Chapter 2 — The First Lie
I didn't call the police immediately.
That's the first mistake people would say I made.
Or maybe the second.
I wasn't sure.
Because standing there in the middle of the room, with the sandal still in my hand and the silence pressing in from all sides, nothing felt clear enough to act on.
Nothing felt real enough.
People don't just disappear overnight.
Not like this.
Not without leaving something behind that makes sense.
And yet—
I looked around again.
The bottle.
The glasses.
The chair.
The open window.
The locked door.
Everything was there.
Everything except her.
I ran a hand over my face, trying to steady my thoughts.
"Think," I muttered.
There had to be a logical explanation.
Something simple.
Something normal.
I just needed to find it.
I placed the sandal on the table and picked up my phone again.
Her number was still on the screen.
I hit call.
It rang.
And rang.
And rang.
Then disconnected.
I stared at it for a moment before lowering the phone slowly.
No answer.
Again.
I clenched my jaw.
"Fine," I said under my breath.
"If you went out, you'll come back."
It sounded weak.
Even to me.
Because if she had gone out…
She would have taken her bag.
Her phone.
Her other sandal.
I looked down at the table.
At the single piece of evidence that refused to fit.
Something about it was wrong in a way I couldn't explain.
I picked it up again.
Turned it in my hand.
Tried to remember the last time I had seen her wearing it.
Nothing came.
Just that same empty gap.
That same frustrating absence.
I exhaled sharply and set it back down.
"Alright," I said.
"Check everything."
---
I started with the bedroom.
Drawers.
Closet.
Bathroom.
Everything looked untouched.
Her clothes were still there.
Folded the way she left them.
Nothing missing.
Nothing disturbed.
The bathroom sink was dry.
No sign that she had used it that morning.
The toothbrush was exactly where it should be.
I stood there for a second, staring at it.
Waiting for something to click.
It didn't.
I moved back into the living room.
Then the kitchen.
Empty.
No used utensils.
No sign of breakfast.
No sign that she had been there after we went to bed.
I opened the fridge.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
Like something might have changed in the last two seconds.
It hadn't.
"Think," I repeated.
The word was starting to lose meaning.
I went back to the table and sat down slowly.
The chair creaked under my weight.
The same chair I had been sitting in last night.
I stared at the other one.
The one she had used.
Still pushed back slightly.
Still not in place.
Like she had stood up and never come back.
A dull pressure built behind my eyes again.
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, trying to focus.
Trying to force something—anything—out of my memory.
We were talking.
That much I knew.
Not just casual conversation.
Something more.
Something serious.
Her voice had changed.
The way she looked at me had changed.
"You never—"
Again.
That same broken line.
I closed my eyes, pressing my fingers against my temples.
"You never what?" I whispered.
What was she trying to say?
What was I supposed to remember?
I pushed harder.
Forced myself to go back.
To replay the moment.
The room.
The light.
The smell of mahua.
Her face.
Her eyes—
There was something in them.
Not anger.
Not exactly.
Frustration.
Yes.
But something else too.
Something I couldn't name.
Something that should have stayed with me.
But didn't.
The memory slipped again.
Gone.
Like it had never existed.
I opened my eyes abruptly, breathing a little faster than before.
"This is ridiculous," I muttered.
I wasn't drunk anymore.
I shouldn't be forgetting things like this.
Not something important.
Not something that felt like it mattered.
I stood up suddenly, the chair scraping lightly against the floor.
"Enough."
If I couldn't remember, I could still act.
I grabbed my phone again and scrolled through my contacts.
The police.
The word sat there in my mind, heavy and unavoidable.
If I called them, this would become real.
Official.
Permanent.
There would be questions.
A lot of them.
About last night.
About her.
About us.
About what happened.
And I didn't have answers.
Not even for myself.
I hesitated.
My thumb hovered over the screen.
Then I stopped.
"No," I said quietly.
"Not yet."
I needed more.
Something concrete.
Something that made sense.
Something I could explain.
Because right now, if I called them, all I had was:
She was here.
Now she wasn't.
And I didn't remember why.
That wasn't enough.
It sounded insane.
I let out a slow breath and lowered the phone.
"Think," I said again.
But the word felt empty now.
Useless.
I looked around the room one more time.
And then my eyes stopped.
On the table.
On the bottle.
Mahua.
Half-empty.
Sitting there like it had nothing to do with any of this.
Like it wasn't the center of everything.
I walked over to it slowly.
Picked it up.
The glass surface was slightly sticky.
My grip tightened unconsciously.
"You did this," I said under my breath.
It wasn't rational.
It wasn't logical.
But it felt true.
The only thing that connected last night to this morning.
The only thing that explained the gap.
The missing time.
I set it back down carefully.
Next to the two glasses.
One of them still had a faint trace of liquid at the bottom.
I picked it up and smelled it.
Mahua.
Strong.
Sweet.
Heavy.
I put it down again.
My eyes moved to the floor.
To the area near the door.
Something caught my attention.
A faint mark.
Barely visible.
Like something had been dragged slightly.
I stepped closer.
Knelt down.
Ran my fingers over it.
It was real.
Not my imagination.
A light scuff.
Leading toward the door.
I followed it with my eyes.
It stopped abruptly.
Right before the door.
I looked up.
At the handle.
At the lock.
Then back at the floor.
A cold feeling spread through my chest.
"That's not right," I whispered.
If she had walked out…
There wouldn't be a mark like that.
I stood up slowly, my mind racing.
"Okay," I said.
"Okay, this is—"
I stopped.
Because something else clicked.
Something small.
Something I had overlooked.
The door.
It had been locked.
From the inside.
I turned to it again.
Stared at it harder this time.
As if it might suddenly explain itself.
It didn't.
It just stood there.
Silent.
Unmoving.
Impossible.
A strange tension built in my chest, sharper now.
More defined.
Because this wasn't just a missing person anymore.
This was something else.
Something that didn't follow logic.
Something that didn't make sense.
I stepped back slowly.
My mind trying to catch up with what I was seeing.
With what I was realizing.
"She didn't leave," I said.
The words felt different this time.
Heavier.
More certain.
Because now—
There was proof.
Not complete.
Not enough.
But something.
Something that didn't fit the simple explanation.
Something that pushed everything in a different direction.
I looked back at the table.
At the sandal.
At the bottle.
At the glasses.
All of it felt different now.
Not just leftovers from the night before.
Clues.
Pieces.
Parts of something I didn't understand yet.
But would have to.
Because if she didn't leave—
Then what happened to her?
The thought settled in slowly.
Carefully.
Like it didn't want to be noticed.
Like it knew what it would do if I fully understood it.
I swallowed hard.
"No," I said.
But there was no conviction in it.
No certainty.
Just resistance.
Because the alternative—
Was worse.
Much worse.
And I wasn't ready to accept it yet.
I picked up my phone again.
Stared at it.
Then finally opened the dial pad.
Not her number this time.
A different one.
One I couldn't avoid anymore.
My thumb hovered for a second.
Then pressed.
The line started ringing.
And for the first time since I woke up—
I felt like I had crossed a line I couldn't step back from.
Whatever this was—
It wasn't going to stay simple.
And it definitely wasn't going to stay normal.
---