Chapter 2. Shadows and silence.
The fog had finally lifted.
It was the first time in days that Alina could see the coastline clearly—waves shimmering in the distance, the trees standing tall instead of melting into whiteness, and scattered rays of sunlight finally reaching the earth.
The air still held a chill, but it was bearable. Familiar. For the first time since her arrival, Alina didn’t feel smothered. She felt... curious.
Maybe it was the strange encounter. Maybe it was the restlessness still pulsing through her veins. Or maybe it was that silent invitation her heart had accepted without words. But something told her today might lead to answers.
She wrapped her shawl around herself, pulled her hair into a low bun, and stepped outside. Her cottage felt smaller now—like the walls had heard too many questions she hadn’t dared to voice.
As she walked through the narrow lane, she passed a few neighbors. The older woman from the green cottage waved at her, and Alina made an effort to smile.
“Settling in well?” the woman asked kindly.
“Trying,” Alina replied. “It’s peaceful here.”
“Peaceful until the fog creeps in again,” the woman said with a chuckle. “The sea hides many secrets, my dear.”
The words lingered in her ears as she walked away.
She made her way to the nearby market—an open courtyard surrounded by small shops, stalls of fresh fruits, warm bread, spices, and handmade crafts. Children ran past with toy windmills, and vendors called out offers in friendly tones.
She weaved through the crowd, her senses comforted by the normalcy. Picking apples, a loaf of rye bread, and a few spices, she smiled at the banter between shopkeepers and customers.
But just as she turned to head to the vegetable stall, she collided into someone.
Her bag slipped from her shoulder and scattered—apples rolling across the cobbled stones, the bread landing in a puddle.
“Oh—I'm sorry,” she muttered, flustered, not even glancing at the person she bumped into.
The man had stopped. But by the time she bent down to pick up her groceries, he was gone.
She gathered the scattered items quickly, cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but then paused.
A small, folded paper was tucked between her fallen things—its edges slightly crumpled, as though it had been handled too many times before. Her fingers stilled.
This wasn’t hers.
She picked it up slowly and unfolded it.
Only three words. In neat, slanted handwriting.
> Come Find Me
Her heart stuttered.
She looked around instinctively, but the crowd had swallowed the man already—if it even was him. People moved about, oblivious to the thunder roaring in her chest.
She clutched the note tightly, feeling its weight far beyond the paper.
Who had left it? How did they know her?
Was it Rayyan?
Back at the cottage, she sat at her writing desk, the note lying before her like a silent challenge. Every part of her wanted to dismiss it. Call it coincidence. A prank.
But deep down, she knew better.
This wasn’t a coincidence.
This was intentional.
And it was only the beginning.
---
On the far edge of the coastal town—where the fog rarely lifted and the trees grew dense and tangled like secrets never told—stood a dark cottage, half-swallowed by the woods. Most locals didn’t even know it existed, and those who did never spoke of it. It stood like a ghost—hidden, forgotten, and utterly alone.
Inside, the cottage was dimly lit by a single flickering bulb above the kitchen sink. The air smelled of spice and dampness, mixed with the faint warmth of home-cooked food.
Rayyan stood at the stove, his back to the room, slowly stirring a pot of boiled rice and chicken curry. His hands moved with quiet rhythm, like someone who had done this hundreds of times. A small grey-and-white cat sat on the counter nearby, lazily stretching its paws and flicking its tail.
“You know,” Rayyan muttered, glancing at the cat, “you really need to stop staring at me like that. I’m not sharing the chicken.”
The cat meowed softly, unimpressed.
He smirked, the expression vanishing almost immediately. He turned off the stove, filled a deep plate with rice, poured the curry over it, and then, like a finishing ritual, sprinkled chopped raw onions on top. The aroma filled the small kitchen.
With his hood still pulled over his head, Rayyan walked into the TV lounge—if it could even be called that. A small, worn sofa, a dusty TV, and walls lined with old newspapers. The cottage looked lived-in, but nothing felt permanent.
One side of the wall had a whiteboard cluttered with maps, scribbled notes, photographs, arrows, and dates. Names circled in red. Lines drawn between places. Faces connected by time and tragedy.
He ignored it for now.
He sat down with the plate in hand, pushed back his hood, and let out a long breath.
The TV played an old comedy show, laugh tracks echoing awkwardly in the silent room. He didn’t laugh, but his gaze lingered on the screen.
As he ate in silence, his thoughts drifted.
To her.
The girl with the curly hair.
The one who stood by the coast like she was trying to breathe again.
The one who had looked at him with eyes that were both startled and searching.
Not because he frightened her.
But because something in her soul had already seen too much.
Alina.
He hadn’t planned to reveal himself. But something about her had pulled him from the shadows that day. Something fragile... yet familiar.
She had looked right at him.
And in her eyes, he had seen something he never expected—a mirror to his own unrest.
He was good at hiding. Disappearing. Blending into the fog like it belonged to him.
But she had seen him.
And for the first time in a very long time...
Rayyan didn’t want to disappear.
He wanted to watch her.
Understand her.
Maybe even be seen again.
The cat jumped down and curled at his feet.
“Looks like we’ve got company now,” Rayyan whispered, taking another bite. “And I don’t know what she’s looking for... but I think we’re both about to find something.”
The fog, even outside his hidden window, started to return. Soft, cold, and quiet.
But this time...
it was no longer empty.
-----
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