It was the first day of September — a day that felt unusually heavy. The air was warm, still, and silent, like the world was holding its breath.
Elias visited Rina's grave that morning. Her name, carved in cold stone, still didn't feel real.
He stood quietly, eyes fixed on the ground, lost in thoughts he didn't fully understand — not grief exactly, not confusion — something in between.
That's when he noticed him.
Just a few feet away, a man stood still — not praying, not mourning — just standing. His face was hidden beneath a scarf and cap. His posture was familiar, almost too familiar.
Elias's heart stilled for a moment.
He blinked — and the man was gone.
No sound. No footsteps.
Just… gone.
He looked around — nothing.
---
On the way back home, Elias took a shortcut through a narrow, dusty street. Near the mosque, he noticed an old man struggling to lift his bag.
Without hesitation, Elias stepped forward. "Let me help you."
The old man smiled gently. "Thank you, Abdullah."
Elias paused. "Sorry? I'm not—"
The old man looked again, this time more carefully, more curiously. "Oh. My mistake. You just look like someone I knew… Abdullah. Disappeared three years ago. No one ever found him."
He smiled again, like it was nothing.
But to Elias, it wasn't nothing.
"Did he live around here?" Elias asked.
The old man shrugged. "He came and went… just like you now."
Then he walked away slowly.
---
That evening, Elias returned home, his thoughts still clouded. The strange man at the grave, the old man calling him Abdullah — it all felt like pieces of something bigger.
As he placed his keys on the table, he noticed something by the door.
A package. No name. No return address.
Just a brown paper box with his name written in black ink: "Elias"
His chest tightened. He hadn't ordered anything.
He took the box to his desk, sat down, and opened it carefully.
Inside was a single item:
A small black notebook — new, clean, untouched.
But as he opened the first page, he froze.
In neat handwriting:
"Fourth September."
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Elias leaned back in his chair, notebook still in his hand.
For the first time in weeks, he felt something unfamiliar crawling through his thoughts:
Fear.
---