Before You Found Me

A MONDAY LIKE EVERY OTHER

The alarm rang at 5:30 a.m., but Isla Bennett had already been awake for twenty minutes, staring at the cracked ceiling above her bed. Beyond the window, the darkness was beginning to fade, painting the room in the dull gray of an autumn morning.

She sighed and pushed herself upright. Another day, another shift, and another opportunity to pretend that everything was fine. Her body ached from the previous day's work, but exhaustion had become such a familiar companion that she barely noticed it anymore.

The apartment was quiet, as it had been every morning for the past six months. Sometimes, Isla still expected to hear her grandmother moving around in the kitchen, humming softly as she prepared breakfast or calling out to remind Isla to take a jacket before leaving the house. The memories came so naturally that, for a brief moment, she could almost convince herself that nothing had changed.

Then reality settled in.

Her grandmother was gone, and no amount of wishing could bring her back.

Isla reached for the framed photograph on her bedside table. In it, her grandmother wore the same warm smile that had always made Isla feel safe, even when the rest of the world seemed determined to break her. She traced the edge of the frame with her thumb, trying to ignore the familiar ache in her chest.

"I'm going to be okay, Grandma," she whispered. "I promise."The words sounded convincing enough, but she wondered how many more mornings she would have to repeat them before she truly believed them.

After placing the photograph back on the table, Isla forced herself out of bed. She showered, dressed in her usual work clothes, and tied her hair into a loose ponytail before grabbing her bag. Breakfast would have to wait. It usually did.

The cold morning air greeted her as she stepped outside. Pulling her jacket closer around herself, she began the familiar walk to the café where she worked. The route was short, and she had travelled it so many times that she knew every cracked pavement and every shop that opened before sunrise.

By the time she arrived, the café was already filling with customers. The hiss of coffee machines blended with the clatter of cups and the impatient voices of people trying to get their morning caffeine before heading to work.

"Morning, Isla!" her manager called from behind the counter.

"Morning." Isla tied her apron around her waist and immediately reached for a stack of clean cups.

Her manager studied her face. "You didn't sleep again, did you?"

"I slept," Isla replied, arranging the cups. "Just not enough to qualify as proper sleep."

"You really need to take better care of yourself."

"I'll start doing that as soon as life gives me permission."

Her manager laughed, shaking her head. "You always have an answer."

"It's one of my few remaining talents."

For a moment, Isla smiled genuinely. The conversation was familiar, and the laughter made the morning feel a little less heavy. Then the bell above the entrance rang, announcing another customer, and she returned to work.

The next few hours passed in a blur of orders, coffee cups, and hurried footsteps. Isla moved between tables, prepared drinks, wiped down counters, and offered polite smiles even when her feet began to ache. She had become skilled at making exhaustion invisible. Customers saw a cheerful young woman doing her job; they never saw the loneliness waiting for her when she returned to her apartment each evening.

By noon, the morning rush had finally eased. During her short break, Isla stepped outside with a cup of coffee and leaned against the wall beside the café. The autumn breeze carried dry leaves along the pavement while cars passed through the intersection. People hurried by, absorbed in conversations, phone calls, and appointments that mattered to them.

For once, nobody needed anything from her.

She closed her eyes and took a slow breath. Perhaps the day wouldn't be so bad after all. She only needed to finish her shift, collect her pay, and return home. Nothing complicated. Nothing unexpected.

A deafening screech shattered the quiet.

Isla's eyes flew open just as a black sedan swerved violently across the road. Its tires skidded against the asphalt, and someone screamed as the driver lost control. The vehicle mounted the pavement and slammed into a streetlight with a violent crash that sent a tremor through the ground.

Her coffee slipped from her hand and struck the pavement.

For a heartbeat, the street fell silent. Then shouting erupted from every direction.

"Call an ambulance!"

"Someone get the police!"

"Stay back! The car might explode!"

Smoke began pouring from beneath the sedan's crumpled hood. Through the shattered windshield, Isla could make out a man slumped behind the steering wheel. Blood trickled down the side of his face, and he wasn't moving.

"He's still breathing!" she shouted after rushing closer.

A small crowd had gathered, but nobody seemed willing to approach the damaged vehicle. One person was already speaking urgently into a phone, while another insisted that they should wait for emergency services. Isla understood the danger, but watching the injured man remain trapped inside was unbearable.

