The night before had left Sharon restless. She lay awake in her aunt's house, staring at the ceiling as the city whispered outside her window. Every word Akon had spoken replayed in her mind, each one too heavy to shake off.
"I've known you since the beginning."
She should have been terrified. And yet, there was something else too—something she couldn't admit even to herself.
By morning, she made a choice she didn't understand. She dressed carefully, pulling on the same style of dress she had worn the day he first saw her years ago. White, soft, delicate. Maybe she wanted to test him. Maybe she wanted to see if his words had been true.
When she stepped outside her café, the air smelled faintly of rain. Sharon waited, clutching her phone nervously until it buzzed.
"Where are you?" Akon's voice was low, impatient.
"Outside. By the old bookstore."
Within minutes, he appeared. At first, he was just another figure cutting through the crowd—but then his eyes found her. His steps faltered. For a moment, Akon froze as though the entire world had stopped moving. His gaze roamed over her, sharp and aching, like a man seeing a ghost he had longed for too many years.
When he finally reached her, he didn't speak. He didn't ask permission. He simply pulled her against him, his arms tight, his breath uneven. Sharon stiffened at the sudden embrace, her hands trapped between them.
"Akon…?" she whispered. "Are you okay?"
He didn't let go. His voice was husky, trembling at the edges.
"Yes. I'm just… happy to see you. Like this. You don't know how long I've waited."
Sharon blinked up at him, surprised by the rawness in his eyes. For the first time, she saw something break through his polished control—something softer, something almost fragile.
"Can you come with me somewhere?" she asked suddenly, her voice softer than she intended.
He pulled back slightly, searching her face. "Where?"
"Just… come."
Without another word, he nodded, unlocking his car and holding the door for her.
The drive was long, stretching into silence broken only by the hum of the engine. After an hour, Sharon told him to stop near a quiet stone arch. From there, they walked. The path wound through rows of graves, silence pressing in with every step. For two hours, they walked until Sharon finally stopped at a lonely grave marked by a simple stone.
Akon's eyes narrowed. The carved name struck something deep in him. His breath caught. The face etched into the worn photograph looked achingly familiar—like the boy who had been his shadow once, his best friend when the world felt unbearable after his parents' death.
"Whose grave is this?" he asked, his voice low.
Sharon's hand trembled as she brushed dirt from the headstone.
"My elder brother. He loved me more than anything. He… he died with my parents."
Something inside Akon twisted sharply. His pulse quickened. Without thinking, he pulled out his phone and dialed a number. When his old friend answered, Akon's voice cracked.
"Do you… have a sister?"
On the other end, silence. Then:
"I don't remember."
Confusion struck like a blade. Akon lowered the phone, staring at the grave again. His throat tightened. He turned to Sharon, his voice rough.
"What if your brother is alive?"
Her eyes widened, shimmering with pain.
"I… I would be happy. Happier than anything. But he's gone."
Akon looked away, jaw clenched. His mind spun with questions, but he forced himself still. He sent a quick message to Amy, explaining everything. Her reply came fast: Wait. Two months. Trust me.
The silence stretched. Sharon finally broke it, her voice trembling.
"You're… a good man, Akon. Kind. A brother to Amy. Someone with a good heart. But I don't want to ruin my friendship with her. So, please… stop following me."
The words cut him deeper than a blade. She didn't know how much she meant them. She didn't know how much it hurt. But her voice had wavered, her eyes had betrayed her sadness.
Akon inhaled slowly, controlling the storm inside him. Then, quietly, he asked, "Can I at least drop you home?"
Sharon hesitated, then nodded.
The car ride was silent at first. Halfway through, he reached into the console and offered her a bottle of water. She gave him a tired smile and drank.
Minutes later, her hand slipped from the bottle, her body tilting against the seat.
"Sharon?" Akon's voice softened, almost tender, as he caught her before she could fall. Her lashes fluttered, then stilled. She had fainted, breathing steady but unconscious.
His chest rose and fell heavily. He shouldn't have done it. And yet, he told himself it was the only way. She wanted to run. He couldn't allow it. Not again.
He drove in silence, the city fading behind him as he took the road toward his farmhouse—a place hidden, private, untouched by the world.
When he arrived, the gates creaked open, and the car rolled to a stop. He stepped out and moved quickly to her side, lifting her effortlessly into his arms. Her body was soft against his chest, her hair brushing his jaw, the faint scent of her perfume filling his lungs.
Inside the farmhouse, he carried her upstairs and into the master bedroom. He laid her carefully on the bed, brushing a strand of hair from her face. For a moment, he simply stood there, looking down at her, his heart torn between devotion and madness.
"You can hate me," he whispered against her temple, his lips barely grazing her skin. "But you'll never escape me. You're mine, Sharon. You always were."
The click of the lock echoed as he turned the key, sealing the room—and sealing their fate.