Those 7 years: Missing One Shot Chapter

17 Travis's POV

Five years had passed since Taylor vanished from my life, and yet each day felt like a relentless loop of the last. The world around me moved on—friends celebrated milestones, families grew, and life continued its steady march—but I remained frozen in time, clinging to the hope that somehow, somewhere, she was still alive.

Everyone in my life, from my family to my closest friends, urged me to move on. "You have to live your life, Travis," they would say. "Taylor wouldn't want you to be stuck in this." I understood their intentions, but how could I? How could I forget the woman who had filled my life with love, laughter, and purpose? The very thought felt like betrayal.

I forced myself to attend gatherings, to smile and engage, but deep down, I felt like an imposter in my own skin. I'd sit at dinner tables surrounded by friends, their laughter ringing hollow in my ears. I found myself often staring off into space, imagining Taylor's laughter echoing in the room. My heart ached with every reminder of her absence.

One night, I found myself at a dinner with some close friends. They had gathered to celebrate my birthday, and as the candles flickered on the cake, I felt the weight of their concerned glances. They began to sing, the familiar tune a bittersweet reminder of happier times. I blew out the candles, but I didn't make a wish. What could I possibly wish for? The only thing I truly wanted was Taylor.

"Travis," one of my friends, a guy named Aric, leaned in after the festivities wound down. "You can't keep living like this. You deserve to be happy again."

I clenched my jaw, anger bubbling beneath the surface. "And what, replace her with someone else? Just like that?" My voice was sharper than I intended, and I could see the shock in Aric's eyes.

"It's not about replacing her. It's about living your life," he said gently, as if he understood the depths of my pain. "You've been grieving for five years. It's okay to let go a little."

Letting go. The words echoed in my mind like a haunting melody. I was so deeply entwined with Taylor that the thought of moving on felt impossible. The memories of her haunted me, a constant reminder of the love we had shared.

As weeks passed, I began to notice a shift in the media. Headlines appeared, speculating on Taylor's fate. "Missing Pop Star: Is Taylor Swift Dead?" The rumors ignited a firestorm, and every article cut deep, churning the knife of uncertainty in my heart. Each headline felt like a blow, suggesting the worst while robbing me of the hope I had clung to for so long.

I tried to brush it off, telling myself it was just sensationalism, but a part of me couldn't shake the growing anxiety. I would read each article with bated breath, my heart racing, hoping against hope that someone had found her, that the truth would be revealed, and that we would finally have closure. Instead, I was met with more speculation and unsubstantiated claims.

As the media frenzy grew, so did the pressure. Friends would pull me aside, urging me to confront the possibility. "Travis, you have to consider that she may not be coming back," they said, their faces etched with concern. "You can't keep holding onto this."

The conflicting emotions tore at me. I wanted to believe she was still alive, that she was out there somewhere, fighting her own battles, but every new report weighed heavily on my heart. I began to doubt myself—was I being selfish for not letting go?

The truth gnawed at me like an unrelenting beast, reminding me that hope could be a double-edged sword. What if the rumors were true? What if I had to face the reality that the love of my life was gone forever? I couldn't fathom that thought. It felt like a betrayal to everything we had shared.

One evening, while scrolling through my phone, I stumbled upon a video—a montage of Taylor's past performances, intercut with interviews and clips of her bright smile. It felt like a punch to the gut. I could hardly watch. The joyful laughter and vibrant energy she exuded made my heart ache.

Tears blurred my vision as I turned the phone off and tossed it aside. I collapsed onto the couch, the weight of grief crushing me. I thought of all the dreams we had shared, the future we had planned. How could I let go of that?

I wanted to scream, to rage against the unfairness of it all. The world kept moving while I was trapped in a nightmare, caught in an endless loop of longing and loss.

Days turned into nights as I wrestled with my thoughts, unsure of what to do next. I found myself wandering through our old haunts—the coffee shops we loved, the parks where we strolled hand-in-hand, the restaurants where we shared laughter and dreams. Each place was a painful reminder of what I had lost, yet I couldn't bear to stay away.

Then, one fateful morning, a notification pinged on my phone, drawing my attention. It was a news alert: "New Evidence in the Taylor Swift Case." My heart raced as I clicked the link, a mix of fear and hope surging through me.

As I read the details, my heart sank. Despite the new evidence suggesting a potential lead in her case, the report hinted at the harsh reality that time was running out. The possibility of her being dead loomed ever larger in my mind.

With every new report, I felt my heart shatter a little more. I knew I had to confront my feelings—whether it meant moving on or clinging to the hope that Taylor was still out there. But for now, all I could do was wait, holding on to the flickering flame of hope that refused to extinguish. No matter how dark it became, I would always believe in her. I had to.