To Be Continued...

FIFTEEN

At first, I thought I must be mistaken. How could it be? The place felt so distant in my mind, a buried memory I had no intention of unearthing. But as I drive down this lane, a cold shiver runs through me, and I recognize it with a sinking heart. It's the same lane.

The same lane where she lives.

This is the lane where I used to come so often, where memories of Scarlett are etched into every corner. I don’t know why fate has brought me back here, to the very place I tried so hard to leave behind. It’s as if my past refuses to let me go, no matter how far I run. Every time I try to forge a new path, to escape the shadows of what once was, everything collides—old memories, old pains—and they stand before me, taunting me, daring me to confront them.

“What’s wrong, Nic?” Cristina’s voice breaks through my spiraling thoughts as she notices my grip tightening on the steering wheel, my knuckles white. I hadn’t realized how fast I was driving, the car moving on instinct, while my mind was trapped in the past. Her hand gently rests on mine, grounding me back in the present. I take a deep breath, forcing myself to focus. “What’s your house number?” I ask, trying to sound casual, but the dread in my stomach is undeniable.

“67,” she replies, and my heart stops.

“What?” I ask, my voice is shaky, because that’s Scarlett’s number—how could it be? My mind races, images of Scarlett flash before me. The years we spent together, the countless times I drove down this very lane to pick her up, to be close to her. All of it feels like it’s crashing down on me.

“Yeah, C-67,” Cristina says casually, and I release the breath I didn’t know I was holding. Scarlett’s place is in block B. I should have known—how could I forget? I’ve been here so many times I could drive this lane blindfolded. But still, the fear lingers, the fear of facing something, someone, I’m not ready to face.

“Right… C-67,” I murmur, trying to calm the turmoil inside as I turn into the correct lane. I nod at her, trying to mask the unease I feel, and finally pull up outside her house.

“Thanks, Nic,” Cristina says with a warm smile, leaning over to give me a side hug before getting out of the car. I try to smile back, but it feels hollow. This whole place, this street—it doesn’t feel right. It’s like the air itself is charged with old emotions, memories that still haunt me. I feel suffocated by it all, like the walls are closing in, and all I want to do is get out, to run far away.

“Come inside, meet my parents?” she offers, but the very thought makes my stomach churn. I can’t. Not here. Not now.

“I’m sure,” I reply, shaking my head firmly. She gives me a questioning look, but doesn’t push. Instead, she smiles softly and starts walking toward her house.

“Cristina,” I call out impulsively, and she turns back to me, her expression curious.

“Yeah?”

I want to say something, to explain the chaos inside me, but the words get stuck in my throat. How can I tell her that being here, so close to where Scarlett once was, has stirred up everything I’ve tried to bury? “Nothing. I’ll pick you up at 5:30, okay?” I manage to say.

She nods and grins. “Pick me up from here.” She winks before heading inside, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I watch her go, feeling an inexplicable mix of relief and anxiety. I can’t let my past ruin this, ruin her. But the fact that she’s from the same place as Scarlett—it makes me uneasy, as if my instincts are warning me that nothing is as it seems.

As she reaches her door, a thought gnaws at me, one I can’t shake. “Cristina?” I call out again, my voice more urgent this time.

“Yeah?” She stops, her hand on the doorknob.

“Do you know Scarlett?” The question slips out before I can stop it. I watch her closely, and for a brief second, something flashes in her eyes—surprise, maybe fear. But it’s gone as quickly as it came. She shakes her head and, without another word, hurries inside, almost as if she’s running away from me, from the question.

My heart sinks. Is she hiding something? Does she know Scarlett? Could they be connected in some way? The thoughts swirl in my mind, each one more unsettling than the last. I don’t want to believe it, but the way she avoided my gaze, the way she fled—it leaves me with a gnawing doubt.

As I sit there, alone in the car, the past feels closer than ever, like a shadow that refuses to leave. I came here to move on, to start anew, but it seems that fate has other plans for me. Plans that involve revisiting the very things I’ve tried so hard to forget.