Never Meet

Traces

The flight confirmation email burned in her inbox like a forbidden promise. London

faded behind her as the weeks of rain, gray

streets, and lonely nights dissolved into

anticipation. Every day she scrolled his

account obsessively, searching for signs,

small patterns, anything that might hint at

where he would be.

Then it came-a new post, though rare,

sudden, deliberate. A photo of the same

Roman café from the original photograph,

table empty, the sunlight falling just as it

had in his picture. Caption: "Truth tastes

like silence." Her pulse raced. She tried to reason: it was just a place, a coincidence, a shadow of

memory. Yet, the pull was undeniable.

Her apartment grew silent. The hum of the

city outside became background noise to

her obsession. She packed quickly,

throwing clothes into a bag, rehearsing

excuses she could give for work, for family,

for friends. None of it mattered. The only

truth was that she needed to see him.

By the time she boarded the plane, the

idea that she might be chasing a ghost

hadn't occurred to her. She only knew she

couldn't stop.She had to find him she had to be sure about what she felt whatever that was...