chapter 22 Vanished
878 Words
The night after the gala was endless.
Olivia lay awake in her dorm room, staring at the ceiling while the shadows of passing headlights crawled across it. She had called Ethan’s number at least a dozen times. No answer. His room was empty, his things gone — like he had vanished into thin air.
Mia had fallen asleep, and Tasha sat silently at her desk, pretending to study. But Olivia could feel her roommate’s gaze flicker toward her every few minutes — full of unspoken worry and something else… Guilt?
Finally, Olivia couldn’t take it anymore.
She sat up. “He didn’t just leave, Tasha. Something happened.”
Tasha sighed, closing her book. “Liv, people don’t just disappear like that.”
“Exactly my point.”
“Maybe he just needed time—”
“Don’t defend him!” Olivia snapped, then immediately regretted it. “I just… I don’t understand why he didn’t even say goodbye.”
Tasha looked away. “Maybe because he’s scared.”
“Of what?”
Tasha hesitated. Her fingers toyed with her pen, tapping nervously. “You’re not the only one who’s noticed he’s been… off lately.”
Olivia frowned. “What do you mean?”
But before Tasha could answer, her phone buzzed on the table. She glanced at the screen — and froze. Her face went pale.
Olivia caught the name flashing across it: Ryan.
“Are you going to answer?” Olivia asked quietly.
Tasha shook her head and turned the phone facedown. “Not now.”
---
The next morning, Olivia went to the library — Ethan’s favorite place on campus. The scent of old paper and silence wrapped around her like a memory. She traced her fingers across the table where they used to sit together.
Her eyes caught on something half-tucked beneath a book: a folded note.
Her name was written on it.
Olivia.
Her heart nearly stopped.
She unfolded it slowly, hands trembling.
The handwriting was Ethan’s.
> “If you’re reading this, it means I had to leave. Don’t try to find me. Please. Some truths aren’t meant to be uncovered.
— Ethan
She stared at the words, feeling her chest tighten until breathing hurt. What kind of truth could scare Ethan Gray enough to run?
Then she noticed faint smudges at the bottom — as if he had hesitated, almost written more, then stopped.
Before she could think further, a low voice came from behind her.
“You shouldn’t be here alone.”
Ryan.
He stood at the entrance, wearing a black hoodie, his expression unreadable but softer than usual. The morning sun sliced through the window behind him, making him look half-shadow, half-light.
Olivia quickly hid the note. “What do you want?”
“To make sure you’re safe,” he said simply.
She glared. “You always say that, Ryan. But safe from what?”
He walked closer, slow, and controlled. “From people who aren’t who they claim to be.”
She frowned. “You mean Ethan.”
“Do I?” His lips curved slightly. “You seem to know him better than anyone. Tell me, Olivia — do you really know who he is?”
Her breath caught. “What are you talking about?”
Ryan’s eyes held hers. “Let’s just say… Ethan’s been hiding more than a broken heart.”
“Then tell me the truth!” she snapped, standing up. “If you know something—”
“I can’t,” he cut her off sharply. “Not yet.”
“Why not?!”
He stepped closer — so close she could feel his breath. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Because once you know, Olivia… there’s no going back.”
For a second, neither of them spoke. The air between them burned — tension, confusion, fear. And then Ryan’s phone buzzed. He checked it quickly, his expression tightening.
“I have to go,” he said. “Stay away from the old art building tonight.”
“Why?”
He looked back at her, eyes dark and serious.
“Because that’s where Ethan’s past lives.”
And before she could say a word, he was gone.
---
That night, Olivia couldn’t resist.
The curiosity ate her alive.
She went to the old art building.
It was quiet — abandoned since a fire years ago. Dust floated in the moonlight streaming through the cracked windows. The smell of smoke still lingered faintly.
Her footsteps echoed as she climbed the stairs. Every creak felt like a warning.
Then — a voice. Low. Familiar. Broken.
“Olivia…?”
She turned sharply.
And there he was.
Ethan.
But his face — his eyes — were different. Cold. Haunted. A faint scar she had never noticed before traced his jawline.
“Ethan?” she whispered, tears of relief and confusion flooding her eyes. “Where have you been? Why did you—”
He shook his head quickly. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Then tell me the truth!”
He stared at her for a long moment. “The truth won’t change anything.”
“Try me.”
Silence. Then, finally, he spoke — voice low and trembling.
“I wasn’t born Ethan Gray
- Writer
