Mila Emila

7; Part 2: Revisiting Cities He's Been to Before

Reiks Matthew stepped off the train, a sense of nostalgia settling over him as he looked around at the city that stretched before him. It was the first of many places he would revisit, tracing the journey he’d made years ago. His eyes scanned the streets, the familiar layout disrupted by subtle changes. Some buildings stood exactly as they had been, but here and there, he noticed differences that jarred him—a sleek café had replaced the old bookstore, and where there had once been faded, crumbling walls, there was now fresh paint, bold and bright. It all felt strangely alien, as if the city had chosen to move forward while he remained stuck in the past.

He took a slow breath, letting the air of the city fill his lungs. It carried a hint of something he recognized—a mixture of rain on pavement, the faint scent of a bakery down the street. But there was something missing, something he had remembered so vividly: the particular warmth that had always seemed to be in the air whenever Mila was near him. Mila Emila. Even after all these years, he could still feel her presence as if she were just around the next corner, hidden just out of sight.

As he began to walk, his feet found the familiar rhythm of steps he’d once taken with purpose and urgency, years ago when he’d first searched these streets for her. His mind drifted back to those early days, when he’d seen her face in every passerby, his heart racing each time he thought he’d glimpsed her, only to be disappointed again and again. He could remember the intensity of that hope, the way it had fueled him, had kept him pushing forward despite every obstacle. And here he was again, still hoping, but with a quieter, more tempered sense of it now.

Passing a corner where he had once interrogated a shopkeeper about any sightings of Mila, Reiks paused, feeling the memory wash over him. He remembered the man—a wiry, sharp-eyed figure who had spoken to him with a kind of restrained sympathy, as if he understood the obsession that drove him. That man had eventually shrugged, apologizing for not knowing anything, for not being able to offer even a hint of where she might have gone.

“I remember you, Mila,” he murmured under his breath, more to himself than anyone else. The words tasted bittersweet, like an echo from a time when her presence filled every corner of his mind, every quiet moment between his thoughts. “I remember every day we spent together, every laugh and every silence.” His voice broke off, swallowed by the hum of the city around him, yet he found a strange comfort in speaking her name aloud here, in this place where he had once felt closest to her.

The city was layered with memories, echoes of their time together overlaying each street, each building. He noticed a small, run-down café down the street, one that had somehow survived the march of time and renovation. It was the same café where he’d spent hours poring over maps, piecing together whatever scant information he’d had, desperately trying to reconstruct her path. He remembered sitting there with his notebook, eyes scanning every corner of the city like a predator searching for prey, each lead pulling him further into an unending spiral. Yet each dead end had been a wound, each failure a reminder of her absence.

He made his way to that café now, stepping inside and noticing with a pang that it had hardly changed. The same tables, scratched and chipped at the edges, the same dim lighting. Taking a seat by the window, he looked out onto the street, watching the ebb and flow of strangers passing by, each one a face he didn’t recognize. Years ago, he’d watched this same view, his heart leaping each time someone with a similar build, or dark hair like Mila’s, came into view. He had waited, breath held, hoping to see her stepping through the crowd, somehow drawn back to this place.

Reiks let his hands rest on the table, noticing the slight tremor in his fingers. He flexed them, trying to will the shaking away, but it persisted—a reminder of the years, the toll this journey had taken on him. His gaze dropped to his hands, the same hands that had once held Mila’s so firmly, with such certainty. Now, they felt like relics, weakened by time and wear, yet they still held the memories of those moments as if etched into his very bones.