But it wasn’t autumn. The sky was clear, the air calm.
Smoke puffed from the boat’s chimney, dissolving into the wind like morning mist over the fields of Maiduguri. The captain chewed khat in silence, steering the boat with an expressionless face.
Everything is fine.
They had a new beginning ahead of them.
Ebrima closed his eyes. He tried to escape his past, but the images refused to leave him. His heart pounded too fast. He began to sing in his mind—loudly, as if trying to drown out everything else.
L’abe igi orombo
N’ibe l’agbe nsere wa
Inu wa dun, ara wa ya
L’abe igi orombo
(Under the orange tree, we play and dance, we are happy, we are excited, under the orange tree.)
The Mediterranean whispered a warning.
Something snapped deep in the hull.
The sound was faint, but it was enough.
The steady hum of the engine cut off abruptly, like a severed artery. For a moment, there was only silence. Then, the screams began.
Ebrima’s eyes flew open. People were panicking. The boat had turned sideways, no smoke rising from the chimney. Waves sloshed over the railing, dumping cold water onto the deck in heavy bursts.
”We’re adrift,” someone said tensely.
The captain hunched over the engine, but there was nothing he could do. The boat drifted helplessly in the vast, empty blue.
”Hold on!”
The shout was swallowed by the storm.
The boat rocked dangerously. Ebrima clung to the railing with both hands, but his gaze landed on a small vessel in the distance—the one that had left Tripoli alongside them, now tossed uncontrollably by the waves.
”Forget it,” Mazi said. ”We have to save ourselves first.”
Ebrima swallowed hard. This wasn’t just about his own survival. He couldn’t abandon the others.
”We have to help them,” he said.
The captain cursed under his breath but nodded. ”Fine. But if we die, it’s on you.”
Ebrima already knew that.
The sky darkened. Clouds cast shadows over the sea, raindrops piercing the water’s surface like needles.
”Stay put!”
Someone shouted, but no one listened. People bailed water with plastic bottles, but each wave brought more.
”Help, this boat is sinking!”
Water was already at their knees.
”Shut up!”
Panic thickened like sea fog. Every wave eroded their hope.
Then the boat tipped sharply.
Water crashed onto the deck, sweeping Ebrima off his feet. He was airborne for just a second before plunging into the sea.
He fought. Saltwater burned his throat as he coughed and gasped for air. Bodies floated around him, their faces blank, unblinking. Motionless.
Ebrima clenched his jaw. He tore the life vest off a lifeless body and let it sink beneath the surface.
He wasn’t going to die.
He had promised his Mumma.
Then he saw it.
The overturned hull of a blue boat, bobbing in the waves.
He swam toward it.
”Grab my hand!”
Mazi clung to the motor.
Ebrima swam closer and grasped the outstretched hand.
”Thank you.”
Together, they pulled themselves onto the curved hull, lying flat against the rough, barnacle-covered surface.
Night fell. The voices faded. No one screamed anymore.
The stars shone above the darkness.
Would they die here?
Then it came.
The rumble of an engine broke the silence.
Searchlights sliced through the night.
A voice boomed over a megaphone, low and distant, like a prayer drowning in the storm:
”Is there anyone alive?”
Ebrima closed his eyes.
He let go.
News Report on the Mediterranean Tragedy – The Daily Lagos
📢 @TheDailyLagos (Nigeria)
🕒 09:12
💬 ”According to the UN, yet another migrant boat has sunk in the Mediterranean. At least 47 people have been reported missing, and survivors describe harrowing experiences at sea. The international community demands action, but no concrete decisions have been made. #Mediterranean #MigrantCrisis”
🔁 Shared 7,582 times ❤️ 15,943 likes
💬 Comments:
– 🌍 @HumanRightsNow: ”Another tragedy that could have been prevented. Europe washes its hands.”
– 🚨 @NavyWatch: ”There are still survivors at sea! Where is the international aid?”
– ❌ @NationalFront: ”What if these people just didn’t leave in the first place?”
– 🕊️ @RefugeeSupport: ”There is still hope – let’s save as many as we can.”
– 🇳🇬 @ChukwudiObasi: ”How many more will die before African leaders do something? We need to protect our own people!”
– 🇳🇬SSS @MamaNgozi: ”My son left last year. He never returned. I can’t bear to read these news reports anymore.”
🚨 Emergency in the Mediterranean 🚨
So far, [X] migrants have drowned trying to escape persecution and poverty. 🌊💔 How many more before the world reacts?
#HumanRights #Mediterranean #StopTheDrowning 🛑🚢
👀 View more replies (1345)
3. Colors That Speak
The bristles of the brush dragged glossy wounds across the canvas, like cuts deepening with every stroke, forming a figure caught somewhere between dream and reality.
She felt the roughness of the layered paint under her fingertips. She had been doing this for so long. Why did this figure always return to her paintings?
Katariina was curious to see what would reveal itself. She couldn’t force it out, but she knew it would come in time. Or would it?
She stood in the middle of her living room, brush in hand, but the colors refused to settle onto the canvas as she wanted them to. She had started the painting weeks ago, but something about it felt off—unfinished.
She added another layer of paint. But even as the color deepened, the truth remained hidden. She was never sure when a painting was truly done—or if it ever could be.
She pulled a long stroke of deep red, but the color felt too strong. With a sigh, she set the brush down on the palette. Something inside her was restless, as if her subconscious was trying to tell her something she wasn’t yet able to understand.
Stepping back, she examined the work. The figure on the canvas had indistinct features, but there was depth in its eyes—like they were watching her from beyond the past. Her fingers skimmed lightly over the surface of the paint.
Who was this?
Why did they keep appearing in her work, again and again?
She tilted her head, studying the painting, and squeezed more white onto her palette. It would soften the image, covering the background landscape with snow.
Just as she was about to twist the cap back onto the tube, her phone buzzed, pulling her out of her thoughts.
Katariina hesitated for a moment before wiping the paint from her fingers and picking up the phone.
Liina.
She smiled as she saw the caller’s name and quickly called her sister back.
“Hey, sis,” Katariina chirped.
“Is everything okay?” Liina asked. Her tone was light, but there was something careful about it—like she was trying to hide real concern.
“Of course it is,” Katariina reassured her. “Don’t worry about us.”
She glanced at Tumppi, curled up on the sofa. The boy looked relaxed, but she wasn’t sure how much he really understood about everything happening around them.
“Good. Well, is it okay if I stay here overnight? I’ll come pick up Tumppi first thing in the morning.”
“Yeah, no rush. We’ll be fine,” Katariina assured her.
Of course, they’d be fine. But if Liina wanted to stress about it, that was her business. She should just focus on her Mehdi—that’s why she had left Tumppi with her in the first place.
After saying goodbye to her sister, Katariina stayed in place, watching Tumppi thoughtfully.
What should they do?
Maybe he could watch a movie while she got some work done. Check her messages, at least.
“Hey, Tumppi, you’re staying over at my place tonight,” she said with a smile.
Tumppi glanced at her questioningly, then turned his attention back to his phone.
Everyone could be exactly who they wanted to be.
Painting would have to wait.
It was time for something else.
Katariina grabbed her phone from the table.
A few likes, no messages.
On impulse, she posted a promo to her story:
Monday—Katariina Heikkilä LIVE: The Future of Health Technology.
Join me!
Her finger hovered over the ”Post” button for a moment.
It was just one broadcast, just one message.
But why did it feel like she was stepping into something much bigger?