UNTIL I FIND YOU AGAIN

Rain had been falling for three hours when Amara Bello decided she was done waiting for Adrian Cole. She sat alone in the corner of Bellini's Restaurant, her fingers wrapped around a glass of water she hadn't anything around her. people laughed. Glasses clinked. A waiter walked past carrying a birthday cake, and everyone at another table suddenly began singing. For a few seconds, Amara watched them with an empty smile on her face. Then she looked at her phone again. 11:47 p.m. Still nothing. No call, No message, No apology. She pressed her lips together and placed the phone facedown on the table. "Pathetic," she whispered. The word was meant for Adrian. But somehow, it hurt her more. She had spent the entire evening defending him in her head. Maybe his meeting ran late. Maybe his phone died. Maybe something important came up. Adrian was busy. Adrian had responsibilities. Adrian didn't always know how to balance work and love. She had made excuses for him so many times that sometimes she wondered if she was still in love with Adrian Cole—or simply in love with the version of him she kept inventing whenever he disappointed her. Her phone buzzed. Amara's heart jumped. She grabbed it immediately. Then her face fell. UNKNOWN NUMBER. For a moment, she considered ignoring it. But something inside her tightened. She answered. "Hello?" Silence. Amara frowned. "Hello?" A strange sound came through the speaker. Breathing. Slow. Heavy. "Who is this?" Still nothing. Then, finally, a voice spoke. "Leave the restaurant." Amara froze. The voice was low and distorted. Her fingers tightened around the phone. "Excuse me?" "You heard me." "Who is this?" "Leave. Now." Amara stood slowly from her chair. "Is this some kind of joke?" The line went dead. She stared at her phone. Her heartbeat had changed. Not faster exactly. Just... wrong. A cold feeling crawled up her back. She looked around the restaurant. A couple sat near the window, arguing quietly. An old man was eating alone. Two women were taking pictures of their food. Nothing looked unusual. Nothing looked dangerous. Yet Amara suddenly felt as though someone was watching her. She picked up her handbag. "Okay," she muttered to herself. "That's enough drama for one night." Outside, the rain was worse. The streetlights blurred against the wet road, turning everything gold and white and unreal. Amara hurried toward her car, her heels clicking against the pavement. She unlocked it and climbed inside. For a few seconds, she simply sat there. Her hands rested on the steering wheel. Her phone lay on the passenger seat. She should call Adrian. The thought appeared suddenly. But her pride stopped her. No. She was tired of chasing him. Tired of calling first. Tired of pretending she wasn't angry. If Adrian wanted to explain why he had abandoned her tonight, he knew where to find her. Amara started the car. As she pulled away from the restaurant, her phone rang again. This time, Adrian's name appeared on the screen. Her heart betrayed her immediately. She stared at the name. ADRIAN CALLING. For one second, she almost smiled. Then she remembered the empty chair across from her. She pressed ignore. The phone rang again. She ignored it. Again. Ignored. By the fourth call, her anger was beginning to crack. "Fine," she whispered. She answered. "What?" There was a pause. "Amara." The sound of his voice did something terrible to her. Deep. Tired. Familiar. "Where are you?" Adrian asked. She laughed without humour. "Interesting question. Where were you?" "Amara, where are you?" "I'm going home." "Stop the car." Her smile disappeared. "What?" "Pull over." "Adrian, I'm driving." "I know. Pull over." Something in his voice made her sit up. She glanced at the road ahead. "Why?" Another pause. Then Adrian said, "Just do it." Amara's fingers tightened around the steering wheel. "You're scaring me." "Good." "What?" "I need you to listen to me." Rain hammered against the windscreen. Amara could barely see the road. "Adrian, what is going on?" "Are you alone?" "Obviously." "Has anyone called you tonight?" Amara felt the blood leave her face. She looked at her phone on speaker. Then at the dark road. "How did you know that?" "Amara." His voice had changed. It was no longer impatient. Now it sounded afraid. "Tell me what happened." "I got a strange call." "What did they say?" "They told me to leave the restaurant." Adrian