Sunlight stabbed through the curtains.
Arman groaned and turned over, burying his face into the pillow. His head throbbed faintly, leftover alcohol and too little sleep. But that wasn't what woke him.
It was her.
The cream dress.The streetlight.That smile.
He opened his eyes slowly, staring at the ceiling. For a second, he wondered if he imagined her. Maybe she was just another late-night illusion. A trick of exhaustion and whiskey. He pushed himself up, running a hand through his messy hair. "Get a grip," he muttered.
It was just a girl.
He walked downstairs barefoot, the marble floors cool beneath his feet. The house was quiet as usual — too big, too empty for a single person most nights. His parents were overseas again. Business. Always business.
He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and turned on the TV out of habit.
The screen flickered to life. Morning news. He wasn't really paying attention at first.
"…tragic incident late last night—"
He unscrewed the bottle cap. "—young woman found—"
He took a long drink."—believed to have been abducted—"
His eyes drifted lazily to the screen. And then.....the bottle slipped from his hand.
Water spilled across the marble floor. He didn't notice.
Because her face filled the television. The same soft eyes. The same dark hair. The same girl in the cream dress. The photo they used must've been from another day, she was smiling brightly at the camera, sunlight catching in her hair.
But it was her. No mistake.
"…identified as Samantha Lessa, twenty-two. Authorities believe she was attacked shortly after 2 a.m. CCTV footage shows her entering a ride-share vehicle—"
2 a.m.
His stomach dropped. That was when he saw her.
"…her body was discovered early this morning—"
The words blurred. Body. Discovered. Murder.
His chest tightened painfully, like someone had shoved a fist straight through him.
No.
No, that didn't make sense.
He had just seen her. She was alive. She smiled at him. She got into that car. The news replayed a blurry CCTV clip.
A black Uber. Pulling up. Her stepping inside. His breathing turned shallow.That was the car.
That was the moment. He stepped closer to the screen without realizing it.
"…police are urging anyone with information—"
He muted the TV. Silence crashed into the room. His heartbeat pounded violently in his ears.
Dead.
The girl at the traffic light was dead.
His mind replayed everything in brutal clarity—
If the light hadn't turned green.If the car behind him hadn't honked.If he had moved faster.If he had followed the Uber.
Would she still be alive?
The thought hit him like a punch.
He didn't even know her.
But guilt wrapped around his ribs like barbed wire.
He saw her smile again.
Soft. Unaware.
And suddenly it didn't feel like coincidence.
It felt like something else.
Like she was meant to look at him.
Like she was meant to smile.
His eyes slowly drifted back to the screen.
Her photo remained frozen there.
Beautiful.
Gone.
And for the first time in years, Arman felt something he couldn't drown in alcohol.
Something he couldn't outrun on his bike. Something that refused to be casual.
Loss. He swallowed hard.
"I'm sorry," he whispered to a girl who couldn't hear him.
But somewhere deep in his chest.....It didn't feel like goodbye.