Was travelling back home in a taxi. The driver looked at me strangely and called someone. I hear him say, “I’m giving a girl a ride, I’ll take a picture.” He hung up and took a picture of me.
I was on pins and needles, I asked him what was wrong, and he replied, “Sorry, miss, it’s just… you look exactly like someone who went missing two years ago. A friend’s niece. We’ve been looking for her ever since.”
I blinked.
“Excuse me?”
He nodded slowly, eyes still on the road. “Same face. Same eyes.
Even that little scar on your eyebrow. You’re not from around here, are you?”
“No,” I said cautiously. “Came here for university.
I’m not who you think I am.”
“Maybe not,” he said. “But I had to be sure. The whole family’s been broken ever since.”
I shifted in my seat, unsure whether to feel creeped out or just…sad.
I didn’t know how to respond. Something about the driver’s tone didn’t seem threatening. More like he was heartbroken for someone.
He didn’t press further, just kept driving. But something in me stirred. Maybe it was the way he said “the whole family’s been broken.” I thought about how fragile people can become when someone they love just disappears.
It hit me in a weird way. I asked, “What was her name?”
He looked over. “Alina.”
We rode in silence for a while, and as we approached my street, he slowed down.
“Sorry if I scared you earlier. It’s just been one of those days.”
“No problem,” I said softly. “Thanks for telling me.”
He nodded, pulled over, and I stepped out.
But as I shut the door, he said one last thing that lingered with me all night: “Sometimes, missing people don’t even know they’re missing.”
I didn’t sleep well that night. His words kept circling my head like a song you can’t stop humming. I wasn’t afraid, exactly.
But it felt like I had stumbled into someone else’s story. Or maybe my own. The next morning, I kept thinking about it.
Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe guilt. Maybe just an overactive brain.
But I Googled “Alina missing [city name]”. The search hit me hard. There she was.
Alina Popescu. 19 years old. Vanished in 2023.
A photo—blurry, but familiar. I didn’t look exactly like her, but the resemblance was enough to make someone look twice. More articles.
Family still searching. A candlelight vigil held just last year. No new leads.
I closed the tab, told myself to focus on my internship, and went on with my day. But it didn’t work. I kept imagining her.
Where she went. What could’ve happened. Her family.
That uncle, maybe? The driver? By that weekend, I was back in another taxi—different driver this time, same neighborhood.
But the city was small enough that stories got around. I decided to stop by the corner store near the vigil site I read about. Maybe someone remembered her.
Maybe it was stupid. I bought a water bottle just to strike up conversation with the cashier. “Excuse me,” I said.
“Do you know a girl named Alina Popescu?”
The man looked up, surprised. “Alina? Of course.
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