Chasing His Kickass Luna Back
Chapter 0299

Abby

The interview comes to an end, and I let out a sigh of relief, feeling a mix of emotions. It went well, and I managed to stay true to myself. Mr. Thompson approaches me with a warm smile.

"Abby, you did great out there,” he says. “Your kind words and forgiveness towards Daniel were truly commendable. It was a good look for you.”

I nod, feeling a sense of validation. “Thank you, Mr. Thompson. I just wanted to be honest and genuine.”

He pats me on the back. “Well, it paid off. Keep up the good work, Abby."

As I make my way out of the studio, I'm greeted by a small group of fans who have gathered outside. I'm shocked by their presence, but flattered.

"You don't need to engage,” Mr. Thompson whispers as we approach. “I understand if it makes you uncomfortable.”

But I shake my head. “No, not at all. I'd be happy to talk to them.”

I approach the group and am immediately met by smiles and kind words. I spend the next few minutes signing autographs and taking pictures, genuinely thrilled that a group of women, no matter how small, felt so moved by my story that they were willing to come out here to meet me. "You're my role model, Abby. I hope to be as successful and talented as you one day,” one young woman who introduces herself as Lisa tells me.

I smile at her. “Thank you, Lisa. Just keep working hard and following your passion. You can achieve anything you set your mind to.”

But as I'm about to leave, my breath hitches when I spot a familiar little chef hat in the crowd. It's the little girl from the cook-off, the one who kept me grounded all this time.

My heart swells with emotion as I stoop down to her level.

“Hey there,” I say with a smile. “What's your name?”

The little girl's eyes widen with excitement, and she practically bursts with energy. “I'm Charlie!” she explains. “Abby, I can't believe it's you!”

Her mother, standing nearby, chuckles. “She hasn't stopped talking about you since your first interview. She had to come and meet you.”

I can't help but feel a lump in my throat. To think that I made such an impact on a young child is incredibly heartwarming. I hug the little girl gently.

“That's so sweet of you,” I tell her. “And what about you? Do you want to be a chef when you grow up?”

The little girl nods enthusiastically. “Yes! I want to be just like you, Abby!”

Tears fill my eyes as I look at her with genuine affection. “You know what, sweetheart?” I find myself saying, reaching out with my index finger to boop her little button nose. “You're the one who kept me going all this time.”

Charlie's eyes widen, and she gasps. “Really? How?"

“Well,” I say, trying not to cry, “every time I was feeling sad or scared, I looked up in the crowd and saw you there with your handmade sign. It made me so happy that I knew I could do anything.” Without a word, Charlie giggles and throws her arms around my neck. I can't help but laugh, hugging her back.

Her mother thanks me for taking the time to talk to her daughter, and I can see the gratitude in her eyes. As I say goodbye and continue on my way, I can't stop thinking about that little girl, Charlie. The smile never leaves my face, no matter how much I try.

I'm back in my cozy apartment after the interview, feeling a mix of exhaustion and contentment. The encounter with the little girl at the studio left a warm glow in my heart, and I can't help but smile as I recall her bright eyes and dreams of becoming a chef.

As I unwind on my couch, a sense of tranquility washes over me. The night outside is peaceful, the city's sounds a distant hum. I've got a movie playing quietly on the TV and dinner cooking in the oven, and I'm content.

But then, a rustling noise coming from beneath my living room window catches my attention. My heart skips a beat, and my mind immediately goes back to that dreadful day when my apartment was set on fire.

Ever since that incident, I've been on edge, constantly vigilant. The police never found anything, but I can't help but worry that someone might be lurking, watching, waiting for the right moment to strike again.

With a deep breath, I try to calm my racing heart. It's probably just my imagination playing tricks on me. Maybe it's the wind rustling the leaves or a stray cat rummaging through the trash.

But the unease lingers, gnawing at the back of my mind. I can't ignore it. I need to make sure.

I stride over to the window and throw it open, peering out into the darkness. My eyes strain to make out any movement. And then, I see it—a fleeting figure darting away from the building. A human figure.

My heart pounds in my chest, and a rush of adrenaline surges through me. It's too dark to see clearly, but I'm certain I saw someone. Panic begins to set in, and my hands tremble as I reach for my phone.

I dial 911, my voice shaky as I explain the situation to the operator. They assure me that they'll send a patrol car to investigate. I try to steady my breathing as I wait, my eyes fixed on the window, half expecting the figure to return.

It feels like an eternity, but finally, I see the flashing lights of a police car approaching. The officers arrive, and I lead them to the window, my heart still racing.

I recount what I saw, my words coming out in a rush. The officers nod and begin to search the area beneath the window. They check the alley, the trash bins, and the surrounding streets, but they find nothing.

One of the officers turns to me, his expression sympathetic.

“It's likely just a random person, maybe snooping around or looking for shelter. These things happen in the city. But we'll keep an eye on the area, and you should call us immediately if you notice anything else suspicious.”

I nod, feeling a mix of relief and lingering unease. The police assure me that they'll increase patrols in the neighborhood, and they take my contact information before leaving.

Alone in my apartment once more, I try to convince myself that it was indeed just a random person, nothing serious. The city is filled with people, after all, and it's easy to jump to conclusions in the darkness.

But before I go to bed, I make sure to close all the windows and lock everything securely. I can't shake the feeling of my space being intruded, or someone just waiting to wreak havoc when things are beginning to look up.

As I lie in bed, I listen to the quiet of the night, my senses heightened. Every creak and rustle seems amplified, but eventually, exhaustion overtakes my anxiety, and I drift into a fitful sleep.

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