|CHAPTER THREE|
1066 Words
The next day, Veronica felt the first rays of sunlight on her face far too early. Groaning, she rolled over and checked the clock: 7:42 a.m. She hadn’t slept well, tossing and turning as the paranoia from the previous night clung to her thoughts. Now, with the hazy morning light streaming into her room, she dismissed it all as an overreaction.
Still, the image of his shadowy figure leaning against his bike refused to leave her mind. She shook her head. Just focus on the day.
At college, the courtyard buzzed with the usual hum of conversations and laughter. A group of her friends sat sprawled on the grass near the fountain. Sarah was mid-story, Jack was messing with his lighter, and Alex... well, Alex was as spaced out as ever.
Veronica sat down, slipping off her bag. “What’s for lunch?” she asked, mostly to no one in particular.
Jack grinned as he exhaled a puff of smoke. “Pizza? Burgers? Or whatever unhealthy cafeteria mystery dish you can find today?”
Sarah rolled her eyes, grabbing the cigarette from Jack’s fingers and stubbing it out. “Ugh, Jack, can you not? You’ll probably start coughing before you even finish that thing.”
Veronica smirked but said nothing, letting the normalcy of her friends’ banter ease her nerves. Her gaze drifted to the fountain, water sparkling in the midday sun. It’s just another day, she reminded herself.
By lunchtime, she had settled for a lukewarm sandwich and a small coffee. She ate quietly while Sarah rattled on about the latest gossip, the familiarity of her friend’s voice a balm to the lingering unease from last night. The rest of her classes passed in a blur of lectures and note-taking, and when her shift at the thrift shop finally came around, Veronica found herself almost grateful for the distraction.
The thrift shop was small but cozy, tucked into a quiet corner of the city. Rows of shelves sagged under the weight of forgotten books, vintage clothing, and odds and ends from another time. Veronica liked it here—the smell of old paper and wood polish, the low hum of the ceiling fan, and the occasional customer who stopped by for treasures they never knew they needed.
She leaned against the counter, absently flipping through a dog-eared novel someone had left behind. The bell above the door jingled, and her co-worker Sam strolled in, his grin as smug as ever.
“Hey, V,” he drawled, sliding behind the counter.
“Sam,” she replied, not bothering to look up.
“Quiet day, huh? Thought I’d stop by early and... brighten it up.” His voice had the kind of self-assuredness that grated on her nerves.
Veronica sighed. “If by ‘brighten it up’ you mean annoy me, mission accomplished.”
Sam laughed, leaning closer than necessary. “You wound me. I was just going to say, if you’re ever tired of this little job, I could take you somewhere nicer. You know, dinner? Drinks? Maybe...”
“Maybe you should stop,” Veronica cut in, her voice sharp. She finally looked up, leveling him with a glare.
Sam chuckled but raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’m just saying—you’ve got options.”
Before she could respond, the bell above the door chimed again.
Veronica’s gaze instinctively flicked toward the entrance—and her stomach dropped.
It was him.
The man from the coffee shop, from her memories, from the countless questions that had haunted her for weeks.
He stepped inside, his presence filling the small shop as though he belonged there. He was taller than she remembered, his leather jacket slightly damp from the mist outside. His dark hair curled at the ends, and those same piercing eyes scanned the room like they could see right through her.
Veronica’s heart thudded in her chest. What is he doing here?
Sam, still oblivious, started to open his mouth, likely to deliver some overenthusiastic greeting, but the man walked right past him without a word, his steps purposeful and deliberate.
Veronica froze as the man moved through the shop. Her pulse quickened with every step he took, her breath catching in her throat. He didn’t look around idly like most customers; he moved with quiet precision, as though he knew exactly what he wanted.
He stopped near the back, his hand reaching out to pick up a small object from the shelf—a tarnished silver lighter. He studied it briefly before heading straight for the counter.
Veronica’s hands felt clammy as he approached. Her mind raced, the questions from last night surging back with full force. Was this coincidence? Was he following her? And why wasn’t he saying anything?
The man reached the counter and placed the lighter down, his movements smooth and unhurried. Then he looked directly at her.
Veronica felt her throat tighten under his gaze. His dark eyes were calm, unblinking, and almost... expectant. He didn’t speak. He didn’t acknowledge Sam, who had stepped back awkwardly.
Instead, he raised his eyebrows slightly, as if to ask the price.
Veronica swallowed hard, her words caught somewhere between her thoughts and her lips. She stammered, “Uh... um... f-five dollars.”
The man reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a crumpled bill, and placed it on the counter. His fingers brushed against the wood, and for a brief second, Veronica thought she felt the air shift, her skin prickling as though from static.
She fumbled with the register, her fingers trembling as she handed him the change. He took it without a word, pocketed the lighter, and turned toward the door.
The bell jingled as he left, the sound fading into the stillness that followed.
Veronica stood frozen behind the counter, her heart hammering in her chest. She realized she’d been gripping the edge of the counter so tightly that her fingers ached.
Sam finally broke the silence. “Well, that was weird. Do you know that guy or something?”
Veronica didn’t answer. Her eyes were still fixed on the door, her mind a whirlwind of confusion and unease.
Was it nothing? Just a random customer? she tried to tell herself. But the way he had looked at her, the deliberate silence, and the weight of his presence... it didn’t feel random.
It felt like something.
- Writer