went silent. "Adrian?" "Where are you now?" She told him. "Listen to me carefully," he said. "Okay." "Don't go home." "What?" "Turn around." "Why?" "Because someone has been following you." Amara's foot slipped slightly on the accelerator. "What?" "Don't look behind you." Of course, she looked. A black SUV was several cars behind her. Her stomach dropped. "Adrian..." "Don't panic." "There's a black car behind me." "I know." "What do you mean, you know?" "Just keep driving." "How do you know?" "Amara, please." She had known Adrian for four years. She knew when he was angry. She knew when he was lying. She knew when he was trying to hide something. And at that moment, Adrian was terrified. "Tell me what's happening." "I will. But not on the phone." The black SUV was getting closer. Amara pressed harder on the accelerator. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. "Adrian, I think—" A loud crash exploded behind her. She screamed. The SUV had hit the back of her car. The phone slipped from her hand. "Amara!" Adrian's voice screamed through the speaker. She grabbed the wheel. The car swerved. "Adrian!" "Keep driving!" "They hit me!" "I know! Keep driving!" Another crash. Harder. The car spun slightly before Amara forced it back into her lane. Tears filled her eyes. She couldn't breathe. "Where are you?" she cried. "I'm coming." "Please hurry." "I'm coming." The SUV rammed her again. This time, Amara lost control. Her car skidded across the wet road. Everything happened too quickly. A scream. The sound of metal twisting. Headlights. Glass exploding. Then— Nothing. * Adrian Cole arrived seven minutes later. Seven minutes. He would remember that number for the rest of his life. Seven minutes. That was how long it took for his entire world to disappear. His car stopped so violently that one of his tyres scraped against the curb. He didn't notice. He was already outside. "AMARA!" Rain soaked him within seconds. There were flashing police lights everywhere. Smoke filled the air. Someone grabbed his arm. "Sir, you can't go over there!" Adrian shoved the hand away. "Where is she?" "Sir—" "WHERE IS SHE?" Then he saw the car. Or what was left of it. His knees almost gave way. It had crashed through the barrier. The front was destroyed. Flames climbed from beneath the twisted metal. Adrian stopped breathing. "No." A police officer said something to him. He didn't hear it. "No." Someone tried to hold him back. Adrian fought them. "NO!" "Sir, please!" "AMARA!" The name tore out of him. He ran toward the burning car. Two officers dragged him back. "LET ME GO!" "There's nothing you can do!" "She's in there!" Adrian looked at the flames. His face was white. His hands were shaking. And then, through the fire and smoke, he saw something on the ground. A small silver bracelet. Amara's bracelet. The one he had bought her on her twenty-first birthday. His chest collapsed. He fell to his knees. Rain hit his face. Or maybe it was tears. He couldn't tell anymore. "Sir," someone said softly. Adrian didn't move. "Sir, we need you to come with us." "No." "I'm sorry." "No." The officer looked at him. Adrian slowly raised his eyes. His voice was barely a whisper. "She's not dead." No one answered. Adrian looked back at the burning wreckage. His jaw tightened. "She's not dead." But even as he said it, he knew. He knew because something inside him had gone silent. And Adrian Cole had spent his entire life trusting his instincts. That night, standing in the rain beside the wreckage of the woman he loved, his instincts told him one thing. Amara was gone. * Three years later. Adrian received a photograph in a plain white envelope. There was no return address. No note. Nothing. Just a photograph. He almost threw it away. Almost. Then he saw her face. His entire body went still. The photograph slipped from his fingers and landed on his desk. For several seconds, Adrian could not move. Could not breathe. Could not think. The woman in the picture stood beside a grave. Long black hair. Brown skin. A white dress. Her head tilted slightly downward. The image was blurry. But Adrian knew that face. He would know it in a crowded city. He would know it after ten years. After fifty. After death. His fingers trembled as he picked up the photograph again. He turned it over. Three words had been written on the back. MISS ME, ADRIAN? And beneath the words was a date. Tomorrow.