Forgotten

Chapter 4

Chapter title: Running Toward Something Real

Jacin’s POV

Driving away was harder than it should’ve been. She was just some random girl who bumped into me and made me spill my coffee. I saw her coming and pegged her immediately—spoiled rich girl.

I’ve seen her kind before. The type who show up for boat rides in heels and designer bags, then complain when they get wet or slip. I had no intention of talking to her, let alone seeing her again.

But she slammed into me, and I was instantly rude—because I thought I already knew who she was.

I was wrong.

Still, I kept up the attitude because it was fun. I liked getting a rise out of her. But then she started to grow on me, especially after she told me about her home life. I felt something for her—pity, maybe? Sadness? I’m not sure.

I usually don’t feel much for other people. I’ve been alone for a long time, and I’ve learned the hard way that the only way to survive is to stay detached. People always let you down. It’s just in their nature.

I have a handful of friends, but even with them, I keep my distance. Yet with her—a complete stranger—I wanted to know more. That’s messed up.

Then she got on the bike, and the way she held on to me—her body pressed against mine—it drove me insane. I had to force myself to focus on the road.

Her touch was soft but sure. It didn’t feel like she was just holding on for safety—it felt like she was holding on to something deeper, something in me I didn’t even know needed to be held.

By the time we got to the hotel and she got off the bike, I felt more than just the cold where her body used to be. I felt hollow.

We stood there, staring at each other. I wanted to ask her name, get her number—but I was scared. Scared of how much I felt in that moment. Scared of what it could mean. If she rejected me, it would’ve wrecked something in me I’m barely holding together as it is. So I didn’t ask.

And neither did she.

I drove away before I could change my mind. But it was hard. It felt like I was driving away from something that might’ve been real. I told myself I’m not ready for "real." At least, that’s what I wanted to believe.

Back at my place, everything felt smaller. My apartment is a tiny, brutalist space—concrete floors, red brick bedroom wall, open plan. It’s cheap, plain, and all I can afford. Especially now that I lost my Tuesday–Thursday warehouse job for being late… because of her.

I threw my laundry in the machine, made my bed—or rather, tossed the red pillows back into place and straightened my black duvet. The kitchen’s just a row of red steel cabinets and an island with two stools. While washing the dishes, my thoughts drifted again—to her.

Her warm brown hair. Blue-grey eyes. Dimples. The feel of her chest against my back.

I shook my head. No. I can’t let myself think like this. I don’t even know her name.

I finished cleaning the apartment and finally jumped in the shower to get the sticky coffee off me. When I lay down, I didn’t even bother getting under the covers.

I woke up on the beach.

The sun was warm against my skin. The sand looked golden, the sea a crystal blue. Everything felt vivid. Real. Peaceful. Then I saw her. She was walking along the shore, eyes on the ocean. She hadn’t seen me yet.

I couldn’t believe my luck.

I sat up, about to call out—then she tripped over my feet. Just like the first time.

“It’s you again. We should really stop meeting like this,” I joked.

She smiled—bright, inviting.

“I’m Jacin. What’s your name?” I finally asked.

She opened her mouth to speak, but I couldn’t hear anything. The waves were too loud. I asked again. Nothing. I couldn’t even read her lips. The frustration built like a scream in my throat.

And then I woke up.

Back in bed. Sweaty. Frustrated. Disappointed.

Of course it was a dream.

But it felt so real. I wanted it to be real. I’ve never dreamed about a girl before. That has to mean something. I need to find her. I should’ve asked for her name. I need to make this right.

I got up and made coffee—strong. My machine’s the most expensive thing I own. It keeps me going.

Afterward, I got dressed and went job hunting. The docks didn’t need more hands. None of the boat tours would take me—they didn’t want someone working for a competitor.

I tried restaurants and vendors, but no one wanted to work around my schedule. It was another dead end.

I had the afternoon shift on the whale-watching boat, so I went early. Not many tourists today. I mostly sat around and thought about her.

When the shift ended, I walked the same path I met her on, even though I knew she wouldn’t be there. Still, I sat on the bench and waited.

Two hours passed.

Nothing.

I dreamed again.

She was on the beach again, but this time, I couldn’t reach her. I ran, but the closer I got, the further away she drifted. The wind blew her hair around her face, the ocean darkened, and she held her hand out to me—needing help. But I couldn’t reach her. She was being pulled into the darkness, and I was too slow.

I woke up drenched in sweat.

That dream shook me.

I think it’s my subconscious turning her strict home into some kind of trap she needs saving from. Or maybe it’s just me projecting. Her life probably isn’t that bad.

She has money. Parents. Stuff I never had.

I was orphaned young. No relatives. I bounced from home to home until I aged out and landed in a group home.

Since eighteen, I’ve been on my own—working odd jobs, scraping by. I’ve dreamed of going to college, but saving enough has been nearly impossible. I make just under $3,000 a month across all my jobs. After rent, food, gas, debt, and savings for school, I’m left with about $300 a month. Not much room to breathe.up

Losing that warehouse job hit hard. It paid well. Now I’m short. I needed to find something—fast.

I made a biltong and avocado toastie, downed more coffee, and went back out looking. Broadened my search radius. No luck. I don’t interview well—too quiet, too blunt, too... intimidating.

Late in the afternoon, I stopped at my favorite coffee shop. The old lady behind the counter, who basically runs the place solo, noticed I was off.

“What’s gotten into you?” she asked.

“I walked away from a girl I can’t stop thinking about,” I admitted.

“You’re too much of a loner to be wasting chances like that. Keep it up and you’ll die sad and alone with no one to complain to.”

She wasn’t wrong. Brutal, but not wrong.

We talked more, and after she saw my schedule, she offered me a job. Four days a week, limited hours, low pay—but I was grateful.

“Don’t screw it up,” she warned. “No more rescuing girls on that death trap you call a bike.”

I finished my coffee and raced to the docks again, hoping—praying—I’d see her. But the last shuttle was already loading. No sign of her. I waited again, but when night came, I gave up and walked to the beach.

The one from my dream.

I took off my shoes and stood at the shoreline, letting the waves touch my feet. I breathed in the ocean air and hoped—really hoped—I’d find her again.

Time’s running out. Monday, I start the new job. After that, I won’t have the time to sit and wait.

But I’m not giving up.

Not yet.