14

That night, my phone buzzed again.
A new message. Unknown number.
For a moment, I thought it was Noah — until I read the name that appeared on the screen.
Emily Carter.

My heart stopped. It couldn’t be. Her number had been disconnected months ago — everyone knew that.
But there it was, glowing in the dark, like a ghost refusing to be forgotten.
The message read:
“I remember what you did.”

I dropped the phone. My hands were shaking, my chest felt tight.
Another message came seconds later.
“You left me there.”
Tears blurred the screen.
“Who is this?” I typed, even though part of me already knew the answer.

No reply. Just silence.
Then, the typing bubble appeared again — three dots flashing, vanishing, flashing again.
Finally, one last message appeared.
“Check your locker.”

It was past midnight, but I couldn’t ignore it.
I grabbed my jacket and ran. The school was dark, locked — but the side door near the gym was open.
And when I reached my locker, there was a note taped to it.
Same handwriting. Same ink.
Only one sentence.
“I’m not gone.”