Page 112 of Hannah.

My nerves are completely fried, and as I wait for Johan, I pace back and forth, trying to calm my racing heart. Johan asked me to meet him—that means something, right? But what if it isn't him, and I’m naively walking into some trap or prank? Ihold my bag tighter to my body and send a quick message to the number.

Hannah: I’m here. Is this Johan?

They acknowledge me but don't answer the question.

Unknown: Come to the green bench by the trees.

Green bench by the trees…that seems easy enough to find, and it's near the far gate of the garden, shrouded in darkness. The unknown texter wants privacy, and I’m more than willing to give it to them.

The path is lit with warm lantern lights, and the closer I get to the trees, the more nervous I become. It’s been two weeks since the last time I saw Johan and only hours since I received the invitation. He's never reached out to me like this before—but then, things have changed. As I step closer, I prepare myself for whatever the future holds.

Standing in the middle of the garden, facing away from me, is a figure. A female figure. Suddenly, all of my hopes of a romantic reconciliation deflate. Of course, it isn't him. What was I thinking?

But I’ve come this far, and whoever is standing there is still here to see me. I might as well follow through. Slowly, I walk forward, the short heel of my shoes echoing on the pavement. The person in front of me is about my height—tall for a woman, but not overly so—and when she shifts, and the moonlight hits her shoulder-length hair, I can see it's iron gray.

She hears me and turns, her fitted khaki trench coat blowing in the breeze as she does. She's about two feet away from me now, and even in the dark, her face is hauntingly familiar. She looks so much like Oma Margaret that it steals my breath.

“Hello, darling niece,” Aunt Amelia says, her lips tilting in a smile. “It’s great finally meeting you.”