10. Caleb
CALEB
Was that Nyah… or was I imagining it?
I had consumed four beers and two tequila shots, enough to blur the edges of the night but not enough to distort reality.
My heart hammered hard against my ribs, and my pulse raced with a frantic urgency.
The image of her face burned in my mind, too detailed to be a trick of alcohol or wishful thinking.
She had looked so real.
I ran a hand over my face, pressing my lips together. Could I have imagined her? Had my mind finally begun playing cruel games with me after years of searching, years of anger, and years of unanswered questions?
I needed to know the truth.
I pushed away from the pool table and walked toward Greg, who was across the room. The noise of the restaurant pressed against my ears.
“Did you see her?” I asked.
Greg frowned immediately. “What are you talking about?”
“Nyah,” I said. “Did you see her just now, just before you called me? She was standing right in front of me.”
He shook his head slowly. “No, I didn’t.” He placed his hand on my shoulder and sighed. “I told you before, you have to let her go.”
I had told myself to let her go, but I was certain I hadn't imagined her.
That certainty persisted. The shock had frozen me in place, and I wished I had reached out…
touched her… said her name. Greg calling my name and pulling my attention away had shattered the moment and left me questioning my own sanity.
I returned to the pool table and picked up the cue stick, forcing my body to continue the game as though nothing had happened.
I lined up my shot, but I couldn’t focus.
My mind remained fixed on her… on the possibility that she had been standing only a few feet away from me. On the chance that fate had placed her back into my path after all these years.
I missed the shot.
I exhaled sharply and shook my head, reaching for my beer before taking a long swallow. The cold liquid slid down my throat, but it did nothing to quiet the noise in my mind.
You need to get out of my head, Nyah. And out of my life.
The next morning, I woke up with a splitting headache and a dry mouth. It had been a long time since I had drunk that much, and my body clearly wasn’t pleased with the reminder of my younger habits.
Greg called shortly after and told me to meet him at the hotel restaurant for breakfast. After we finished eating, while the rest of the guys were still asleep in their rooms, he suggested we go for a walk.
The fresh air helped clear my head slightly, though the heaviness inside my chest remained in place.
“You nervous?” he asked as we stepped onto the quiet street.
“Not really.” I shrugged.
“No cold feet?”
“Nope.”
He studied me for a second. “Wow. Seems like you’re sure about your marriage to Tatiana.”
I didn’t answer immediately.
The truth dallied between certainty and obligation, and I wasn’t ready to put it into words. It wasn’t that I was completely sure. It simply felt like the next logical step after proposing to her, the natural progression expected from a man in my position.
Was I in love with Tatiana?
Yes… or at least that was what my mind insisted.
Would I have eventually married her?
Probably.
That was what my family wanted.
But what did I want?
The question left a faint tingling sensation across my skin. I pushed the thought aside and watched the scenery around us instead.
Walking down the road from the hotel, I appreciated the view.
The smell of fresh baking bread drifted from a nearby bakery, while the ocean stretched out in plain sight ahead of us.
We passed jewellery stores, pottery shops, perfumeries, guesthouses, and small galleries that lined the waterfront.
We also walked past the restaurant where we had eaten the previous night.
A faint smile touched my lips.
My phone rang, pulling me from my thoughts. I glanced at the screen and saw Sophia’s name before answering.
“How’s the bachelor party going?” she asked.
“Quite good. We’re in a village called Cowichan Bay right now. Quaint little place.” I paused, “But I’m guessing that’s not why you called, is it?”
I heard her sigh softly through the line.
“I’m sorry, Caleb. There’s a new project by Harris Constructors and Developers that caught my attention, and I was wondering if you could go and check it out.”
All four of us siblings worked together at the headquarters in Vancouver, continuing to build our father’s legacy, the man who had spent decades developing restaurants, hotels, and commercial and residential properties across the province.
“Have we done any business with them before?” I asked.
“No, but I would like to,” she replied. “They’ve developed a very unique concept, and I’m hoping we can invest in it and become the builders for the project. It’s a seniors and family community living development.”
“Why would they come up with something like that?” I asked. “Who would actually want to live in that kind of arrangement?”
Seniors usually want peace and quiet, and families want to be surrounded by other families, not elderly residents. Who the hell thought this was a good idea?
“That’s exactly why Simon and I want you to attend the meeting. It’s scheduled for Monday at one in the afternoon. It’s only a day trip, and you’ll be back in time without interrupting your bachelor party.”
“Hmm… alright,” I said. “I’ll do it. It’s just an hour’s drive from here anyway.”
“Great. Thanks so much, and continue having a good time,” Sophia replied before ending the call.
“All good?” Greg asked, glancing over at me.
“Yes,” I answered, slipping my phone back into my pocket as we continued walking. “Just have a meeting on Monday in the—”
I stopped abruptly, my words dying in my throat.
My eyes locked onto something in the window of the gallery we had just passed. I squeezed my eyes shut for a second and opened them again, convinced my mind was playing tricks on me.
But the image remained.
My hand moved instinctively to cover my mouth.
“Oh my God,” Greg whispered beside me. “I guess you didn’t imagine her after all.”
A painting of Nyah hung inside the gallery.
It was a vibrant, striking portrait that captured her with breathtaking precision. She looked radiant—beautiful in a way that felt untouched by time, as though the years that had passed meant nothing at all.
An eternal beauty.
Her face was turned slightly to the side, her shoulder angled gracefully, her hair left loose around her. Her eyes held a softness that felt intimate, personal, almost as if she were looking directly at the artist with trust and affection.
The painting carried something deeper than simple artistry… it carried love… connection… intimacy. The kind of closeness that only existed between two people who truly knew each other.
My stomach hardened.
Nyah had always been fiercely protective and private about her life. She rarely allowed photographs of herself, and she avoided social media completely. She guarded her personal world. Yet this portrait revealed a moment that felt deeply private and sacred.
A sharp pressure built beneath my ribs.
Another man had seen her like that. Another man had stood close enough to capture her expression, to witness that softness in her eyes—the same softness she once reserved for me.
Someone who was possibly in love with her.
Someone she could be in love with. The idea burned inside my chest, consuming me.
My eyes darted to the bottom corner of the painting, searching for the artist’s signature.
I found it.
The name was faint and difficult to read, but it was there.
My jaw clenched so tightly that pain shot through my temples. My breathing grew faster and coarser.
“I’m going to talk to the gallery owner,” I said, my voice firm.
Before Greg could respond or try to stop me, I stepped forward and reached for the door handle.
It didn’t budge.
Locked.
My eyes moved quickly to the sign posted beside the entrance.
Closed on weekends.
A string of curses formed silently in my mind.
I wasn’t prepared to walk away… not now, not after coming this close. I wouldn’t lose her again because of something as simple as timing.
Pulling out my phone, I snapped a picture of the painting, making sure every detail was captured clearly.
This wasn't a coincidence.
She was here.
Somewhere in this village, she was here.
She was close, and I could feel it.
I glanced over at Greg, who watched me quietly, his expression serious. He understood without needing words. He knew that nothing—not distance, not time, not obstacles—would stop me from finding her now.
On Monday, after finishing the meeting in downtown Victoria, I would return to this village.
Cowichan Bay was small.
Small enough that everyone likely knew everyone else.
And if that was true, then someone here would know her.
It was time to face my past.
It was time to confront the pain I had carried for years.
It was time to find Nyah.