017

Everything I had uncovered until now placed Zara’s final days in early 2025. 

Didn’t it?

I scoured every document again. Hospital records, school attendance, late-night texts exchanged with friends. All of it pointed to the beginning of 2025. 

But the letter… her words… the date... 

It pointed to something else entirely. 

The timelines didn’t align—as if they had fractured, like two threads running parallel only to twist into a knot of impossibility.

Was it a mistake? 

A forgery? 

I stared at the letter, heart pounding. Uncertainty sank in like cold water. I was losing the shape of things—of dates, of reality, of Zara herself. And then… 

My phone lit up…

A call. 

Unknown number.

I didn’t answer. 

Instead, I inserted the second cassette.

016

  As the ink bled into the paper, her mind drifted. Soon, she fell asleep. The next morning, she woke to find something pressed gently into her palm.

A button.

Worn, round, faintly scratched.

One she knew well—from Randy’s old coat. Her fingers curled around it instinctively. 

She didn’t cry. She simply sat up, eyes focused on the soft light breaking through the blinds. She would be leaving soon. The plane ticket had been arranged. 

But her gaze held a strange calm—not fear, not regret. As if, somehow, she already knew what was coming. 

I found another letter in Zara’s handwriting. It was dated March 8th—the same day she was supposed to board a flight to Europe. 

Only she didn’t. 

The letter was brief, but unflinching. She had changed her plans. She booked a different route—a flight MH370 bound for Beijing. 

Yes, that MH370—the one that vanished without a trace. The one that disappeared off the radar with 239 souls on board. The flight that left Kuala Lumpur on March 8th, 2014.

The realisation struck me like a tremor through the chest. No one had known—not her classmates, not her teachers. 

Maybe only her twin sister. A secret held tight. A secret heavy enough to drown in. But something didn’t make sense.

015

 “I don’t want to go… I don’t want to be sent away. Not abroad. Not now.” 

Still, the silence held. 

She reached for the doorknob with a fragile hand and turned it slowly. The door creaked open.

No one.

The corridor stretched ahead, empty, bathed in stillness. Not even a trace of a shadow. Zara sank to the floor, back against the wall. Her breath quivered. A soft sob broke the silence. 

She pressed her hand to her mouth, crying quietly—afraid someone might still hear. 

Or perhaps … afraid they wouldn’t.

Later, Zara stood at the window near her hospital bed, the glass sealed shut. She stared at the pale sky, lost in thought. The memory of the afternoon lingered. She knew it had been Randy. There was no doubt in her mind. And yet, a sliver of uncertainty remained. 

Was it all just a hallucination? 

The fever? 

The meds? 

Still… she had heard those footsteps. 

She had recognised them—the precise rhythm, the familiar weight of Randy’s shoes against the floor. 

She sat down quietly and began to write, her pen trembling slightly in her hand. 

A page. 

Then another.

014

 2

Cassette 01: BUTTON

It was the hottest day of 2025. The air hung thick like a fever dream. Zara lay half-awake, the lingering effects of her illness and medication clouding her senses. Sweat clung to her skin. She barely had the strength to lift her head, but her thoughts burned clearer than ever—she missed Randy. Even knowing he wouldn’t come, her heart refused to let go of the thought. 

The hospital was silent, unnaturally so. Afternoon light filtered weakly through the blinds, casting long, blurred shadows on the walls. Then came a sound.  

Soft at first—just a footstep. 

Then another. 

The quiet rhythm of someone walking down the corridor. Familiar. Quick, yet careful. Gentle. 

Zara’s heart stumbled. She pushed herself upright, her breath caught between hope and disbelief. 

The footsteps halted — just outside her door.

The silence returned, heavier than before. But something was different. She felt it. 

A whisper escaped her, almost involuntarily.

“Randy…?”

No reply. 

Only silence. 

And yet… she could sense it—someone was there. She leaned her forehead against the door, her voice trembling.