Where We Left the Watch – Part 2: Booth 27

Where We Left the Watch – Part 2: Booth 27

By Mahboob Khan

I didn’t sleep much that week.

The note on her apartment door replayed in my mind like a song I couldn’t shut off:

“Booth #27, next Sunday. Final clue.”

I didn’t know what “final” meant. Was it the end of the mystery or the beginning of something else?

I showed up an hour early. The market had barely opened, and most vendors were still setting up. My stomach was tight. I carried the pocket watch in my jacket, the key still inside. Somehow, it felt heavier today.

Booth 27 was tucked between an old bookstall and a place that sold mismatched salt shakers. A woman in her sixties was arranging ceramic vases when I got there.

“Looking for something?” she asked.

“Maybe someone,” I replied.

She smiled like she’d been expecting that.

Without a word, she handed me a plain manila envelope. Taped on the outside was another red ribbon.

“She asked me to give you this.”

Inside was a photograph — a black-and-white picture of a lighthouse. The same one from the postcard she chose three years ago.

On the back, in her handwriting:

“Come find me where the ghosts have texture.”

I nearly laughed. Of course she would circle back to that line — the one she said the first day we met. I had almost forgotten it.

But then I flipped the photo over again.

There, in tiny print near the corner, was a name: Hollow Bay Lighthouse.

And a town.

A real one.

Three hours north.

The Lighthouse

I drove up that same day.

Hollow Bay was quieter than I imagined — cliffs, seagulls, an old diner with sun-faded menus. The lighthouse stood alone on a jagged edge, overlooking a restless sea.

I climbed the narrow spiral stairs, the air thick with salt and dust. At the top, the room was empty.

But then I saw it:

A single chair, facing the ocean.

And a note, resting on the seat.

“You made it.”

“I didn’t know if you would. I hoped. I needed to know if you remembered — not just me, but how this all started. The umbrella. The postcards. The way we chose not to choose each other completely, but still found each other anyway.”

“This place… it was the one thing my father left me. He used to tell stories here. I think I kept it a secret because I didn’t know how to share it — until now.”

“If you’re reading this, it means the past mattered enough to follow. But only if you want the future too…”

Behind the note, taped to the chair, was a postcard. This time, it wasn’t blank.

“Same place next year?

No more hiding.

Leave your number this time.”

Underneath was a number. Her number. Finally.

I sat down in the chair, the ocean crashing beneath me.

I looked out into the horizon, the wind cold but welcome. I took the watch out of my pocket, held it to my ear. It ticked once — soft and sure.

I pulled out my phone and dialed.

She answered on the second ring.

“I was starting to think you wouldn’t come,” she said, her voice like warm rain.

“I didn’t want the story to end,” I said.

“Maybe it’s just starting.”

I also uploaded 3rd part of this story go and check it out