On the last night of our little getaway, we gathered around the small table to decide where our final dinner would be. It should have been a simple decision, but nothing was ever simple when all of us were together. The discussion quickly turned into playful arguing. Voices overlapped, chairs scraped against the floor, and the boys deliberately said the most ridiculous suggestions just to provoke a reaction. They enjoyed watching us protest.
In the end, after Alex threatened to walk out and find somewhere else to eat on her own, we abandoned the debate entirely and allowed ourselves to be dragged toward a restaurant near the coast.
I remember the wind that night more clearly than the food we ate. It felt different from the previous evenings. It was gentle, almost cautious, and the air carried a quiet coldness from the sea. Not the biting cold that forced us to shiver, since we were wrapped in coats anyway, but the sort that brushed softly against the skin and made you aware of the night around you.
I cannot explain it properly even now. Something in the air felt unusual, as if the night itself was holding its breath. It left me with a strange feeling that something was about to happen, something that would alter the course of our lives in ways none of us could foresee.
Of course, none of us thought about things like that at the time.
We were far too excited about the meal ahead of us and the long trip waiting at dawn. Our flight would leave at the height of early morning, and all we cared about was filling our stomachs before the journey. Since none of us had any urgent responsibilities waiting back home, the conversation drifted easily from one topic to another. It became an evening of plans and possibilities.
I cannot remember what Alex or Gabriel said they wanted for their future. Those details have slipped away from me. But pieces of the others remain, scattered in my memory like fragments of a conversation carried off by the wind.
Edward spoke about becoming a biologist after finishing his degree and eventually obtaining a medical license. At the time, I could easily imagine him succeeding. He was one of the most intelligent men I had ever met. His mind worked quickly and sharply. Still, in other aspects of life, he could be painfully oblivious. Brilliant in thought, yet strangely foolish in the simplest matters.
Then there was James, good old James, who had already begun searching for an apartment in Singapore with Liam's help. Apparently, he had fallen in love with the idea of living there permanently. From there, he planned to pursue a career as a forensic scientist. He spoke about it with such certainty that it almost felt like the decision had already been written into his future.
William, on the other hand, had already begun carving his path. He was one of the three among us who had found work in the game development industry. Even while we were traveling, he occasionally mentioned projects he had been helping with.
And then there was Michael, our newly minted graduate. He planned to return to the Philippines to take the licensure examination. His future was already secured in a way most of ours were not. His uncle had offered him a position in the family construction company.
It was nepotism, plain and simple. We all knew it, and he knew that we knew. But none of us blamed him for accepting it.
While my friends spoke about their futures with growing excitement, I found myself slowly drifting into silence.
After graduating from Heidelberg and obtaining my certification to become a doctor, what would happen next?
What exactly was I supposed to do with my life?
Everyone around the table seemed to have a clear destination. Their lives were laid out with goals they could describe and pursue. Yet when I looked inward, I found nothing but uncertainty.
Should I truly become a doctor?
Should I simply return to the Philippines and follow whatever path my parents expected of me?
The questions circled endlessly in my mind.
My wandering thoughts were suddenly interrupted when Liam abruptly announced that he needed to go home as soon as possible.
At first we laughed, thinking it was another one of his jokes. But the look on his face quickly erased any amusement. He was pale and restless, already halfway out of his seat. When we asked what had happened, he avoided our questions entirely. His answers were vague, hurried, and unsatisfying.
Before we could even make sense of the situation, everyone had already stood up from the table.
To this day, I do not know who paid the bill that night. Everything happened too quickly. All I remember is the sudden urgency as we rushed outside after Liam.
The moment we stepped onto the street, Edward had already flagged down a taxi. He quickly told us that he would go with Liam.
The rest of us stood there on the sidewalk, frozen in place. Our bodies were filled with adrenaline, but none of us knew what to do with it. We simply watched as the taxi disappeared into the night.
After that, the night ended in a strange blur.
We returned to our rooms and slept for only a few hours before boarding another train back to Naples. I remember feeling a quiet disappointment as the train pulled away. It seemed like such a waste that we had barely explored that part of Italy.
From Naples, we went our separate ways. There were hugs, teasing remarks, and the usual nagging reminders to stay in touch.
At the time, we believed Liam had simply gone home earlier than the rest of us.
And in a sense, he had.
But someone else from our group never made it back.
Edward.
When Jaime, his girlfriend, and I returned to Heidelberg, we headed straight to the apartment we had rented together. We expected to find Edward there waiting for us, perhaps already unpacking his things.
But the apartment looked exactly the way we had left it before departing for Frankfurt.
Nothing had changed.
Edward had not returned home with Liam.
At first we thought perhaps his room would be different. Edward was not the type to leave a mess in the living room or shared spaces. If he had returned, there would have been some sign of it inside his room.
But when we checked, we found nothing.
Even the suitcase he had used for the trip was gone.
Clothes were missing from his closet as well. Of course they were. Those were the clothes he had packed for our trip to Italy.
Jaime immediately dialed Edward's number. A female automated voice answered instead, calmly informing us that the phone was outside the coverage area.
He tried again.
And again.
And again.
Each time, the same cold message responded. Jaime insisted that perhaps Edward was moving through an area with poor reception. If we kept trying, we might reach his phone during the brief moment it caught a signal.
But the call never went through.
Eventually, I suggested that we go to the nearest police station.
So we did.
We tried our best to remain calm and speak like rational adults, but the truth was that none of us were thinking clearly. At the station, I found myself speaking to the police officer in broken German. The strange part was that I had been living in Heidelberg long enough to speak the language comfortably.
Yet in that moment, it felt as though every word I knew had abandoned me.
My mind was blank, useless, but my body continued speaking anyway.
Oddly enough, I did not cry.
I refused to.
Edward was alive somewhere. I was certain of it. There was no reason to mourn someone who might still be breathing, still walking somewhere in the world. The worst possibility I allowed myself to imagine was that he had been kidnapped by someone with malicious intentions.
But even that thought sounded absurd.
Who would kidnap Edward?
He was all twigs and bones, with thinning hair and a forehead so large I once joked that I could play tic tac toe on it. His face carried the same irritating expression that made me want to slap him whenever he managed to strike a nerve.
And yet, despite the ridiculousness of my thoughts, one question kept repeating in my mind.
Where on earth was Edward?
In the days that followed, we returned to the police station again and again to ask about the progress of the investigation. The authorities had already contacted officials in Salerno and informed them about Edward's disappearance.
Everything we had told the police was passed along.
Meanwhile, another problem slowly emerged.
Edward was at risk of losing his scholarship at Heidelberg. The possibility only made the situation feel worse. The longer he remained missing, the heavier the silence around us became.
By that point, none of us were thinking optimistically anymore.
Instead, we allowed our minds to wander through every terrible possibility.
Kidnapping.
Human trafficking.
Murder.
We were not the type of people who clung to comforting illusions. If anything, we were the opposite. We imagined every dark scenario that could have happened to poor Edward, until the uncertainty itself became unbearable.