In the heart of New York City, Jacob Daniel leads a seemingly normal life, running a café near Central Park with his closest friends, Sam and Katie. But when Katie's boss is found murdered and the FBI pulls her into a high-stakes investigation, the...
Jake's bike roared through the streets, cutting a path through the bustling heart of New York City. The city that usually felt so familiar now seemed alien to him. His destination wasn't far, but the journey felt endless. Each traffic light, every corner turned, stretched time unbearably. His thoughts screamed inside his head, taunting him, forcing him to confront what lay ahead.
Reaching 88th Street Garage, Jake parked his bike, barely aware of his surroundings. His hands gripped the handlebars a second longer, his knuckles white, before he forced himself to let go. The tension in his muscles told him everything he needed to know-he wasn't ready for this. Not emotionally. Not mentally.
Crossing the road toward Central Park, Jake's mind was a battlefield. He saw the world through a haze of anxiety, every step heavier than the last. The park was alive, a vibrant tapestry of life. Children ran across the green, their laughter filling the air. Dogs barked, families picnicked, people read beneath the shade of trees. It was as if the world was moving on, oblivious to the storm brewing within him. He felt utterly disconnected, an outsider in the very city he called home.
And then he saw her.
Alexandra.
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He muttered her name like a prayer, like a curse. She stood near Bethesda Fountain, her silhouette etched against the familiar backdrop. Even from a distance, Jake could see her clearly, as if she were the only thing that mattered in the landscape. Her hair, now styled in a sharp bob, framed her face perfectly. She wore a sleek black dress, the kind that seemed to accentuate every curve, a stark contrast against the casual backdrop of the park. The dress was sleeveless, with a V-neck that dipped just low enough to be provocative without being crass. In her hand, she clutched a small leather-bound diary, the kind she always carried-where she used to write her poetry.
She hadn't changed. Not in the ways that mattered. Her blue eyes locked onto him the moment he stepped into view, and for a second, the world fell away. Jake could hear the rush of blood in his ears, his pulse quickening. The distant noise of the park faded into a muffled hum.
"Jacob, mon chéri..." Alexandra called out softly, her voice carrying on the breeze as if it were meant only for him. Jake's feet moved on their own. His heart was in his throat.
At that moment, memories flooded Jake's mind in rapid flashes. He saw his time in France-his photography journey, the long walks and laughter shared with friends, the quiet streets, the warmth of Alexandra's home. He remembered the joy of spending time with Alexandra and her family. Then, the images grew sharper, more personal. A girl laughing, her voice light and carefree; the same girl reading his poetry with a soft smile; the two of them cooking together, the kitchen filled with the smell of fresh ingredients; their hands intertwined as they walked through the narrow streets; riding a bicycle together through the countryside; standing in awe beneath the Eiffel Tower; a stolen kiss that lingered longer than it should have.
But then, the warmth of those memories gave way to something darker, a group of people, their faces streaked with tears, Alexandra standing in a black dress, her expression unreadable.
