She Vanished on a Sunday

Still. Warm. Dark. Safe.

Sunday night. The streetlamp outside flickers, its amber glow pooling around her silhouette. I remember exactly where I stood—phone dead, heartbeat echoing.

She wore a pale silk dress that caught the light, casting an ethereal glow. I reached out, voice lost in the night.

Then—the thump. Three heavy beats against the wooden floor. Like someone calling, desperate and urgent.

I froze. She stiffened beside me.

“Do you hear that?” she whispered.

I nodded, drawn by fear and fascination. We followed the sound to the corridor’s end—the old, locked door. Tonight it swung open, as if waiting.

Before I could stop her, she stepped inside. I chased after her, breath ragged.

The hallway was empty—silent, suffocating.

Only her slippers remained. Neatly placed.

No note. No goodbye. Just the hum of a door creaking closed behind her.

Weeks passed. The slippers remained.

The door stayed locked.

Nights were filled with memory, haunted by the thump… thump… thump.

The Return

Three Sundays later, a message:

Meet me where the sun sleeps on Tuesdays.

I drove to the old pier at dusk. Waves whispered. The sky was a blend of lavender and molten gold.

She stood there. Still. Whole. Beautiful.

I called her name—she smiled, fragile.

She dropped a folded note at my feet… and disappeared again.

The Note

“These walls know my fear… But it’s not them that hold me—it’s me.

I walked through that door to find a part of myself I lost.

I needed distance to come back whole.

I love you. Keep the slippers.”

No signature. Just her.

The Chase

Another Sunday. Back at the hallway.

I stood before the door again. Locked tight.

Pressed my ear to its wood: thump… thump… thump.

A heartbeat—hers? Mine?

“Come back,” I whispered.

Silence answered.

The Reunion

Two Sundays later. The pier again.

She was closer now.

She stepped forward.

We faced each other.

“I went deeper,” she said.

“Into rooms within me—places I locked away.

I disappeared to come back.”

She handed me the slippers.

My hands shook.

Her fingers brushed mine.

And suddenly…

I felt whole again.

The After

Now the hallway is just a hallway.

The door is just a door.

The slippers are by our bed—waiting for her, every Sunday night.

And the thump… thump… thump?

Only the sound of my heart knowing she’s home.