For the past few days, my life has revolved around a single thought.
Her.
The morning I woke up and found the bed empty still haunts me. One moment she was there—real, warm, breathing beside me—and the next, she was gone, like she had never existed at all. No note. No message. No trace. Just silence.
At first, I thought she might have stepped out for air. Or coffee. Or something small, ordinary. I waited. Minutes passed. Then hours. And that's when the truth hit me—she had left. Quietly. Intentionally.
The worst part?
I don't even know her name.
All I have are fragments—green eyes that carried pain deeper than words, a smile that appeared briefly but meant everything, and the way she trusted me, even for a moment, when the world had clearly failed her. That night changed something in me. And now, without her, my life feels hollow.
Regret sits heavy on my chest.
If only I had woken up earlier.
If only I had stopped her.
If only I had asked her name.
Every "if" feels like punishment.
I've been going to the club every single day since then. Same time. Same place. Same hope. I scan every face, every corner, every lonely figure sitting with a drink, praying that one of them will turn around and look at me with those green eyes again.
Nothing.
Day after day, disappointment greets me like an old friend. People laugh. Music plays. Life moves on. Mine doesn't. It feels suspended in the moment she walked away.
Still, I refuse to give up.
I won't.
Because without her, there is no joy in my life—only the echo of something beautiful I let slip through my fingers. I've never chased anyone before. Never needed to. But this… this is different. She isn't just a woman I met in a club. She's a presence that rewired something inside me.
And then reality intrudes.
My father.
He's been calling nonstop, his tone firm, unyielding. An important meeting, he says. One that cannot be postponed. One that requires my presence. Apparently, the location is remote—someplace unknown to most of us. A place far removed from my routine. From the club.
From her.
I argue at first. I hesitate. I stall.
What if she comes back?
What if today is the day I finally see her again—and I'm not there?
But my father is relentless. His voice carries authority, responsibility, expectation. He can't attend the meeting himself, and the deal is too important to risk. My presence matters. Family matters.
So I give in.
The flight is booked for the next morning.
That night, before going home, I make one last desperate attempt. I search the club thoroughly—every corner, every table, every familiar shadow. My heart races at every glimpse of green light, every laugh that sounds even remotely like hers.
Nothing.
Today is no different from the other days.
Disappointed and exhausted, I return to my apartment—the place I once loved for its silence. I chose to live alone because I valued control, order, independence. Now, the space feels unbearably empty. Too quiet. Too cold.
I drop my keys on the counter and sit on the couch, staring at nothing.
And then I imagine her here.
Her sitting by the window. Her laughter filling the space. Her presence turning this apartment into something warmer, something alive. The thought alone brings an unexpected smile to my face.
For the first time in days, I feel a spark of happiness.
That's when I realize—I don't want to live alone anymore.
Not really.
I want her here.
And that realization hardens into determination. I will find her. No matter how long it takes. No matter how far I have to go. She didn't vanish from this world—she just went somewhere I haven't reached yet.
Soon.
The next morning, I board the flight.
As the plane lifts off, I look out the window, the city shrinking beneath me. I don't know where this journey will take me. I don't know what waits for me at that unknown place. But something in my gut tells me this trip is not just about business.
It's about fate.
Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'm just clinging to hope because the alternative is emptiness. But I've learned something important over the past few days—some connections don't need time to become unforgettable.
Some people leave marks that distance can't erase.
As the clouds swallow the city below, I close my eyes and picture her one last time.
Green eyes.
Soft smile.
A girl who walked away without knowing she took my peace with her.
And silently, I make a promise—to myself, and to her.
This is not the end of our story.