A meeting in the past, Michael meets an old friend in trouble. The next action surprises everyone.

The city lights flickered as Michael strolled down the rain-soaked boulevard. It was mid-November in Vienna, and the cold night wrapped itself around him like a damp shroud. He pulled his coat tighter, the collar up against his chin, and quickened his pace. Michael had returned to this city after years abroad, seeking not just the comfort of old haunts, but something deeper—answers, perhaps, or memories.

The past has a way of meeting us when we least expect it.

Michael paused outside the dimly lit window of Café Sturm, his favorite haunt when he was a student. It looked unchanged, as if frozen in time. Velvet drapes, peeling paint, the scratched mahogany tables. Everything urged him inside, whispering promises of warmth and nostalgia. He pushed open the door and stepped into a wash of yellow light.

The place was nearly empty. An old man sipped espresso in the corner, and a couple murmured softly by the window. Michael settled at a table by the wall, ordered a black coffee, and let his mind wander.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting there—lost in thoughts of old friends, of reckless nights—when the bell over the door tinkled. He glanced up.

A man entered, tall and gaunt, his hair wild with curls, and eyes feverish under his brow. He paused, scanning the café with a trembling uncertainty. When his gaze landed on Michael, there was a hesitation—then a dawning recognition.

.

.

.

The man strode over. “Michael?” he breathed.

Michael blinked, unsure for a moment. Then it hit him. “Andreas?”

There was a hurried, desperate embrace. Andreas squeezed Michael’s shoulder; his face was pale, strained, and older by more than the years.

Andreas collapsed into the seat opposite. The years fell away, but something dark had come in their place. His hands shook as he clasped them on the table.

“I hoped I’d find you,” Andreas muttered. “I’ve been waiting, coming here night after night.”

Michael frowned. “What’s happened to you, Andreas?”

Andreas glanced around, then leaned closer, lowering his voice. “I need your help. I’m in trouble, Michael—real trouble. I don’t know who else to turn to.” His eyes glistened, haunted.

A waitress set their coffees on the table. Andreas barely noticed. Michael waited, giving him time. Outside, the wind rattled the windowpanes.

“It’s about Mia,” Andreas finally said, voice barely a whisper.

Mia. The name struck Michael’s memory like a bell. The three of them—inseparable, once. Andreas and Mia had been lovers; Michael, the quiet observer, holding secrets of his own.

“She’s missing,” Andreas said. “Gone. Vanished. And now—I think someone’s after me.”

Michael inhaled sharply. “Missing? What happened?”

Andreas’s hands shook as he sipped his coffee, then set it down untouched. “A week ago, she didn’t come home. At first I thought…” He trailed off, then steadied himself. “But then I started getting messages. Threats. Photographs—of her, at first. Then of me.” He pulled his coat tighter, eyes darting.

Michael felt the old instinct awaken—the need to help, to understand. But the city now felt colder, more dangerous.

“Have you been to the police?” Michael asked quietly.

Andreas snorted, bitter. “They’ve done nothing. She’s just another missing person in a city that swallows people whole. But Michael, I think— I know—someone is watching me.” He shivered. “I think it’s all connected to the past, to what we did.”

“What we did?” Michael repeated, frowning. “Andreas, what are you talking about?”

Andreas’s face crumpled. “The night of the accident. The bridge. Mia and I—there’s more to that night than we ever told anyone.” His voice broke, and Michael’s mind whipped back to that year, to laughter echoing over the Danube. The memory was fractured—something about a car, broken glass, and a secret pact.

Andreas squeezed his temples. “We thought it was over, buried. But someone knows. Someone wants to punish us.”

A deep unease settled over Michael. He hesitated—but something in his friend’s desperation moved him. “What do you want me to do?”

Andreas looked up, hope lighting his hollow eyes. “Come with me. There’s a place I have to go tonight. I can’t go alone. Please.”

Michael nodded. It was insane, he knew. But he couldn’t let Andreas walk into the night alone. Old debts—friendship, love—called out.

They left Café Sturm and plunged into the dark. The air was sharp and raw. Andreas led the way, darting glances behind them. Michael’s senses sharpened, attuned to every shadow and whisper.

They wound through the backstreets, alleyways echoing with the slap of their footsteps, until they reached the edge of the Prater. In the distance, the giant Ferris wheel loomed, a ghostly wheel in the foggy night.

Andreas pointed to a derelict building, windows boarded, doors broken. “She said—before she disappeared—she’d leave a sign here. Something we’d understand.” He swallowed. “Only us.”

They crept inside. The great hall was filled with the smell of mold, broken beams, and rotting wood. Their phones cast thin beams of light across the darkness. Then, on the cracked wall ahead, Michael saw it—a message, scrawled in blue chalk. Three words, legible only to them.

Forgive the river.

Their secret. Only the three of them knew its meaning. Hope warred with fear in Michael’s chest.

Suddenly, from the shadows above, came the scrape of a shoe.

“Who’s there?” Michael called.

A figure emerged, lit by the pale moon through the shattered roof. A woman, hair wild, face bruised—but alive.

“Mia!” Andreas gasped, rushing forward.

But Mia stepped back, raising a trembling hand. “Stop. Don’t come closer.”

“Where have you been?” Andreas pleaded, voice cracking.

Mia’s eyes gleamed. “I had to disappear. They were after me. I think they still are. But I had to make sure you understood—what we did couldn’t stay hidden. The truth… it wants out.” She looked at Michael, pain etched deep. “You were there, too. You carried our secret all these years.”

Michael’s heart pounded. “What do you want us to do, Mia?”

She exhaled, tears streaming down her face. “Help me come forward. All of us. Together. No more hiding, no more lies.”

Andreas trembled, glancing at Michael for guidance.

And this is when Michael did something that took them both by surprise.

He took out his phone and, without a second thought, dialed the number of the detective who had investigated all those years ago.

“Officer Hanser? This is Michael Gerhardt. We need to talk. All of us. Tonight.”

Both Andreas and Mia stared at him, disbelief and relief on their faces.

Michael held up a hand. “We’ve been running from the past too long. Whatever happens—it’s time to face it.”

The three of them—bonded by guilt and love, by secrets and their shared courage—waited together in the broken building, finally ready to let truth have its day.

Outside, the night wind keened through the cracks, but inside, something shifted—fragile and new. Hope, perhaps, or the beginning of redemption.