Before Him, After Him

Episode Five-- The Vanishing Act

I couldn't sleep.

Not even with my playlist, not even with the hum of the ceiling fan above me, not even with the comfort of routine that usually dulled my brain enough to drift off.

The words on my phone screen pulsed behind my eyes.

Don't trust anyone. Especially me.

I kept replaying it. Rereading it. Like maybe if I stared long enough, it would change into something else. Something that made sense.

But it didn't.

The number was still unknown. The messag was still there. And he---Asher, though no one had said his nam out loud to me yet--was still gone.

Like he'd never stood under that streetlamp at all.

Like maybe I'd imagined him.

But I knew I hadn't.

By morning, my eyes felt like sandpaper. Tessa noticed the second I slid into our spot in the cafeteria.

"Whoa," she said, dropping her strawberry milk onto the table with a thunk. "You look like you pulled an all-nighter."

"I couldn't sleep."

"SAT stress?"

I shook my head. She leaned closer, lowering her voice like she was about to share state secrets. "Or... new boy stress?"

Heat rushed up my neck. "What?"

"You've been weird since yesterday. Don't even try to deny it, Em. I see things."

I swallowed hard, but no words came. Because what was I supposed to say? Actually, he texted me out of nowhere even though I never gave him my number. And also he warned me not to trust anyone, including himself.

Yeah, right.

English was worse.

I'd braced myself for him not showing up. Or for him sitting in the back again, ignoring everyone. But he wasn't in the back row this time.

He was in my row.

One seat over.

Close enough that I could smell the fain tang of smoke clinging to his hoodie. Close enough that if I reached out, I could touch his sleeve.

Close enough that breathing suddenly felt like work.

He didn't say anything. Not when I sat down, not when Mrs. Collins started lecturing about Shakespeare, not when I gripped my pen so tightly the ink smeared across my fingers.

But halfway through class, he leaned in, his voice low enough that only I could hear.

"You got my message."

My chest squeezed.

I didn't answer. I couldn't.

Because what was I supposed to say to the boy who already turned my world upside down?

"You got my message."

The words slid through me like a secret blade. Not sharp enough to cut, but enough to make my skin prickle, my stomach knot.

I stared straight ahead at the board. Mrs. Collins was mid-rant about shakespearean tragedy, chalk dust swirling in the air. None of it mattered. Not when his voice was still echoing inside my head.

A pause. Then a soft laugh--low, rough, like it had edges.

"You shouldn't answer," he said.

I swallowed. My heart was hammering so loudly I was sure he could hear it. "I didn't."

Another pause. This one longer. The kind of silence that feels heavier than words.

"Good," he said finally.

The rest of class blurred. My notebook stayed blank except for one word scrwaled in the margin, again and again until the ltters blurred together.

Asher.

When the bell rang, I stuffed everything into my bag and bolted like I was running from a fire.

But he didn't let me escape.

Halfway down the hall, a hand brushed against my arm---not a grab, not forceful, just enough to stop me. Enough to remind me he cold.

I froze.

He leaned close, his breath warm near my ear. "After school. The park across from Miller's Diner. If you show up, I'll tell you why."

I turned, words tangled on my tongue. But he was already walking away, slipping into the crowd like he'd never been there.

And just like last night--he vanished.

The rest of the day, I couldn't focus. Not in math, not in history, not even when Tessa waved a pack of Twizzlers in front of my face and said, "Earth to Emery, come back."

I kept hearing his words. If you show up, i'll tell you why.

Why that?

Why he texted me? Why he knew my number? Why he looked at me like I was already tangled in his secrets before he said a word?

By the final bell, my body was buzzing with a mix of nerves and something scarier:

curiosity.

I told myself I wouldn't go.

I told myself a thousand times.

But when the sun started dipping low and the sky turned honey-gold, I found mself walking toward Miller's Diner anyway.

The park was quiet.

Swings swayed lazily in the breeze, chains creaking. A couple of kids chased each other near the slides, their laughter echoing in the fading light.

And then I saw him.

Sitting on the back of the swingset, hoodie pulled up, eyes shadowed.

Waiting.

For me.

My feet stopped. Every instinct screamed at me to turn around, to leave, to protect myself.

But he lifted his head. And even from this distance, his gaze locked with mine, sharp and unflinching.

I moved forward.

One step. Two. Ten.

Until I was standing in front of him, heart pounding so hard it hurt.

"You came," he said. not a question--like he'd known I would.

"Why me?" I asked, voice barley steady.

He smirked, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Because you're not like them."

"Them?"

"Everyone else." His jaw tightened. "People who only see what they want to. Not what's real."

The swing creaked as he pushed himself lightly back and forth. His next words came out softer, almost like a warning.

"And maybe," he added, "part of me wants to tell you."

I swallowed, my voice small. "Tell me what."

He dropped his gaze, crushing a cigarette butt under his boot like he had the night before.

"The kind of truth that'll make you regret ever meeting me."

The air went cold around us. The kind of cold you can't blame on the weather.

And yet, even as my skin prickled and my chest tightened, one thought burned louder than fear:

I wasn't going to walk away.

Not yet.

I should've left.

Every bone in my body told me to turn around, to run, to put as much distance as possible between me and the boy who carried shadows in his eyes.

But instead, I lowered myself onto the swing next to him. The chains rattled under my weight.

"Then tell me," I said. My voice shook, but it was there. "If it's that bad... if it's something I'll regret... why tell me at all?"

He tilted his head, studying me. For a moment, I thought he wouldn't answer. That he'd retreat into silence again, leaving me with nothing but questions.

But then he leaned forward, elbows on his knees hood falling back just enough for the light to hit his face.

"Becauise once you see it," he murmured, "you can't unsee it. And I need to know if you're the kind of person who runs."

He glanced at me, his gaze pinning in place.

"...or the kind who stays."

My breath hitched. The swing swayed slightly beneath me, like the whole world had tilted.

"I don't even know what it is," I whispered.

"You will." His voice was low, almost unreadable. "Sooner than you think."

A chill threaded through me, but beneath it, something else burned--an ache, sharp and bright, like I was on the edge of something dangerous and couldn't pull back.

"Asher." I said, testing his na,e on my tongue for the first time.

His eyes softened just a fraction, like he hadn't expected me to say it. Like hearing his name from me meant something.

But whatver flicker of warmth was there disappeared as quickly as it came. His expression hardened.

"Go home, Emery," he said, pushing to his feet. "Forget this. Forget me."

He walked away before I could answer, his figure fading into the growing dark until he was gone.

Leaving me alone on the swing, heart racing, knowing one thing with absolute certainty:

I couldn't forget him.

Even if I wanted to.