Updated Feb 18, 2026 • ~6 min read
WILLA
Three years later. Present day.
I’m grading essays when Lennox calls.
“Girl. Emergency.”
“What happened?”
“I need you to be honest. Is this dress too much for a second date?”
I laugh. “Send a photo.”
She does. It’s a red dress. Gorgeous. Definitely not too much.
“It’s perfect.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“I’m not. Wear the dress. Kiss the man. Live your life.”
“What about you? When are you going to live YOUR life?”
“I am living my life.”
“Willa. When was your last date?”
I think about it. Too long.
“I’ve been busy.”
“Busy hiding.”
“I’m not hiding.”
“You are. It’s been three years. The men who tried to take you are in prison. You’re safe. You moved to a new city. You have a great job. Friends. An actual life. But you won’t date. You won’t go out at night. You won’t—”
“Lennox.”
“What?”
“Wear the dress.”
She sighs. “Fine. But we’re talking about this later.”
She’s right, of course. I am hiding. Not physically, but emotionally. I date sometimes. Coffee. Lunch. Safe public places during daylight. But I never let anyone in. Never let it get serious. Always find a reason to end it before it becomes real.
Because the truth is, I’m still stuck on someone I met for ninety seconds three years ago. A stranger who saved my life and vanished, who probably doesn’t remember me, who I’ll never see again. But who I can’t stop thinking about. Pathetic. I know. But there it is.
I’m making dinner when I hear sounds in the hallway. Moving trucks. Footsteps. Voices. Someone’s moving into 3B. The apartment next door has been empty for two months. Good. I liked the quiet. But I also like having neighbors. Safety in numbers.
I peek through the peephole but can’t see much. Two movers carrying a couch. I go back to my pasta.
Later that night, I’m reading in bed when I hear him through the wall. Footsteps. Steady. Measured. Unpacking, probably. The footsteps pause, then continue. Something about the rhythm feels familiar. I shake it off and go to sleep.
The next morning, I leave for work at 7:15. As I’m locking my door, his door opens.
“Morning.”
I turn. And freeze.
He’s tall. Athletic build. Dark hair. Biracial. Strong jaw. Dark eyes. My breath catches. No. It can’t be.
“Hey. I’m Aaron. Aaron Stone. Just moved in.”
He extends his hand. I stare at it. At him. His voice. His eyes. The way he holds himself. It’s him. I know it’s him. But he’s looking at me like we’ve never met. Polite. Friendly. Stranger-introducing-himself-to-neighbor friendly.
“Willa,” I manage. “Willa Crane.”
“Nice to meet you, Willa.”
He smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes.
“You too.”
I shake his hand. His grip is firm. Warm. Familiar. I’ve thought about these hands for three years.
“Well, I should get to work,” I say.
“What do you do?”
“I teach. High school English.”
“That’s great. I’m a security consultant. Freelance. Work from home mostly.”
Security consultant. Of course. The way he moved that night. The precision. The training. It fits.
“Well, welcome to the building.”
“Thanks. See you around.”
He goes back inside. I stand in the hallway. Heart pounding. Hands shaking.
It’s him. I know it’s him. The same height. The same build. The same eyes. But why is he using a different name? Why is he pretending not to know me? Unless I’m wrong. Unless he just looks similar. Three years is a long time. I only saw my savior for ninety seconds in terrible lighting while terrified. Maybe I’m seeing what I want to see. Maybe I’m so desperate for closure that I’m projecting his face onto a stranger. But his voice. I’d know that voice anywhere.
I drive to work in a daze. Teach The Odyssey to my first period class. Can barely focus. At lunch, Lennox calls.
“How’s your day?”
“My new neighbor is my savior from three years ago.”
Silence.
“Willa—”
“I know how it sounds.”
“Do you?”
“I’m not crazy. It’s him.”
“Did you ask him?”
“He introduced himself as Aaron Stone. Acted like we’ve never met.”
“Maybe you haven’t.”
“Lennox—”
“Willa, listen to me. You’ve been obsessed with this guy for three years. You’ve looked at that sketch a thousand times. You’ve imagined what he looks like. What he sounds like. And now someone who vaguely matches that description moves in next door and you’re convinced it’s him?”
“It’s not vague. It’s exact.”
“Exact? After three years? After seeing him for ninety seconds in the dark?”
She’s right. I know she’s right. But I also know what I know.
“Just… be careful,” she says. “Don’t do anything weird.”
“Like what?”
“Like accusing your new neighbor of secretly being your hero from three years ago.”
“I wasn’t going to—”
“Yes, you were.”
I hang up. She’s probably right. I should drop it. Accept that it’s a coincidence. Move on.
But when I get home that night and see his door, I can’t. I have to know.
I knock. Footsteps approach. The door opens.
“Willa. Hi.”
“Hi. I just wanted to welcome you to the building properly. I made brownies.”
I didn’t make brownies. I bought them from the store on the way home. But he doesn’t need to know that.
“That’s really nice. Thank you.”
He takes the plate. Our fingers brush. He doesn’t react. But I see it. A flicker in his eyes. Recognition.
“Can I ask you something?” I say before I can stop myself.
“Sure.”
“Have we met before?”
“I don’t think so. Why?”
“You look familiar.”
“I have one of those faces.”
“Do you?”
He meets my eyes. Steady. Unflinching.
“I do.”
He’s lying. I know he’s lying. But I can’t prove it.
“Well, enjoy the brownies.”
“Thanks again. Have a good night.”
He closes the door. I stand there, staring at the number 3B.
He’s lying. And I’m going to find out why.
END OF CHAPTER 2
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