The necklace lay on her nightstand.
Untouched.
Elena hadn't worn it. But she hadn't put it away either. It sat there like a ghost of the past few days. A reminder that she wasn't entirely alone. That someone, somewhere, was still watching.
Still claiming her.
Even in silence.
She told herself not to care. That she shouldn't feel anything about a man who refused to show himself. Who refused to speak. But every time she walked into her room and saw the silver glint of that pendant, her chest ached in ways she didn't understand.
It was like waiting for a goodbye that never came.
Each day, her steps grew heavier.
She started noticing the smallest details—shadows that stretched too long, reflections in windows, the way a leaf crunched behind her when no one was there. She knew what it felt like to be watched.
But she didn't feel it anymore.
He was gone.
Luca.
And though he never truly entered her life, he had stolen something from it anyway—peace. Innocence. Control.
Now, she only had questions. And the questions were heavy.
One evening, Elena sat curled up on her bed with her knees to her chest, scrolling through a few internship emails she had no intention of replying to. Her laptop dimmed, flickered, and went black.
Power outage.
Again.
She sighed and stood, walking to the window to open it just a crack.
The street below was still. Lamp posts glowed in dim yellow haze. No one was outside. A light drizzle began to fall, hitting the pavement in soft rhythms.
She closed her eyes.
The rain sounded like breathing.
She opened her eyes and stared out into the quiet road. Somewhere beyond that darkness… she hoped he was still there.
But the truth had started to settle into her bones.
He wasn't coming back.
Not the way she needed him to.
---
The next morning, she found a folded piece of paper in her mailbox.
No name.
No handwriting.
Just a typed sentence:
"You are not forgotten."
No more. No less.
She turned in slow motion, heart slamming in her chest, scanning the street for movement.
Nothing.
The wind rustled through the trees. Her fingers tightened around the paper as if she could squeeze meaning out of it. Was it recent? How did he get it there? Was it safe for him? Was it safe for her?
That night, Elena did something she hadn't done in weeks.
She reached for her phone and texted Liam.
> Hey… I've been kind of off lately. Want to hang out sometime soon?
He didn't reply immediately. But fifteen minutes later, her phone buzzed.
> Sure. Tomorrow after your class? I'll bring pizza.
She stared at the screen.
It wasn't about Liam. It wasn't even about distraction. She just needed to feel normal again. Needed to laugh. To remember what it felt like to be looked at without confusion or fear.
But part of her hated herself for it.
Because no matter what Liam brought—pizza, jokes, kindness—he wasn't the shadow in the alley.
He wasn't the eyes in the dark.
He wasn't Luca.
And deep down, she wasn't looking for comfort.
She was looking for proof that someone still cared.
Even if he never said a word.
---