Morning came slow and silver, like fog settling over the bones of the campus.
Archie stood by the narrow dorm window, hands wrapped around a chipped mug of coffee Elliot had declared "cursed, but in a friendly way." The view wasn't much—just a scattering of trees, the brick flank of the science building, and a sliver of campus path where early joggers ghosted past like figures in a snow globe someone had forgotten to shake.
He hadn't slept. Not really. The vision—hallway, door, the figure at the window—clung to him like humidity. Not terrifying. Not exactly. But deeply unsettling, the way déjà vu always feels like a lie wearing the right coat.
He stood here in silence, watching the world perform its usual tricks, as if nothing extraordinary had happened. As if he weren't now carrying the shape of a stranger in his chest.
Behind him, Elliot snored, face buried beneath a pillow that had somehow ended up on the floor.
—
Anne found him outside the student union later that morning, curled up on a bench like a retired philosopher, coffee steaming on the wood beside him and an unread textbook open across his lap.
"You're brooding again," she said, plopping down beside him with the subtle grace of a car crash. "That usually means either a) existential dread or b) you've been listening to sad music without emotional supervision."
He glanced at her sideways, eyes tired but amused. "It's too early for philosophical accusations."
"Never too early," she said cheerfully. "Now tell me what's bothering you. And if you say 'nothing,' I will start making up outlandish reasons and announce them publicly."
Archie hesitated.
There was something about her—something grounding. Like she belonged in every room twice over. She didn't rush him. Just sat, sipping her iced latte, watching squirrels fight over a granola bar like it was the last treasure on Earth.
Finally, he spoke. "I remembered something last night. Or... something remembered me."
Her brows lifted slightly, humor dropping into a gentle curiosity.
"I was in a hallway. Yellow wallpaper. There was a door... and someone standing inside, facing the window. I didn't see his face. But I knew him. I think."
Anne didn't ask him to explain further. She didn't try to "analyze" it like the campus therapists did. She just nodded slowly, as if he'd told her something sacred and true.
"That sounds... oddly poetic," she said, after a while. "Do you think it's a real memory?"
"I don't know," Archie replied. "But it felt like one."
Silence stretched between them. A soft, companionable one.
She tapped her foot against his. "Then let's follow the thread."
"What?"
"Follow it. Chase it. I mean, if your brain's starting to leak secrets, don't you want to know what else it's hiding?"
Archie smiled, faint and real. "That easy, huh?"
"Nope," she grinned. "But denial's boring and you're not allowed to be boring. It's against the rules of our blossoming friendship."
He laughed. It surprised even him.
—
That afternoon, Anne dragged him—gently, but with a persistence only she could pull off—on a slow wandering circuit through campus. Not the usual spots. Instead, they ducked through lesser-known hallways of the library, passed the locked basement doors of old academic buildings, peeked into empty classrooms that smelled like chalk and forgotten lectures.
Archie walked slowly, scanning the walls, letting the scent of wood polish and old paper settle in his lungs. Nothing sparked. Nothing familiar. But something strange was shifting—an ache behind the eyes, a hum just below his skin. Not quite memory, but the outline of it.
They ended their strange tour at the dorm lounge, where Felix was hot-gluing dried moss to a mannequin head, Jin was plucking out a haunting melody on his violin, and Zara was reading case law out loud to no one in particular.
"Art," Anne whispered, gesturing to Felix like she was pointing out a particularly aggressive raccoon. "In its purest, weirdest form."
Archie sat on the arm of a sagging couch, gaze lingering on Jin's fingers. There was something about the melody. Melancholy. Fragmented. It tugged at the edge of his mind.
Later, when the others had drifted out or retreated to their rooms, Archie turned to Anne.
"You think I'm crazy?"
She looked at him like he'd grown an extra head. "Absolutely. But not for that. Everyone on this floor is at least 12% unhinged. You're perfectly normal here."
Archie nodded, the quiet of the evening folding around him like a blanket.
He didn't know if chasing this thread would lead to answers, or more questions. But for the first time, he wasn't running from the emptiness. He was walking toward it, step by step.
And beside him, someone was walking too.