She grabbed the driver's door handle and pulled. It wouldn't budge. She tried again, bracing one foot against the side of the car, but the damaged metal refused to move.

"Come on!" she muttered.

"Miss, get away from there!" someone shouted.

Instead, Isla looked through the broken window. The man remained unconscious, his head tilted against the seat. Smoke thickened around the front of the vehicle, carrying the sharp smell of burning rubber.

"Please, somebody help me!"

A man from the crowd finally stepped forward, followed by another. Together, they pulled at the door, but their efforts achieved nothing. Isla's gaze darted across the pavement until she spotted a loose brick near the curb.

She picked it up and struck the side window. The first blow cracked the glass. The second shattered it, scattering fragments across the seat. Pain stung her fingers as she reached through the opening and fumbled for the lock, but she managed to release it.

"Help me get him out!" she called.

The two men reached inside and carefully pulled the injured driver away from the steering wheel. Isla supported his shoulders as they dragged him clear of the vehicle, moving as quickly as they could without dropping him.

They had barely reached a safer distance when a sudden explosion burst from the front of the sedan. The crowd screamed, and Isla stumbled backward, landing hard on the pavement.

For several seconds, she could only hear the pounding of her heart. Smoke rose into the air behind them, and the heat from the burning vehicle brushed against her face.

"Are you hurt?" someone asked.

"I'm fine," she answered automatically, although her hands were trembling.

When she looked down, she noticed several small cuts across her fingers. Blood had gathered around the broken skin, but she barely cared. Her attention had returned to the stranger lying unconscious nearby.

Even in his bloodstained shirt, he looked expensive. His dark jacket was tailored perfectly, and a luxury watch remained fastened around his wrist. Everything about him suggested a life far removed from the ordinary struggles that occupied Isla's days.

Yet there was nothing impressive about the way he lay motionless on the pavement.

He was simply a man who might die if help didn't arrive soon.

The distant wail of sirens grew louder. Moments later, an ambulance pulled up, and paramedics hurried toward them with a stretcher. Isla stepped aside as they examined the stranger, checked his breathing, and prepared to move him.

"Ma'am, please give us some room," one of them instructed.

Isla obeyed, rubbing her injured fingers against the side of her jacket. She should return to the café. She had already missed part of her break, and her manager would undoubtedly be worried. Besides, the paramedics were here now. There was nothing else she could do.

The stretcher was being wheeled toward the ambulance when the stranger suddenly moved.

His hand shot out and closed around her wrist,Isla froze.His eyes opened, revealing a pair of dark eyes that seemed startlingly alert despite his injuries. For a moment, he stared directly at her, gripping her wrist with surprising urgency. His expression wasn't merely confused or frightened. It was the look of a man who believed that someone was coming for him.

"Sir, you need to remain still," a paramedic warned.

The stranger barely seemed to hear him. His gaze remained fixed on Isla, and when he spoke, his voice was so weak that she had to lean closer.

"Don't let them find me..."

Isla's breath caught. "What? Who are you talking about?"

His fingers tightened briefly around her wrist before his strength failed. His eyes closed, and his hand slipped away.

The paramedics continued moving him toward the ambulance, but Isla remained where she stood, staring after him. A moment later, the doors closed, and the vehicle pulled away with its siren blaring.

"Isla!"

Her manager hurried toward her, looking frightened. "Are you hurt? What on earth happened?"

"I'm okay," Isla replied, though her voice sounded distant even to her own ears.

Her manager took one look at her hands. "You're bleeding! You need to get those cleaned immediately."

"I will."

But Isla wasn't thinking about the cuts. She was thinking about the stranger's warning.

Don't let them find me.

Who were they? Why was he afraid of being found? And why had he chosen to whisper those words to a complete stranger he had met only moments earlier?

She looked toward the road where the ambulance had disappeared, hoping that the questions forming in her mind would fade once the shock wore off.

They didn't.

Somewhere beyond the busy streets, an injured man was being taken to a hospital, carrying secrets Isla knew nothing about. She had no reason to become involved in his life, and every reason to forget the encounter as soon as possible.

Yet she couldn't shake the feeling that the accident had marked the beginning of something she would never be able to walk away from.

For the first time in six months, Isla had something other than grief to occupy her thoughts.

She had questions.

And, although she didn't yet understand why, she suspected that finding the answers would change everything.