Before We Were Strangers.

The Message He Could Not Delete.

Elena did not text him that night. She put the green book on her desk, made tea she did not drink, and opened her laptop to the unfinished article about the missing photographer. The cursor blinked at her for a long time. Every few minutes her eyes drifted to her phone sitting faced down beside her keyboard.

She turned it over, checking for new messages but there aren’t anyways. By midnight, she had written three bad paragraphs and deleted all of them. The rain had started again, soft against the window. She kept seeing the way Julian had looked back at the corner, the small unfinished wave, and the careful way he had flipped his phone over in the café.

She told herself it was nothing. People met strangers in bookshops. Most of the time it stayed that simple. Still, when she finally went off to bed, she left her phone on the pillow next to her, just in case.

Julian did not sleep much either. He had walked longer than he needed to, collar up, phone heavy in his pocket. When he finally got home, he dropped his keys on the table and stood in the dark kitchen for a while. The message { She’s asking for you} was still that when he checked.

He sat on the edge of the bed and stared at it. His thumb hovered over the delete option the way it had under the awning. This time he did not press it, he just locked the screen and put the phone facedown on the nightstand, the same way he had in the café.

Sleep came in pieces, because every time he drifted off he saw the bookshop, the green cover, Elena’s quiet laugh when he talked about the unread books judging him. Then the message would flash behind his eyes and he would wake up again.

At exactly 7:14 a.m, his phone buzzed but not her this time but a different name. He allowed it ring out.

Elena spent the morning pretending to work. She rewrote the same section of the article four times. At eleven she gave up, put on a coat and walked to the small park near her building even though the sky still look undecided.

She sat on a damp bench and opened her notes app. Typed his name. Deletes it. Typed it again but in a better way saying “ Hi, it is Elena, from the bookshop yesterday.” She stared at the words, too plain and careful she added another line saying “Did you survive the pile of unread books this morning?”

Then she just sat there with her thumb over the send button, her heart was beating a little too hard for something small. She sent it before she could talk herself out of it.

The reply came eleven minutes later. Barely, they are still judging me and asked how the green book was. Elena’s face lightened up as she saw the reply. They texted in short bursts for the next hour. Nothing heavy. A map that he was restoring that had a river drawn in the wrong place.

She told him about the photographer she was writing about hae once been photographed standing in the exact same doorway as the man who had vanished. Julian wrote back: That is either coincidence or a warning.

She liked that he did not try too hard. At 1:03 p.m, he asked are you free later? There is a place near the river that does decent tea. No broken umbrellas required. Elena looked at the message for a long time even though she had told herself last night that one conversation was enough. She still typed Yes.

They met at four. The café was quieter than the oke from the day before, tucked under an old stone arch with windows that looked out onto the dark water. Julian was already there when she arrived, two cups on the table . He stood up a little too quickly when he saw her.

They exchanged pleasantries and sat down. For the first few minutes the conversation stayed light, almost careful. Then it loosened again, the same way it had the day before. She told him more about the photographer. Julian listened without interrupting. When she finished he said quietly and calmly “ you sound like you care for him”.

She responded saying “ I care about the one who disappear,” she answered. “ Even the ones no one else remembers “. He looked at her for a second longer than usual. Something shifted between his eyes, not quite sadness or guilt before he looked down at his cup.

They stayed until the light outside turned blue-grey. When the finally stood up to leave, Julian hesitated the same he had the previous meeting.

“I should tell you something “, he said.

Elena waited.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. A muscle moved in his jaw. “Another time. It is not ……….important yet”. She nodded, even though the words say strangely between them.

Outside, the air was colder. They walked a short way together along the river path. At the corner were they would separate, Julian stopped.

“ Text me when you get home ?. He asked.

“Okay”.

He did not lean in neither did he touch her. He just looked at her like he was trying to memorize something and then turned and walked away. Elena watched him go but this time he did not look back.

Later, in her flat, she texted him as promised that she had gotten to her flat. The reply took longer than the ones from earlier. He replied “ Good, sleep well Elena.” She almost left it there, then on impulse she wrote back and said “ you too “.

No answer came after that. Across the city, Julian sat with his back against the wall, the phone heavy in his hand. Elena’s message was still open. Above it, the other one waited.

She’s asking for you.

He had nearly told her everything at the café. The words had risen and then died in his throat. He had walked away instead.

This time he deleted the message and watched it vanish. For a few seconds there was only silence, then the phone vibrated once and this time it was a different number saying

She knows you are in the city

Whatever you are trying to start… end it.

Julian did not open the message. He just stared at the locked screen while the rain began again outside, soft enough to sound almost kind.