The First Time I Saw Him

I was fifteen when I first saw him — not in the waking world, but in a dream so vivid, it settled into my memory like it had always been there. The kind of dream you never forget, because some part of you whispers this is real. 
In the dream, I was in a place that didn’t belong to time. A meadow beneath a lavender sky, with stars flickering like they were breathing. There was a lake, still as glass, reflecting a moon that looked bigger than the sky could hold. I stood on its shore, barefoot, the hem of my gown soaked in dew. Not a modern dress — but something out of a different century. Heavy silk, soft laces. I looked like someone from a story long forgotten. 
And then — I turned. 
He was already there. 
On a horse, tall and still, watching me. 
I didn’t know his name. I had never seen his face before. 
But I knew him. Deeply. Instinctively. As though my soul had been searching for him in every crowd I’d ever walked through. 
He dismounted slowly, never taking his eyes off me. There was no fear, no doubt, only a stillness — like we had both arrived. I felt warmth rush into my chest as he stepped closer. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. 
We danced. 
No music. No words. Just the rhythm of two beings who had known each other before names, before countries, before time began counting years. I looked into his eyes, and the world disappeared. In his gaze, I found every emotion I had never felt in waking life — love, safety, devotion, and something else… a promise. 
Wait for me. 
I’ll find you again. 
When I woke up, I cried. 
Not because it was over, but because I knew it wasn’t just a dream. 
From that moment on, I waited. 
Not actively. Not dramatically. Just quietly — a secret thread running through my life, pulling me forward. I saw glimpses of him in strangers. I searched for his eyes in passing faces. Now and then, he’d return in my sleep. On a boat. In a forest. Across a battlefield. Always looked at me like he remembered too. 
I didn’t know when, or how, but I believed I would meet him again. 
In this life. In this skin. In a moment I couldn’t plan. 
And I did.

I had three meetings blocked back-to-back, one untouched sandwich in the fridge, and a cold brew in my hand I'd barely tasted. The day was typical — quiet, tolerable, almost numb in its rhythm. It had been that way for a long time.


She came around the corner like time folding in on itself. Same walk — steady but not rushed. Same kind of silence that seemed to announce her even before she said anything.


The name echoed before I could stop it.


I hadn't heard it out loud in six years. But I'd heard it in dreams. Thought it in traffic. Felt it at the bottom of quiet mornings I never told anyone about.


She looked the same. No, that's not true. She looked… fuller somehow. Not older. Just more there. More whole.


Her eyes caught mine, and the air shifted.


I forgot how she used to look at people — direct, unflinching, like she wasn't afraid of what she'd see. It made you feel known. And it used to terrify me.


She didn't look away. She didn't flinch. And I knew, instantly, that something was different.


I watched her disappear down the hallway with Ms. Vargas. I hadn't even realized she'd returned. That she'd said yes to this place again.


A week ago, I thought I had time to keep pretending the past stayed buried.


But then there she was. Hair a little longer. Eyes quieter, but not sad.


And me? I stood there like someone who forgot how to breathe.


I went back to my desk, sat down, and stared at the screen like it could explain anything.


Kept hearing her voice — just that small "Hi" — over and over in my head. Like it wasn't what she said, but the way she said it. Light. Effortless. Like she didn't owe me anything anymore.


And maybe that's what gutted me the most.


I can still remember the last time we saw each other. Not the dream one. Not the past-life haze I used to believe in. I meant saw each other. In that café, with that guy — Jace.


God, even now, I remember how I felt when he walked in.


Like I was suddenly the ghost in the room.


"Are they together?" my thoughts whispered.


And quietly, stubbornly, I hoped — maybe, just maybe — time would give me a second chance.


That's the thing no one tells you — you don't always feel someone's absence. Sometimes, you only feel how little room you have in their life now.


She looked like someone who'd stopped checking the door.


 That night, I opened our old thread on Messenger. Still archived.


Still, unread messages from her — and me, typing replies I never sent.


I stared at the blinking cursor for a long time.


Because what do you even say to the one you let slip through time?


Chapter 27 - Chapter Twenty-Seven: Whispers at the Door