Chapter 13
Oren saw Ayara again Tuesday for tutoring.
She came in with a steadier posture than usual, her hair pulled back the way it had been when she’d cooked in his parents’ kitchen, only now her sleeves were down and her folder was tucked tight against her chest. She smiled at him—almost shyly—before averting her eyes.
They’d gone straight to the problem he’d stumbled over last time.
Their voices dropped as they talked, and they leaned in without meaning to, like the table had pulled them closer. He watched her face instead of the numbers, committing each expression to memory with a careful kind of hunger.
Now they were at the end of it. Ayara checked his work one more time before nodding and sliding the paper back toward him.
“This is good,” she said. “You’re set for tomorrow.”
She finally looked at him, her eyes warm but measured, as if she were choosing how much to let show. It caught him in a way he wasn’t prepared for.
Ayara noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he said, though the word sat unevenly. After a moment, he added, “Can I show you something?”
She hesitated, then pulled her bag back onto the table, settling in. “Yeah. Show me.”
He turned the laptop slightly so they were both looking at it.
He didn’t type right away. He adjusted the date range first. Narrowed it. Changed the county. Added the road name. Then the salvage date window, not exact, just close enough to catch anything related.
The search results took a second to load.
Ayara leaned forward, her knee brushing his under the table. Neither of them moved away.
He clicked one of the entries.
It was a local news site. The kind that ran short pieces with no byline and minimal detail. The headline mentioned a multi-vehicle collision. The body of the article filled in the basics. Time of day. Location. Traffic diverted for hours. One fatality.
He scrolled slowly.
The road name was there. The county. The date fell within the window he’d expected, earlier than the salvage listing, but close enough.
Ayara said nothing. She read over his shoulder, her arm resting against his.
Lower down, the article included a brief description of the person who died. Male. Five foot ten. Blond hair. Slim build.
Ayara shifted closer, her shoulder touching his. “Oren.”
“I know.”
He clicked back and opened another result. This one was from a different outlet, smaller, more stripped down.
There was a photo.
Oren’s hand stopped on the mouse.
The photo was taken from above the road, daylight washing the scene flat. One car lay on its side across the shoulder, its underside exposed, windows shattered. Farther down the lane, another vehicle sat at an angle a few yards away, one side almost entirely destroyed, debris scattered between them.
The license plate on that car was visible in the frame. Bent slightly. Still attached.
“This,” he said. His voice sounded different to his own ears. “This is it.”
Ayara squinted and edged closer to the screen, her hair brushing his arm.
She frowned. “Wait…”
She reached past him and nudged the trackpad, zooming in slightly. “I think I remember this accident. I know this stretch of road.”
Oren turned toward her. “You do?”
“Yeah,“ she looked at him. “My old school. It’s just outside the main campus loop. People take it to avoid the lights.” She glanced back at the screen. “It’s right near the east entrance.”
He swallowed.
They both looked back at the article.
Below the photo, the text mentioned where the driver had been headed. Orientation week. First-year arrivals. Increased traffic around campus.
Ayara went still.
“Oh,“ she said, quietly.
Oren’s chest felt tight. “What?”
She shook her head once. “Nothing. Just… that checks out. That week is always chaos. There were always accidents constantly.”
She considered it. “I would have still been in school.”
Neither of them moved.
He felt her watching his face.
“Is this what you were seeing?” she asked quietly. “In the dreams?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Almost exactly.”
The room settled into quiet.
After a moment, he said, “Do you think… ?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” But something about her voice didn’t sound so sure.
He didn’t say anything right away. Because he didn’t see why else he would have been remembering an accident. Unless he had been there, somehow.
Which meant…
The details were close, but not impossible. The kind of thing you could dismiss without stretching logic. Nothing that pointed anywhere specific.
Still.
“Just thought it was interesting,“ he said finally.
She studied him. “Do you want to keep looking?”
“Uh… not right now.”
He closed the tab. Then the browser. The laptop screen went dark, reflecting both of them faintly before it went black.
His fingers shook.
They sat there, knees still touching, the table suddenly too small.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Yeah.” He looked at her. “Are you?”
“I don’t know.“ She said it honestly. “This is…”
“Weird.”
“Yeah. Weird.”
