Destined Strangers

Chapter 8

"The deepest fear is not in what we see, but in what remains unseen-the void between presence and absence, where doubt thrives and certainty fades."

🌙

The cold air bites at Hassan's cheeks as he watches his breath mist in front of him, each exhale fading quickly into the twilight. He pulls his scarf tighter around his neck, feeling the familiar softness of the wool against his skin.

Beneath his boots, the ground is firm with frost, and the brittle leaves crunch underfoot. Each step he takes echoes sharply in the stillness of the evening, the sound swallowed by the looming shadows of the trees. Yet, his mind is elsewhere-replaying the events of the day, over and over, like a broken record.

He doesn't want anything to happen to her. He's just trying to help, but the feeling of helplessness is stronger.

Once back at his apartment, he dives into his routine. Dishes, paperwork, anything to distract himself. The apartment feels small, until Hakan walks in. Hakan, with his usual calm presence, is a welcome interruption. He's younger than Hassan. They've been sharing the apartment for a while now-Hakan, a student, and Hassan, just temporarily working in the city.

"We need to go somewhere,"

Hakan announces, standing in the doorway, a streak of paint across his shirt. He holds a paintbrush in his hand, still wet with vibrant color, evidence of his latest artistic endeavor.

"Are you okay?" Hassan asks.

"Where are we going?"

"I'll tell you on the way."

HOURS LATER, the sky is dark as Hassan finally returns home. His limbs feel heavy from exhaustion. He had been helping one of Hakan's friends who got into trouble, and in the chaos, he'd forgotten his phone at home.

After grabbing a glass of water, he picks up the phone, feeling the cool metal against his hand. The screen lights up, revealing a missed call from Sania. Next to the notification is an incomplete message, a few words cut off abruptly.

A sense of unease settles in his chest. He types out a text to her, waiting for a response, but the silence from his phone grows louder with every passing minute. He dials her number. Straight to voicemail.

"Come on," he mutters to himself, trying to brush away the growing dread. Maybe her phone died, maybe she's just busy. But the uneasy pit in his stomach tells him otherwise.

Minutes turn into an hour, and he can't take it anymore. He grabs his coat and keys.

Hassan drives through the empty streets, his headlights cutting through the darkness. The steady hum of the car engine barely registers over the racing of his heart. The city feels eerily quiet, with only the occasional flicker of streetlights breaking the stillness. His grip tightens on the steering wheel as his thoughts race, each minute stretching longer in the silence.

When he finally pulls up to Sania's house, it looks exactly as it always does-calm, quiet, like nothing's amiss. He knocks on the door, the sound reverberating in the still air, but no answer comes. He knocks again, harder this time, but the silence presses back.

With a deep breath, he pushes the door open, the creaking hinges groaning in protest. A rush of stale, cold air greets him. The hallway stretches out in front of him, dimly lit by the faint light spilling from the kitchen.

"Sania? Sania, are you there?" His voice echoes back at him, eerily unanswered.

Hassan's heart sinks as he steps further inside. The house feels... abandoned. The air is thick with an unsettling stillness, the kind of quiet that wraps around a person, suffocating them with its weight.