The stranger at Table Seven
Chapter One
AMARA
“Amara, stop looking at him.”
I almost choked on my drink.
“I’m not looking at anyone.”
Zara slowly lowered her fork.
“You’ve looked at that man at least six times.”
“Six?”
“Seven, actually.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re counting?”
“I’m your best friend. It’s my job.”
I laughed and tried to focus on my food.
Tried.
But curiosity got the better of me.
I looked toward the window again.
He was still there.
Alone.
Dark shirt. Rolled-up sleeves. A watch on his wrist. His phone sat untouched on the table, while his eyes moved around the restaurant like he was waiting for someone.
Or watching for someone.
I frowned.
There was something strange about him.
Not scary.
Just… familiar.
Except I had never seen him before.
At least, I thought I hadn’t.
“Amara.”
“What?”
Zara followed my gaze.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.”
I smiled and shook my head.
“I’m not interested in him.”
“Good. Because men who sit alone looking mysterious in restaurants are usually problems.”
“You watch too many movies.”
“And you don’t watch enough.”
I laughed.
A few minutes later, the waiter returned.
“Excuse me, miss.”
I looked up.
“Yes?”
“Your bill has been paid.”
I blinked.
“Paid?”
“Yes.”
“By who?”
The waiter pointed toward the other side of the restaurant.
My smile disappeared.
The man at the window was gone.
“What?”
I turned around quickly.
His chair was empty.
Zara stared at me.
“Okay…”
“What?”
“That just became interesting.”
I ignored her and reached for my handbag.
I wanted to leave.
I opened it.
My phone.
Lip gloss.
Wallet.
Keys.
Then I froze.
“My ID.”
“What?”
“My ID card. It was here.”
I searched again.
Nothing.
“Maybe you left it at home?”
“No.”
I knew I hadn’t.
My fingers suddenly felt cold.
Then Zara pointed at the table.
“Amara…”
A small folded piece of paper lay beside my plate.
Neither of us had seen it before.
I slowly picked it up.
“Don’t.”
Zara’s voice dropped.
“Why?”
“Because mysterious men leaving notes is exactly how horror movies start.”
Despite myself, I smiled.
Then I unfolded the paper.
My smile disappeared.
Seven words.
That’s all it contained.
You should be more careful, Amara.
I stared at my name.
My actual name.
Not a nickname.
Not something someone could have guessed.
My full name was printed on my missing ID.
I looked toward the entrance.
The stranger was nowhere in sight.
“Amara,” Zara whispered.
I didn’t answer.
Because underneath the first sentence, written in smaller handwriting, was another line.
Especially when you think nobody is watching.
My heart dropped.
I looked around the restaurant.
For the first time, I noticed something I hadn’t noticed before.
A security camera.
Pointed directly at our table.
And suddenly, I wasn’t wondering who the stranger was anymore.
I was wondering
How long had he been watching me?
