Echoes of Yesterday

Part 3 - Taste of Mystery

After talking with Theo, the weight of his words hit me like a punch to the gut. My mind reeled, too shocked to form coherent thoughts. I tried to say something—anything—but the words lodged in my throat. So instead, I hugged him tightly, whispering the only words I could muster.

"He'll be back soon... he has to," I murmured into his shoulder, my voice trembling with uncertainty. I could feel Theo's body tense, the same fear rippling through both of us.

Reluctantly, I pulled away, offering him a weak smile, though I knew it didn't reach my eyes. "I'll see you later, Theo," I said softly, trying to sound more confident than I felt. He just nodded, his gaze hollow.

As I rode home, my mind churned in a storm of conflicting emotions. I felt trapped between two worlds: one where everything still felt whole, and another where everything was unraveling. Was he safe? Was he even alive? The unspoken questions gnawed at me, twisting my stomach in knots.

Suddenly, the sky opened up without warning. Sheets of rain pelted the ground, drenching me in seconds. The storm came out of nowhere, wild and unrelenting. I spotted a bar up ahead and made a beeline for it, desperately seeking shelter.

The moment I stepped inside, the warmth wrapped around me like a blanket, but my soaked clothes clung to me uncomfortably. I dashed to the restroom, shivering, hoping to dry off under the air hand dryer.

Inside, a group of girls crowded the mirror, oblivious to the storm raging outside. They were perfectly made up—hair styled, makeup flawless—laughing as they playfully kissed their reflections, leaving lipstick stains on the glass. I watched them, a strange mix of envy and amusement bubbling inside me. Their carefree energy was so far from where my head was. They giggled as they tossed me friendly, exaggerated flying kisses, and for a moment, their tipsy camaraderie lifted my spirits.

There's something magical about women bonding in bar restrooms. It's like we become instant friends, sharing compliments and laughter, even if we never learn each other's names. It made me feel a little less alone, at least for a moment.

I left the restroom and slid onto a stool at the bar, ordering a glass of water. As I gulped it down, a shiver raced down my spine—not from the cold, but from something else. I felt it before I saw him, the warm breath grazing the back of my neck. My body stiffened, alert to the unfamiliar presence so close behind me.

A soft, almost deliberate touch followed—a drink placed gently in front of me. My heart skipped a beat as I sensed the quiet confidence in the gesture. I turned my head just enough to catch a glimpse of his hand, resting on the bar beside me. It was strong and graceful, the veins faintly visible under his skin, radiating a kind of magnetism that drew me in.

For a brief, suspended moment, it felt like the entire bar faded away. The music, the chatter, even the rain outside—all of it became background noise, leaving only the charged space between us. I inhaled sharply, the scent of his cologne wrapping around me, subtle yet intoxicating.

"Negroni, please," he said. His voice—a low, velvety murmur—slipped through the air like a secret meant only for me. It sent a jolt of electricity through my veins, a strange thrill that left me breathless.

Before I could even think to respond, I felt something drape over my shoulders—his jacket. Its warmth cocooned me, a silent acknowledgment of the chill still clinging to my damp skin. I turned to thank him, but in the same instant, he was gone. Vanished into the crowd, leaving me with nothing but the lingering warmth of his presence.

I scanned the room desperately, hoping to catch another glimpse of him—his face, his eyes—anything that could anchor this fleeting encounter. But he was nowhere to be found. All I had were the echoes of his voice and the ghostly touch of his hand on my skin.

The clock on my phone flashed 11:33PM, pulling me back to reality with a jolt. I glanced down, realizing I had missed several calls from my parents. Guilt twisted in my gut. I'd left my phone on silent during my time at the library, and now I was paying for it.

Frantically, I dialed Dad's number. When he picked up, his voice was thick with worry.

"Where have you been? Why weren't you answering your phone?"

"I'm so sorry, Dad," I stammered. "I didn't hear it—it's been raining hard, and I got caught up. I'm heading home now."

His sigh on the other end of the line told me everything. "Just get home safely," he said, the worry still palpable in his voice.

As I hung up, the reality of the night settled heavily on my shoulders. The rain still pounded outside, mirroring the turmoil within me. I had to get home, but part of me was still tethered to that brief encounter in the bar—the stranger with the velvet voice, the jacket that still clung to my skin.