The words I never said

Chapter two: The name in the Notebook

The next morning, something was different.

I noticed it the moment I entered the classroom.

Amara was already there.

She was sitting alone, staring through the window.

Normally, she would have noticed me before I reached my seat.

That morning, she didn't.

I placed my bag down quietly.

"Morning."

She turned.

For a second, her expression looked almost frightened.

Then it disappeared.

"Morning."

"You okay?"

"Yeah."

It was the same answer she always gave.

But this time, it didn't sound convincing.

I sat down.

Neither of us spoke for several minutes.

Then Amara suddenly reached into her bag and pulled out a small black notebook.

She placed it on the desk.

I glanced at it.

"New notebook?"

She quickly covered it with her hand.

"Don't touch that."

I raised my eyebrows.

"I wasn't going to."

"Good."

There was something strange in her voice.

Not anger.

Fear.

Before I could ask anything else, the teacher entered the classroom.

The conversation ended.

But the notebook remained on my mind.

So did the way she had looked at me.

During the first lesson, Amara barely spoke.

During the second, she kept checking her phone.

During the third, she received a message that made the color leave her face.

She immediately locked her phone.

I noticed.

"Who was that?"

"No one."

I stared at her.

She looked away.

The answer was clearly a lie.

At lunchtime, she disappeared.

I searched the usual places.

The library.

The courtyard.

The tree behind the school.

Nothing.

Then I saw her near the old science building.

She was standing with the same boy from the previous morning.

The boy was holding something.

A photograph.

I couldn't see what was in it.

I was about to walk away when I heard the boy say something.

"She doesn't know."

Amara looked frightened.

"She can't know."

I stopped.

Who was she?

And what couldn't she know?

The boy looked around.

Then he noticed me.

Our eyes met.

For several seconds, neither of us moved.

The boy folded the photograph and placed it inside his pocket.

Amara turned.

Her face changed when she saw me.

"You."

I walked toward them.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing."

"Again?"

The boy stepped forward.

"You should leave."

I looked at him.

"Who are you?"

He didn't answer.

Instead, he looked at Amara.

"You didn't tell him?"

Amara's expression hardened.

"Leave."

The boy hesitated.

Then he walked away.

I watched him disappear around the corner.

"Amara..."

"Don't ask."

"Why?"

"Because some things are better left alone."

She picked up her bag.

Then she walked away.

I stood there, confused.

For the first time since meeting her, I felt like I didn't know her at all.

That evening, Amara didn't come online.

I sent a message.

No response.

Another.

Nothing.

Hours passed.

Then, just before midnight, my phone vibrated.

One message.

From Amara.

Don't trust the person who talks about me.

I stared at the screen.

Before I could reply, another message appeared.

And whatever happens tomorrow, don't open the notebook.

I frowned.

The notebook.

Why was she suddenly warning me about it?

I typed:

What is inside it?

The message showed as delivered.

Then read.

No response came.

The following morning, Amara wasn't at school.

Neither was the mysterious boy.

I sat at my desk, staring at the empty chair beside me.

Then I noticed something.

There was a small black notebook underneath my desk.

My heart sank.

I picked it up.

The cover was scratched.

There was no name on it.

I remembered Amara's warning.

Don't open the notebook.

For several minutes, I simply stared at it.

Then I noticed something written on the back.

Four words.

You already know him.

My hands went cold.

I turned toward the classroom door.

Nobody was there.

Slowly, I opened the notebook.

The first page was blank.

So was the second.

The third had only one sentence.

If you're reading this, she has already lied to you.

I stopped.

I turned the page.

There was a photograph.

It showed Amara standing beside the mysterious boy.

But that wasn't what frightened me.

Someone else was standing behind them.

Someone I recognized.

Someone who should never have been in the photograph.

Someone who had been missing for years.

I dropped the notebook.

And for the first time, I wondered whether the girl I thought I knew had ever told me the truth at all.