Erica stirred in her bed, the morning sun spilling through the curtains and painting warm streaks across the floor. She yawned, stretched, and reached for Racheal—only to find the space beside her empty. Her brow furrowed. "Racheal?" she murmured, sitting up and scanning the room. Her phone lay where she had left it last night. No call, no message. Nothing.
Confused, Erica swung her legs over the bed and padded across the apartment, calling softly for her friend. "Racheal? Are you here?"
Finding no response, she went to Racheal's roommate's room. Knocking lightly, she asked, "Hey… have you seen Racheal? Did she leave?"
The roommate looked up from her phone, smirk playing faintly across her lips. "She's not here. Why? You two aren't… close, right?" Her words were casual, but the undertone made Erica pause. Could it be true that Racheal hadn't mentioned her for a reason? Were there hidden tensions she hadn't known about?
Erica's mind raced. "No, we're fine… I think," she murmured, uncertainty gnawing at her. She left the room, her thoughts spinning as she considered the possibilities. Why would Racheal leave without telling anyone? And why the secrecy?
Meanwhile, across town, Racheal sat opposite Mr. Unknown at the lavish restaurant, the golden light of chandeliers bouncing softly off polished surfaces. She kept her eyes on the table, her fingers tracing the edge of the plate, trying to calm the rapid thumping of her heart. Her mind was a whirlwind of questions—why was she here? What did he want? And why did she feel an odd, inexplicable pull toward him despite everything?
Mr. Unknown's presence was magnetic, an unspoken command hanging in the air. Every so often, he glanced at her, a small smirk tugging at his lips, and Racheal felt heat rise to her cheeks. She hated that he could affect her so effortlessly, yet a part of her couldn't look away.
Back at their apartment, Gideon and the other guy lounged on the sofa, the video game controller clicking under their fingers. The empty chair beside them didn't go unnoticed. "Where do you think he went?" Gideon asked, glancing toward the door as though expecting him to appear.
The other shrugged, eyes still on the screen. "Maybe he went home? Or to his parents' place? He didn't tell us."
Gideon frowned. "Feels odd. He's never just… gone. Especially not this early."
Neither of them could shake the uneasy feeling settling in their chests. Their friend's sudden absence, paired with the intensity he carried whenever he left their apartment, hinted that something significant was happening—something they weren't yet part of. They exchanged a look, returning to their game but distracted, wondering if they'd find out what he was up to later.
Back at the restaurant, Racheal's thoughts were scattered. She tried to focus on the silverware, the glint of crystal, anything to distract from the weight of his gaze. The subtle clink of cutlery and hushed murmurs of other diners felt like a backdrop to the silent, invisible tension between them.
He broke the quiet without a word, pouring himself some water and letting his eyes roam over her, gauging, analyzing. "You're thinking too much," he said finally, his voice low and deliberate, almost amused. "Why do you let your mind run wild when the answer is right in front of you?"
Racheal's lips pressed into a thin line. She didn't answer, though every nerve in her body begged for it. The silence stretched, a battle of wills, with him studying her every move, every flicker of her expression, and her trying fiercely to appear indifferent, to deny the storm he stirred within her.
Outside, the city continued its morning rhythm, oblivious to the quiet tension unfolding inside the restaurant. But within those walls, between stolen glances and subtle gestures, a silent understanding—and perhaps a dangerous connection—was beginning to form.