The Call That Never Came !

I don’t know why I’m writing this. Maybe because if I don’t, I’ll start believing it was all in my head. That none of it happened. That I didn’t hear his voice.

But I did.

I swear, I did.

And if I accept that, then I have to accept something worse—if he’s still out there… where the hell has he been?


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Before That Night

Jake always kept his promises. He wasn’t the kind of man who spoke just to hear his own voice. When he said, “I’ll call you when I land,” I believed him.

That night at JFK, his lips brushed mine in a goodbye that felt too quick, his hands steady on my waist. “It’s just a work trip, Em. Four days. Then I’m back, and we’ll go to that Italian place you love.”

I smiled. Kissed him back. Watched him vanish into the crowd, his leather jacket slipping out of sight like a shadow.

I never thought it’d be the last time.

Why would I?

Planes don’t just disappear.

People don’t just vanish.

But his did.

A crash. A list of passengers. No survivors.

Except—there was no body. No wreckage photos. Just a sterile email from the airline. “Regret to inform you…”

And the phone call that never came.


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After

The first year, I waited.

Every night, I’d curl up with my phone, replaying his last voicemail until his laugh turned tinny and warped. “Hey, it’s me. Stop worrying—I’ll see you Sunday.” I devoured conspiracy forums, clung to stories of amnesia survivors and government cover-ups. If I just believe hard enough, I thought, he’ll call.

The second year, they started hovering—my sister, my friends. Their voices dripped with pity. “Emily, he’s gone.” As if saying it softer made it kinder.

But I was already fragments.

By the third year, I almost folded. Deleted his number. Boxed up his clothes.

Then, last night—my phone rang.


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The Call

One ring.

An unknown number.

My heart jackhammered so loud I barely heard the silence that followed. I stared at the screen until the pixels burned into my retinas. Wrong number, I told myself. A glitch.

But then—it rang again.

This time, I answered.

“Hello?”

Static crackled, the kind that prickles skin.

Then—

“Emily.”

A whisper. A breath.

His voice.

The room tilted. “Jake?”

More static. A choked sound—a sob? A laugh?

Then nothing.

I sat there for hours, maybe, the phone glued to my ear. When I finally looked, the call log showed nothing. No number. No proof.

I should’ve let it go.

I should’ve called my therapist.

But then my phone buzzed—a text.

> Unknown Number: Don’t believe them. I never got on that plane.




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The Descent

I read it over and over, my pulse thudding in my ears. My hands trembled as I typed back, Who is this?

No response.

Seconds stretched into minutes, minutes into an hour. I called the number back. This number is not in service.

My breath hitched. Was someone messing with me? Some cruel joke? But no one knew—not really. I had never spoken about the what-ifs out loud. I had buried them under logic, under therapy sessions, under the unbearable weight of moving on.

And yet, here it was. A voice that shouldn’t exist. A message that shattered everything.

Jake had never gotten on that plane.

So where had he gone?

And why had someone lied?


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The Search

I didn’t sleep. I scoured every old news article, every forgotten forum thread, searching for anomalies. The flight manifest, the witness reports—anything that didn’t add up.

And then I found it.

A security camera still from JFK, timestamped the night he left.

Passengers walking through the terminal. Families hugging. Businessmen scrolling on their phones.

And Jake—

Walking away from his gate.

Not toward it.

My stomach twisted. My fingers dug into the keyboard. Why?

He had boarded that flight. Hadn’t he?

But the grainy image said otherwise. He had turned around. Walked away. Vanished before the flight even left the ground.

And someone had covered it up.


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Ending

The dead don’t call.

But if Jake’s alive, someone lied.

Someone wanted me to believe he was dead.

Someone had erased him.

And I’m about to find out why—no matter what it takes.