The Third Night
1088 Words
By the third time we met on that bench, it didn’t feel like an accident anymore.
I was there first that night, sitting cross-legged with my sweater sleeves pulled over my hands. The tide was lower than usual, leaving behind stretches of wet sand that reflected the moon like a cracked mirror.
I was tracing shapes in the sand with the tip of my shoe when a shadow fell over me.
“You’re early,” Arka said.
I looked up. “And you’re late.”
He sat down beside me, the camera already slung over his shoulder. “I was waiting for the stars to show up. Can’t rush them, you know.”
I smiled. “Do you always talk about the sky like it’s a person?”
He shrugged. “Maybe I just respect it more than most people.”
---
Tonight, he didn’t jump straight into conversation. Instead, he tilted his head back, looking at the faint scatter of stars overhead. “See that one?” He pointed.
I followed his finger to a small, faint star just above the horizon. “Yeah.”
“That’s yours,” he said casually, as if handing me a cup of coffee.
I blinked. “What?”
“I’m naming it after you. Rania’s Star.”
My first instinct was to laugh, but something in his voice made me stop. He wasn’t teasing.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because now, no matter where you are, you can look up and find it. It’ll always be yours.”
---
I didn’t know what to say to that. It was such a small thing, naming a star, but it felt like more than it should. Like he was giving me something to keep.
“Is that what you do with everyone you meet?” I finally asked.
“No,” he said simply, eyes still on the star. “Just you.”
I tried to hide the way my chest tightened at that.
---
The rest of the night was quieter than usual. Not awkward — just… softer. Every time I glanced at him, he was either looking at the sky or fiddling with his camera. I wondered what he saw through that lens that I couldn’t.
At one point, I asked, “Do you ever take pictures of people?”
“Sometimes,” he said. “But I like the sky better. It doesn’t fake anything. Doesn’t hide behind smiles.”
That made me pause. “Is that what you think people do? Hide?”
He gave a half-smile. “Don’t you?”
I didn’t answer.
---
When it was time to leave, we stood there for a moment, neither of us moving. The sound of the waves was louder now, rushing toward the shore like they had somewhere to be.
“Goodnight, Rania’s Star,” he said before walking away.
I didn’t know if he meant the actual star or… me.
The next morning, I woke to the sound of gulls.
It wasn’t unusual — they were always screaming at something — but today it felt sharper, like they were pulling me out of a dream I wasn’t ready to leave.
I sat up, rubbing my eyes. The hoodie was still on. I’d fallen asleep in it again.
On the table sat my phone, untouched since last night. No messages. Not from friends, not from family. The quiet should have felt normal by now, but instead it left a hollow ache in my chest.
I told myself I wasn’t thinking about him, but my eyes wandered to the window anyway, scanning the horizon for a sliver of silver lens catching the sun.
---
By mid-morning, I was in the small corner café near the harbor — the one with chipped mugs and overcaffeinated tourists. The owner, Mrs. Velasquez, knew everyone’s name in town, which made it hard to blend in.
“Rania,” she said warmly as she handed me my coffee. “You’re here early. Trouble sleeping?”
“Something like that,” I murmured.
She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Saw you walking with a young man the other night.”
My fingers tightened around the cup. “Did you?”
“Mmh. Tall, quiet. Always carrying that camera.” She studied me with sharp, knowing eyes. “You be careful with that one. He’s… different.”
Different.
The word clung to me the rest of the morning.
---
Back at my apartment, I gave in. I opened my laptop and typed his name into the search bar.
Arka.
Just that.
Predictably, nothing useful came up. Too many results, none of them him.
Then I tried “Arka photography.” This time, a few hits.
One was a blog — sparse, mostly landscapes. The photos were beautiful, but… empty. No captions, no dates, no sign of where they were taken. A few were of the sky, and I recognized them instantly. I’d been there when he’d taken them.
The most recent post was from months ago. A lone star over a black sea. The caption read only: It’s hers now.
---
I didn’t know whether to feel flattered or unsettled.
Before I could decide, my phone buzzed — an unknown number.
A text.
Bench. Tonight.
No name, but I didn’t need one.
---
That evening, I arrived before him. The sky was still fading from orange to deep indigo, and the first few stars had begun to prick through.
I sat, waiting.
But he didn’t come from the path this time. He appeared from the direction of the dunes, emerging like a shadow from the sand.
“You’re early,” he said, smiling faintly.
“So are you,” I replied, but the question burned in my throat — What were you doing over there?
I didn’t ask.
Not yet.
---
We didn’t talk much that night. He set up his camera and started shooting the horizon, but every so often, his eyes flicked toward the dunes.
I followed his gaze once, but saw nothing — just grass bending in the wind.
When we finally stood to leave, I thought I saw movement there. A figure. Small, distant, and gone before I could be sure.
Arka didn’t notice. Or maybe he did, and pretended not to.
---
Back at the path, he gave the same parting words:
“Goodnight, Rania’s Star.”
But this time, I didn’t just hear them — I heard the question underneath, the unspoken Will you still be here next time?
- Writer
