Lara learned quickly that peace never announces itself.
It doesn't arrive with fireworks or certainty. It doesn't tap you on the shoulder and say you're safe now.Peace settles.It pretends permanence.And then—inevitably—it tests you.
The café near her office had become a habit in a way nothing ever had before. Same seat by the window, same oat latte, same small ceramic cup that always seemed warmer than it should be. Same fifteen minutes carved out of the morning where the world felt suspended, held together by steam and the low murmur of strangers living their own lives.
She liked routines now.
They felt earned.
There had been a time when routine felt like a cage—predictable, monitored, questioned. Now it felt like choice. Control. Something she had built with her own hands.
Outside the window, Sydney moved the way cities always did: hurried but alive. People crossed streets with coffee in hand, headphones in, eyes forward. Cars paused at lights, engines humming like restrained impatience. Nothing extraordinary. Nothing threatening.
She had just finished answering a string of emails when the sensation crept in.
Not a thought.
A feeling.
It started at the base of her neck, sharp and cold, like the brush of fingers that weren't there. Her spine stiffened before she could stop it, shoulders tightening instinctively.
That awareness.
The kind you didn't reason with. The kind that lived deeper than logic, etched into muscle memory.
Slowly, carefully, Lara lifted her gaze.
She didn't turn around. She didn't rush. She studied the reflection in the glass in front of her, letting her eyes drift over shapes and movement. A woman laughing at a nearby table. A man tapping his phone impatiently. A barista calling out an order.
Outside, people passed. Cars idled. A bus hissed as it pulled away from the curb.
Nothing out of place.
Nothing familiar.
Still, her chest felt tight.
You're imagining it, she told herself.She had done enough imagining in the past to last a lifetime.
She closed her laptop and slid it into her bag, fingers moving with deliberate calm. She stood, slinging the strap over her shoulder, grounding herself in the simple physicality of movement.
As she stepped outside, the air hit her cooler than expected.
Her phone buzzed.
The sound cut through her like a blade.
She stopped mid-step, pulse jumping as she pulled it from her bag. The screen lit up in her palm.
Unknown number.
Her stomach dropped so fast it felt like freefall.
She didn't answer.
Her thumb hovered uselessly over the screen before she locked it and shoved it back into her bag, breath shallow, heart pounding louder than the traffic around her.
Coincidence, she thought. It's nothing.
A second vibration followed before she had taken three steps.
She froze.
This time, she didn't fight it. She pulled the phone out again, hands trembling now, her nails pressing into the glass as if that would steady her.
Unknown number:We need to talk.
Her breath stalled completely.
The world didn't stop moving—but she did.
Not his name.Not his number.
But she knew.
There were some presences you recognized even without a face. Some voices that lingered in silence long after they'd been taken away.
Her fingers shook as she locked the phone and slipped it back into her bag, forcing her legs to move. The rhythm of her steps was too fast now, her heart hammering far too hard for a message that said so little.
By the time she reached the office building, the feeling hadn't left.
It followed her inside, coiled tight in her chest as she greeted the receptionist, rode the elevator, and took her seat at her desk. It lingered through meetings where she nodded at the right moments and contributed when spoken to. Through spreadsheets that blurred at the edges as she stared at numbers without absorbing them.
At lunch, one of her coworkers leaned over the divider, voice gentle.
"You okay?" she asked, concern softening her expression.
"Yes," Lara said automatically.
The lie came too easily. Too smoothly.
Later that afternoon, her boss called her into his office. He smiled as she sat, hands folded neatly in her lap.
"Everything settling in?" he asked kindly. "Australia treating you well?"
"Yes," she said again. "Really well."
And it was true.
That was the unsettling part.
The life she was building here felt real. Solid. She liked her work. She liked the city. She liked the quiet evenings and the way the ocean made everything feel bigger and less suffocating.
She had begun to believe she was safe.
The email arrived just before she logged off for the day.
No sender name.No subject line.
Just one sentence.
You can't disappear forever.
Her vision blurred instantly.
She didn't move at first. Just stared at the screen, her reflection faintly visible in the darkened glass. Slowly—methodically—she closed the laptop, as if moving too fast might shatter something fragile inside her.
Outside, the city felt louder than it had that morning. Closer. As if buildings leaned in, listening.
She didn't walk this time.
She hurried.
By the time she reached her building, her pulse was racing, breath shallow as she fumbled for her keys. Inside the elevator, surrounded by mirrored walls, she finally allowed herself to breathe.
Her phone buzzed again.
She flinched.
This time, a name lit up the screen.
Vanessa.
Relief flooded her so suddenly her knees felt weak.
"Hey," Lara said, voice tight as she answered.
"Okay," Vanessa said immediately. "Before you say anything—he came by again."
Lara closed her eyes, leaning her forehead briefly against the cool elevator wall.
"Where?" she asked quietly.
"The restaurant," Vanessa continued. "He was asking questions. Calm at first. Then not."
"Did he—" Lara swallowed hard. "Did he cause a scene?"
"No," Vanessa cut in firmly. "But I told him to leave. Told him if he came back, I'd call the police."
A pause.
"He didn't like that."
Lara's grip tightened on her phone. "I'm sorry."
"You don't need to be," Vanessa said, voice steady and fierce. "You're not responsible for his inability to let go."
The elevator chimed softly as it reached Lara's floor. They stayed on the line as she walked down the hallway, as she unlocked her door, as she stepped into the quiet of her apartment.
When she finally hung up, the silence felt heavier than usual.
She locked the door.
Checked it twice.
Then she stood there for a long moment, listening to her own breathing, the hum of the refrigerator, the distant sound of traffic below.
That night, sleep avoided her.
And for the first time since arriving in Australia, Lara felt it with terrifying clarity—
The past wasn't done with her.