Soulmate Run

The Photograph

The bus rumbled steadily along the highway.

I'd stopped trying to keep track of where we were.

Outside, unfamiliar buildings drifted past the window, blending into one another until they became nothing more than moving colours.

The photograph of my dad still rested on my lap.

My thumb traced the edge of the frame absentmindedly.

The same logo.

On his ID card.

On the key.

I looked from one to the other again.

Nothing about it made sense.

Dad had worked there...

But why had someone hidden a key with that same symbol inside an envelope addressed to me?

I let out a slow breath and slipped the photograph back into my bag.

Maybe I was looking for answers where there weren't any.

Maybe—

A voice cut through my thoughts.

"...taken that photograph..."

I froze.

Silence.

That was all.

Just those three words.

I frowned.

"Photograph?"

I whispered it under my breath.

It didn't necessarily have anything to do with me.

He could've been thinking about anything.

Anyone.

I looked back out the window.

For almost a minute, I tried to forget it.

I couldn't.

With nothing else to distract me, I unlocked my phone.

My gallery opened.

I scrolled slowly.

Pictures of Amara.

Selfies we'd taken after lectures.

Random meals we'd sworn we'd recreate ourselves.

A blurry sunset I'd insisted looked prettier in real life.

My chest tightened.

That life already felt like it belonged to someone else.

My thumb stopped.

The burst.

I remembered taking it.

Amara had laughed when she switched my camera to burst mode.

"You'll never catch the perfect moment with one picture," she'd said.

So I'd held the shutter down.

Almost twenty photos in the space of a second.

I'd only meant to keep one.

I tapped it.

The burst opened.

The first image filled the screen.

Amara was laughing.

I was half turned toward her.

Swipe.

She was pointing at something off-camera.

Swipe.

We were both laughing now.

Swipe.

Two men stood in the background.

I barely noticed them.

Probably just people passing by.

I started to swipe again.

Then I stopped.

"...Wait."

I pinched the screen.

Zoomed in.

One of the men appeared to be passing something to the other.

I couldn't tell what.

His hand blocked most of it.

Swipe.

The exchange continued.

Swipe.

One of them shifted slightly.

Swipe.

His shoulder moved.

Swipe.

...

My finger froze.

The man wasn't looking at the other person anymore.

He was looking straight at me.

No...

Straight at my phone.

My heartbeat stumbled.

I swiped back.

He was looking away.

Forward.

Looking at me.

Back.

Away.

Forward.

Still looking.

I stared at the screen.

"He saw me..."

The words escaped before I realized I'd spoken them.

My breathing grew uneven.

He saw me.

Two days later...

Someone wanted me dead.

...

"Oh my God..."

My fingers tightened around the phone.

This...

This was why.

I hadn't done anything.

I hadn't even known they were there.

It was one photograph.

One accidental photograph.

"...That's not fair."

The words came out as a whisper.

"They're trying to kill me..."

"...because they happened to be in my photo?"

I stared at the screen again.

A lump rose in my throat.

"I didn't even know..."

I slowly locked the screen.

Outside, the bus kept moving.

Cars passed.

People crossed the streets.

Life carried on as if nothing had changed.

I rested my forehead against the cool window.

"I wasn't supposed to see that."