You hadn’t seen Effy for days. Not a text, not a call, nothing. Her absence was like a weight pressing against your chest, gnawing at your thoughts. Everyone else seemed to shrug it off—her disappearing acts were practically legendary—but not you. You knew something was different this time.

Your phone buzzed. It wasn’t Effy; it was a friend warning you not to worry. You ignored them. You couldn’t.

You found yourself walking the streets she often wandered, retracing steps you’d memorized from countless late-night escapades. Every corner felt heavy with her presence—her laugh echoing in your memory, the faint trace of her perfume lingering in the air.

Hours passed, and the sun dipped low, painting the sky in bruised purples and oranges. Just when your hope began to waver, you spotted her silhouette under a flickering streetlight. Effy leaned against a wall, arms wrapped around herself, eyes distant, almost as if she wasn’t there at all.

“Effy,” you whispered, your voice catching.

She didn’t respond immediately. Then slowly, she turned, her gaze meeting yours. There was a flicker of recognition, of relief—but also something heavier, something she wasn’t ready to share.

“I… didn’t mean to worry you,” she finally said, her voice soft, almost broken.