The silence stretched.
Ayara’s hand rested on the table, her fingers curved slightly inward. He looked at it, then away.
“I should probably go,” she said.
“Okay.”
Neither of them stood.
“Oren—”
“You don’t have to say anything,” he said. “I know this is a lot.”
“It’s not that.” She turned slightly in her chair. “I just…. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here.”
“You don’t have to do anything.”
“But I want to.” The admission came out quickly, like she hadn’t meant to say it. “I want to help. I just don’t know how.“
He looked at her then, and saw something in her face that made his chest tighten. Concern, yes. But something else underneath it. Something that had nothing to do with tutoring.
“You’re already helping,“ he said quietly.
“By sitting here?“
“Yeah.”
She held his gaze for a moment too long. Long enough that when she finally looked away, it felt deliberate.
“I really should go,” she said, and this time she stood.
She gathered her bag slowly. Then she straightened one of the papers he’d stacked, the gesture unnecessary, lingering.
“Text me,” she said. “If you find anything else. Or if you don’t. Just—text me.”
“I will.“
She paused at the door, her hand on the frame. Turned back. “Get some sleep tonight.“
“I’ll try.“
“Oren.”
“Yeah?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it. Shook her head slightly. “Nothing. I’ll see you next time.”
She left, the door closing quietly behind her.
Oren stayed where he was, staring at the closed laptop.
The search hadn’t given him answers. It hadn’t taken anything away either. The accident happened. Around the time he expected. In a way that matched what he’d been seeing.
And that was all.
There were still explanations available. Enough space left to stand in without falling through.
Because there was no way he could have been dead before.
That night, as he closed eyes and tried to focus.
His head was still spinning.
Wednesday evening news murmured in the background.
Ayara finished the last of her chicken at the dinner table and caught herself replaying the call she had with Oren earlier.
She picked at her rice and tried to arrange it into something sensible. He’d called to ask a simple question, something about tutoring tomorrow, and then neither of them hung up.
She paused.
She was allowed to be friendly, allowed to be curious, allowed to enjoy someone. That did not change the fact that she wanted a third call like she wanted air.
“So,” her mother said, “how is your student? The boy. What’s his name again?”
Ayara’s attention snapped back to the table, like she’d been caught mid-thought. She smoothed her face before speaking.
“Oren Hale.”
Her mother’s fork slowed against the plate.
Her father paused mid-chew, eyes lifting toward her before he swallowed.
“The Hales?”
“Yes,” Ayara said slowly. “Why?”
Her parents glanced at each other. A quick, quiet exchange long-married people do without meaning to.
Her father wiped his mouth with his napkin. “When they first moved here—you were still in school then—people talked. Not gossip. Really concerned.”
Her mother nodded. “It was the shed.”
Ayara felt her pulse skip once. She didn’t show it.
“What about the shed?” she asked.
Her mother folded her arms. “It has a big window, you know, one facing the back fence. Your father’s coworker used to live behind them. He told us what he saw.”
Her father took over, matter-of-fact. “One afternoon, he was in his yard. He looked over, and there was someone standing in that shed window.”
Her mother shivered slightly. “He said the boy just stared. Like he didn’t know what he was looking at.”
“And then what?“ Ayara asked, her voice steady only because she made it steady.
“The next morning,“ her father said, “the windows were covered. Completely. Thick boards or something. Couldn’t see through at all.”
“And no one saw anyone in that window again,“ her father said. “Not once.”
Her mother shook her head. “Your father’s coworker still won’t walk past that house at night. Says something about it feels… off.”
Ayara barely tasted her food. Her heart pounded hard, but she stayed quiet.
Her father looked over gently. “M’ija, just be careful. Some families carry strange energy. You feel it even when nobody says nothing.”
They returned to eating as if the story ended there.
She tried to picture the shed as she knew it now. Quiet and ordinary, just a structure in a backyard. She never got a good look at it. But she could imagine the windows covered. She could imagine the shape of someone standing inside, still and uncertain.
She didn’t let herself think beyond that.
Because she knew exactly who that boy had been.
She just didn’t know what to do with that.
how did you make this gorgeous cover art, its stunning
Good story and good writing style. Are you published? Or have A literary agent?
Because it looks like it should be well-deserved