Frowning deeply, he headed back toward the radiator to end his silly prank early, reaching behind the metal fixture to grab the passport and clear up the harmless misunderstanding right away. But his fingers only brushed against cold metal and a thin layer of dust. The passport was gone. He stared at the narrow empty gap behind the radiator, scrambling to recall the exact spot he’d hidden it just minutes prior. Slow, cold fear began to coil tight and quiet in the pit of his chest.
Three years ago, he’d first met Clara inside a cramped, cozy neighborhood bookstore, their hands bumping into each other as they both reached for the same worn paperback novel on a crowded shelf. They’d shared that awkward, surprised laugh only two strangers can exchange, and before they knew it, they were chatting away between the book aisles until the store’s overhead lights flickered on and off, signaling closing time for the night.
