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I set the album to the side and grab the next one. I smile when I see the first picture inside. It’s an old one of Mom, Layla, and me. It's us at the park.
I was just a toddler in my mother's arms. Mom is holding Layla's hand and is posing with a cheeky smile. I'm guessing the person who took the picture is Dad.
These are the ones I’m looking for. I flick through the album, reminiscing the days in the past when Mom was with us and alive.
When I reach the middle of the album, I find an envelope from Layla's yoga retreat. It's already opened with the words, "All my documents," written on the side.
Curiously, I open it and am surprised to find Layla's confirmation pass and booking details for the trip.
That's odd. It says to ensure she brings it with her when she checks in at the retreat.
I look through the rest of the documents and find her boarding pass along with the flight details for the flight she was supposed to have taken to get to the retreat.
These are all things she would've needed for her trip.
It’s not like her to leave such important documents behind, but maybe she left them by accident and was able to get it all sorted out.
I know she went to the retreat because I've seen her posting on Facebook and Instagram about it. With the mood she was in when she left, I doubt she would've called any of us to retrieve her documents.
There’s a number on the pass to call. The thought occurs to me to contact them and try to find out if Layla might have left address details of where she went next.
The island she posted about weeks ago is right where the retreat is held.
Layla is so obsessed with yoga that chances are she might have even gone back to the place for daily classes.
They might know where she is. Even if they’re able to tell me they can see her right now lying on the beach, it will make me feel better.
Before my next thought, I’m dialing the number.
As the phone rings, I try to figure out what time it might be in the Maldives.
I know there’s a huge time difference, but I can’t remember what.
Someone answers on the fifth ring.
"Hello, can I help you?" comes the dulcet tone of a woman. She sounds like an elderly lady.
"Hi, there," I begin. "I'm calling to find out some information about my sister. She went to your retreat at the beginning of the year, so she would've been with you for about two months."
"Oh," the lady replies, "I can't really give out any information about our clients, but if you have her confirmation pass number, that would give me clearance to help you."
"I have it." The words tumble out of my mouth faster than an eye can blink.
I read out the details to her, and she takes them. I hear her tapping away at a keyboard, then a moment later, she clears her throat.
"I found her name," she says. "But it says here that Layla Bianchi never arrived for the program."
My heart stills, not knowing whether to speed up or stop completely. "That must be a mistake. My sister stayed with you for two months. She’s been in the Maldives since, and I’m trying to see where she went next.”
“There’s no record of her arriving.”
"Are you sure you have the correct name and pass details?”
"Yes.” The woman spells Layla’s full name and even gives me her two middle names, then she repeats the confirmation pass number.
By the time she reaches the last number and I realize everything is correct, my heart decides to stop. My hands shake, and the tremor ripples straight to my soul. There's a pull in my gut with that knowing feeling that tells me I should have known something was wrong.
“I'm so sorry, dear. Your sister never showed up. I don’t think I can't help you anymore," the woman says.
