At 13, I was so poor, I never had lunch. A classmate noticed and started bringing me food every day.

That same year, she vanished and I never saw her. 15 years later, I worked in a police station and saw her name scheduled for questioning.

When she came in, I froze. She had the same warm eyes, but the rest of her was unrecognizable.
Her name was

Nayeli—back then and now. It was so unique I never forgot it. Even when I thought I’d dreamed her up.

The last time I’d seen her, we were sitting behind the gym, splitting a sandwich she said her mom made “extra” by mistake.

Her family always seemed a little off-the-radar. No social media, no open house attendance, no class photos.

Then one Monday, she was gone. No warning. No goodbye. The school told us she’d “moved suddenly,” but the way our teacher said it felt off, like she wasn’t sure herself.