The Stranger Who Knew My Name"

>> WRITTEN BY PROFESSOR KHAN

A Rainy Day and a Chance Meeting

It started with rain—the kind that drenches you in seconds. I ducked into a small bookstore to wait it out. That’s when I saw him: an old man with a long coat and a walking stick, staring at me like he knew me. I offered a polite smile. He approached with surprising speed for someone his age.

“You’re Sarah Williams,” he said.

I froze. I had never seen him before.


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The Name I Never Shared

My name isn’t listed anywhere—not online, not even on social media. I use a pen name for my freelance writing. So how did he know?

“I knew your mother,” he added. “Before she disappeared.”

The word hit like thunder. My mother had passed away when I was two. At least, that’s what I had always believed.


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The Photo in the Old Journal

He handed me a torn leather journal. “She wanted you to have this one day.” I opened it to find a photograph taped inside: a young woman, unmistakably my mother, standing in front of a lighthouse I’d never seen. Scribbled beside it were the words: "Find the light. Trust no one."

It felt like a riddle—but something told me this was real.


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The Lighthouse That Didn't Exist

I spent that evening combing the internet for the lighthouse in the picture. No results matched. Not even reverse image search helped. I was beginning to doubt everything when I noticed a handwritten note tucked in the back of the journal:

“Wexford Bay. 12 steps east of the old pier.”

A place I’d never heard of. But something in me stirred. I had to go.


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The Voice on the Other End

Before leaving for Wexford Bay, I noticed a phone number faintly scratched on the back of the photo. Curious, I dialed it. After a few rings, a voice answered—quiet, rushed.

“Sarah?”

My heart jumped. “Who is this?”

“I can’t talk long. They monitor everything. Don’t trust anyone at Wexford—not even the sheriff. They’ll make you disappear too.”

The line went dead before I could respond. I hadn’t even told them my name.


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The Sheriff With the Cold Eyes

Wexford Bay was small and quiet. The kind of town where outsiders don’t blend in. I stopped by the sheriff’s office to ask about local motels. Sheriff Denton greeted me with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Lighthouse?” he repeated. “No such place anymore. Burned down long ago.”

When I thanked him and turned to leave, he said, “Best not go digging up things that ought to stay buried.”

That wasn’t advice. It was a warning.


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Ghosts of the Coastline

Locals avoided my gaze as I walked the shore. When I asked about the lighthouse, they turned away, whispering. Still, I followed the journal’s instructions. Twelve steps east of the old pier, I found a rusted lockbox buried in the sand.

It was heavy. Inside, I found dozens of old letters—all addressed to me, from my mother.


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Letters From the Hidden Past

“If you're reading this, it means the truth finally found its way back to you,” one began. “I never died. I had to vanish because of what I discovered.”

She wrote about a secret project, government surveillance, people going missing. It sounded like fiction. But the weight of her words—and the effort to hide them—told me it was all real.


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The Man in the Gray Van

Back at my motel, I noticed a gray van parked across the street. Same van the next morning. And the next. When I finally approached it, it sped off.

I knew then: I was being watched. The old man in the bookstore hadn’t just delivered a message. He was protecting me. Or trying to.


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A New Identity, A New Purpose

Weeks later, I received one final envelope. No return address. Inside: a plane ticket, a passport, and a handwritten note.

“You’re not safe anymore. But you’re not alone.”

The name on the passport wasn’t mine. But somehow, it felt more me than any name ever had.

I boarded the plane without looking back. The world I thought I knew was gone.

But a new one was waiting.