The breeze brushes her cheek, and with it, another fragment slices through her memory like a film reel skipping frames. The low, steady roar of an engine. The vibration of speed. The rush of wind against her face.
Her lips part.
"Motorcycle…" she whispers, the word trembling in the air.
Her gaze lingers on the hotel's facade, but in her mind, she is somewhere else entirely. She can almost see herself arriving—not with a suitcase, not with careful steps, but clinging tightly to the back of a motorcycle, her heart pounding with something far more than the ride itself.
The memory slips away before she can grasp it fully, leaving her blinking in confusion, standing in the shadow of the hotel's grandeur.
"Why do I feel like I came here by motorcycle," Grace whispers, the words barely audible as the thought brushes past like a half-remembered dream.
Her gaze lifts to the Trinity Hotel towering above her—its golden lights casting a regal glow against the night sky. She hesitates, her chest tightening with a ripple of something she can't name, then steps inside.
The lobby greets her with warm light and hushed grandeur. Marble floors gleam beneath crystal chandeliers, voices of staff and guests blending into a distant murmur. Grace stops mid-step, her eyes clouding. A flicker—a blur—flashes inside her mind. A rush of images without clarity, like shadows just out of reach.
Her breath falters. She winces softly, clutching her bag strap as her eyes sweep the hall with unusual sharpness.
"What is this feeling… why does it feel so…" Her voice trails away, unfinished, lost in the swirl of memory and sensation.
She forces herself to the reception desk, checking in quickly with a polite smile. Moments later, she's riding the elevator up, the soft chime echoing until the doors open on the seventh floor.
Inside her room, she closes the door behind her and leans back against it for a beat. The city hums faintly beyond the glass windows. She sets her bag down and slowly turns, her serious look softening into a smile.
"Thank you, Lord, for this trip," she whispers.
Her eyes drift to the wide window with the city lights spilling below like a river of stars. A sudden thought makes her laugh softly.
"Wait—should I take some pictures here?"
She slips off her button-down shirt, leaving just her simple white tee, and steps in front of the glass. The skyline stretches endlessly, antique towers blending with modern lights. Grace props her phone against a water bottle on the table, sets the timer for a three-second video, and turns toward the view.
The camera blinks red.
Grace, framed against the vast city night, lifts her chin slightly, her glossy lips curving into a faint, almost wistful smile as the recording captures her silhouette against Mellany's glow.
Grace retrieves her phone from the table, checks the video, and a soft smile curves her lips. The silhouette against the city's glow feels like a memory she doesn't quite own yet. She scrolls through her gallery and selects the short clips she took earlier—the bustling airport, the taxi ride with the window rolled down, the city unfolding like a painting.
Her fingers move quickly across the screen as she opens the new social media account. She uploads the clips in sequence, watching the preview play like a miniature film of her day.
"The first day at Mellany," she types for the caption, reading it under her breath with a quiet satisfaction.
The post goes live, her new account shimmering with its very first story. Grace slips off her white shirt with a light laugh, tossing it neatly onto the bed. She kneels by her suitcase, unzipping it to reveal the carefully packed contents. The scent of fresh fabric and travel clings to the air.
She pulls out a small pouch of cleansing products, her movements unhurried now, the weight of the day finally sinking into her body. With the pouch in hand, she walks into the shower room, the echo of running water soon filling the space.
Meanwhile, back in L Bingo, the sun hangs low in the afternoon sky as Julian runs through the lake park. His breath is steady but heavy, his footsteps rhythmic against the dirt path. The park is alive with the sound of water rippling and the distant chatter of families, but to Julian, everything fades into the pounding of his heart.
He slows to a stop at the lakeside, chest rising and falling. With his hands resting on his knees, he closes his eyes.
"Lord," he whispers, his voice almost carried away by the breeze, "do I have to find Grace? And if I do, should I finally confess my true feelings toward her… or keep them hidden, over and over, as I always have?" The words spill raw from a place deep inside, the prayer cutting into the stillness.
When he opens his eyes again, the lake glimmers back at him, a mirror of uncertainty.
Later, Julian returns to his studio apartment. His body aches for a shower, and he makes straight for the bathroom—until something catches his eye. The faint glow of his laptop screen.
He frowns, hesitating, then walks over. The screen is open to a social media platform, one he rarely uses. But there it is.
Grace Silver.
Her account page fills the screen, her profile picture bright and unmistakable. His breath falters. He clicks before he even thinks.
And there she is. Grace at the airport, smiling with the sunlight behind her. Grace in Mellany, the city night view spread out like jewels beyond the window. Grace in her hotel room, making a V-sign with playful simplicity.
"The first day at Mellany," the caption reads.
Julian's eyes linger on the words, his chest tightening.
Julian stands frozen in the dim light of his studio, his gaze fixed on the glowing laptop screen. Grace's profile fills it—her smiling picture, her posts from Mellany, the captions written in her gentle voice.
His breath hitches. A quiet disbelief coils in his chest.
"How… how did this account page pop up on my laptop?" he thinks, his mind racing. "I didn't even turn it on… I didn't even know she had an account on this platform."
The cursor blinks at the top of the page, steady and unyielding, as if mocking the pounding chaos in his chest.
Julian leans closer, eyes narrowing with a mix of awe and unease.
"How is this even possible…" The words slip from his lips in a whisper that barely stirs the silence of the room.
Slowly, he lowers himself into the chair before the laptop, his hand trembling just slightly as it hovers above the touchpad. He doesn't click, doesn't scroll—he just stares, caught between shock and something far greater.
His voice breaks into the still air, low and reverent.
"Lord… is this an answer from You? Is this Your way of telling me… to go find her?"
The question lingers, weighty, echoing in the solitude of the room. Outside, the fading afternoon light spills through the blinds, bathing him in a soft golden hue.
The professor's office is hushed, the hum of the computer the only sound as Julian stands before the desktop. His eyes trace the lines of the email carefully, his breath slowing.
A one-week vacation.
Julian exhales, leaning back slightly in the chair. One week of vacation, he repeats inwardly, the words echoing in his chest like a bell. Everything is just… falling into place.
The memory of the afternoon returns—his feet pounding against the lake path, the wind brushing against his sweat-soaked skin, the moment he stopped, closed his eyes, and let his heart speak upward.
"Lord," he whispered, his voice almost carried away by the breeze, "do I have to find Grace? And if I do, should I finally confess my true feelings toward her… or keep them hidden, over and over, as I always have?"
The words spilled raw from a place deep inside, the prayer cutting into the stillness.
Now the pieces align with an almost unsettling clarity. His return to the studio. The laptop mysteriously glowing, already open to her profile. Grace's videos, her smile in Mellany, her voice echoing in captions he never thought he would read. An account he didn't know existed, yet staring at him as if waiting.
And now—this vacation. Unasked for. Perfectly timed.
Julian grips the armrest of the chair, his pulse quickening.
This is no coincidence… Is this your answer, Lord?
He bows his head, pressing both hands together tightly, trembling as his voice breaks in the stillness of the office.
"Lord…" he prays, from the deepest place within, "if this is Your will, then give me courage. Not only to find her… but to do what you want me to do with this relationship."
The screen glows steadily in front of him, its light catching the faint reflection of his eyes—uncertain, yet burning with resolve.
That evening, Julian steps out of the car, the autumn air crisp against his face. In his hand he carries a neatly wrapped bottle of non-alcoholic champagne, its glass cool beneath his fingers. He exhales once, steadying himself, then strides toward the warm glow of the apartment entrance.