Chapter 4
Chand ripped himself free from Sandra’s grasp and ran. I watched his silhouette disappear
around the corner.
Why was he panicking? To him, I had only ever been a distraction. Right?
I slipped out through the fire escape, my breath unsteady. Down on the street, a crowd had gathered.
Chand shoved his way through, but when he saw the girl on the pavement, blood on her face, body still, he just stood there. He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
From a distance, she looked like me. Same long hair. Same frame. For a long time, he did nothing. Then, hesitantly, he crouched down, his fingers trembling as he wiped the blood from her face.
The second he saw it wasn’t me, his legs gave out. He hit the ground hard, staring blankly.
Then, as if something clicked in his head, he suddenly scrambled up and bolted to his car, nearly tripping in his rush.
I watched him go. And in that moment, I knew, this was it. The perfect time to leave. I got in my car, taking only the essentials. Everything else, I left behind.
The city blurred past the window as I drove. When my mom picked up, her voice was warm and excited. “You’re coming home? I’ll make all your favorites!”
As I reached for my GPS, a notification popped up, an alert from my apartment’s security system. I went to close it, but my hand slipped.
The live feed opened. Chand stood at my door, hands shaking as he tried the knob over and over his breathing uneven.
He was still there when my neighbor passed by. She noticed his state, assumed something was wrong and used her spare key to let him in.
Chand hesitated in the doorway, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to step inside. His voice cracked. “Jayla? Are you here? I can explain… Just talk to me.”
Silence. Dust floated in the empty air.
He swallowed, finally forcing himself forward. The bed was neatly made. The space was untouched, like I had never been there at all.
Chand stepped inside and kicked a cardboard box near the door. It tipped over, spilling nothing but torn-up paper.
A strange chill crept over him.
Slowly, he crouched down, sifting through the shredded pieces. His hands trembled as he pieced them together, his breath growing unsteady. And then, he saw it. The letters. The ones he had
written to me.
Scattered among them was a single message in my handwriting, [Chand, we will never see each other again in this life.]
He read it. Once. Twice. Over and over, as if the words would change. The handwriting was uneven, rushed. The last few letters smudged, blurred by water stains.
His fingers curled around the paper. He grabbed his phone, dialing my number again and again.
No answer.
His jaw clenched, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. With a sharp curse, he hurled his phone at the wall. “Why won’t you just let me explain?! Why did you leave?!”
