The Stalker and the writer

Edgar Torn.

I left home early, as usual. Half asleep, half rushing, in that silent routine I knew by heart. The sky over London was still a lazy gray, and traffic was starting to wake up—horns honking, headlights flashing, people running as if the world were about to end at any moment. But inside the car, it was different. That was my space. A place where I could think. Or pretend to think.

I arrived at the university as I did every day. Students came and went; many of them already knew me.

“Good morning, Professor Edgar!” said one of them, a girl who always smiled at me every morning.

“Thanks for yesterday; the class saved my exam!” said Matthew.

“You're the best advisor, seriously!” said Peter.

I smiled, waved, and responded with that calm tone that years of experience had taught me to maintain. I liked that. I really did. Helping, teaching, advising. It gave meaning. It gave purpose. Even if inside... everything was dull.

The morning flew by amid questions, exercise lists, and conversations about final projects. When the workday ended, I said goodbye with a tired smile and headed to the teachers' lounge.

My stomach was already growling, so I pulled my lunch box out of my backpack. I ate right there, alone. Rice, chicken, vegetables. Everything on autopilot. Chewing, staring into space, listening to distant voices in the hallway.

But today was different.

Today was six years since Amanda died.

I sighed deeply and closed my eyes for a second. The taste of the food disappeared.

I put the lunch box away. I grabbed my keys, walked silently to the parking lot, and got in the car. The drive to the cemetery seemed endless. The radio was off. I didn't want music. Just silence.

I parked outside and got out with a bouquet of red roses. Her favorites. The rusty gate creaked as I pushed it open. I walked down the stone path, past graves that were now familiar. That place had a strange weight to it. A weight of emptiness.

When I stopped in front of her gravestone, I felt that tightness in my chest. Her name is engraved on the stone. The image of her smiling face on a recording, all done with such care.

The phrase was... You will never be forgotten; you are gone, but your light remains everywhere. You live in our hearts.

I kneeled and placed the flowers gently, as I always did.

“I miss you every day, Amanda,” I whispered. My voice faltered. “I should have gotten there sooner... I should have saved you.”

The tears came before I even realized it. They wet my face and the collar of my shirt. I didn't cry for drama. I cried because there was nothing else I could do. She was gone. And life... went on without her.

I stayed there for a while. I don't know how long. Just staring at that engraved face, trying to remember her features, as if I could reconstruct the memory every time I looked at her.

Those beautiful light eyes were almost golden, her shiny black hair, that smile that always brightened my day... I missed her; I wanted so much to feel her embrace once more, to smell her perfume.

I sniffed quietly and dried my tears, got up, and decided to leave now, to go home.

I got in the car and just drove. At that moment, aimlessly, I just sped up.

But I ended up parking in front of the bookstore in the city center.

Amanda loved fantasy. She had notebooks full of stories, sketches, scribbles with crooked letters, and magical characters. I kept everything. They're in the back of my closet. I never had the courage to reread them.

I walked over there.

I wandered through the fantasy section. The titles sparkled, and the colorful covers stood out. But it was a simple book, hidden between two bestsellers, that caught my eye. I can't explain why. It just felt right. I picked it up and started reading right there, standing between two shelves.

The writing was light. Fluid. The words flowed in a familiar way, as if they were speaking directly to me. It moved me in a strange way. I felt… awake, after years.

“This author is new, you know?” said a girl next to me. “There's going to be an autograph signing today. At the central bookstore.”

New author?

I smiled awkwardly at her, thanked her with a nod, and closed the book.

I went to the cash register and bought the book.

Without thinking twice, I left and headed straight for the event.

It was already late, almost four in the afternoon. I sped up and passed a few cars that were driving slowly.

It is unclear to me why I was going there, but I was curious to know who the author of that book was.

I arrived, parked, and entered the central bookstore.

I looked around, there was already a line there, but it wasn't that long. I had arrived early.

I was more anxious than usual. People were talking, laughing, and taking pictures. And I just wanted to see who had written that book.

The line started moving, I would be next soon, a few more minutes and the person in front of me left. It was a girl who was smiling too much.

When I looked away and focused in front of me, it was my turn...

Then I... froze.

She was there.

Sitting behind the table. Young. Smiling. She had a sparkle in her eyes. The same sparkle as Amanda. Or maybe... it was just my imagination.

She looked at me and smiled.

“Hi! I'm glad you came!” she said, smiling sweetly!

Her voice was soft and calm.

It moved me.

I cleared my throat, trying to sound natural.

“I... I read your book today. I bought it by chance. But I couldn't put it down.” She looked at me, her eyes shining, she was excited. “You write... in a way... that captivates. It was as if I knew that story.” She was moved, thanked me, and asked my name.

“Edgar,” I replied, handing her the book, and she took it and began to autograph it affectionately.

I couldn't take my eyes off her face. Every feature... every expression. Something about her was familiar. She made me feel something I hadn't felt in a long time.

Was it because she looked so much like Amanda?

I stood there for another second, just watching. And then I left.

But I took more than a book with me that day.

Yes, much more.

I took that feeling with me, and it didn't seem to want to leave me.