The city was still awake when I wasn't. The kind of awake that hummed beneath your skin and whispered promises you knew better than to believe. From the balcony of my room, I could see the glittering veins of traffic threading through the streets — the heart of the city pulsing below me.
The invitation sat on my dresser, the text glowing faintly from my phone.
Dinner. One hour. Don't be late. — Camille.
Camille. That was her name.
The girl who'd kissed my cheek at the office like she already knew me… I mean the my past life. The girl who smiled like she'd been keeping a secret I hadn't earned yet.
I didn't plan on saying yes, but somehow I found myself in front of the mirror, tugging at the sleeves of my blazer, smoothing invisible wrinkles. My reflection looked more confident than I felt — sharp, poised, lying beautifully.
When I arrived at the rooftop restaurant, the first thing that hit me was the music. A low jazz tune, tender and old-fashioned, the kind that laced itself around you. Waiters glided like shadows between candlelit tables. Above, the skyline glittered — stars pretending to be buildings, or maybe the other way around.
And then I saw her.
Camille.
Black silk dress, hair pinned in lazy curls, a glass of red wine catching the candlelight. She waved when she saw me, that same teasing smile playing on her lips.
"I thought you'd bail," she said as I approached.
"I almost did," I admitted, slipping into the chair across from her. "But I had nothing better to do."
"Flattered," she said, eyes glinting. "You look stunning, by the way."
The waiter came and went — menus, small talk, the usual dance. But between every word, I could feel something tugging at me. The way Camille tilted her head. The way she laughed softly before sipping her wine.
It wasn't the first time I'd seen those mannerisms.
There was someone else — someone from another life. The memory flickered like a candle in the dark. A hand brushing mine. A laugh that sounded just like this.
It couldn't be. And yet—
"Are you okay?" Camille asked, tilting her head.
I blinked, realizing I'd been staring too long. "Yeah. Just… long day."
She smiled knowingly. "You've had plenty of those lately, haven't you? Between Mara, the board, and your father's expectations…"
I stiffened. "You've been doing your research."
"I work for your family's company," she said with a shrug. "Information flows. Besides, I used to visit you at the hospital, remember? You promised me dinner. I'm just cashing in."
Her voice was light, but her eyes — they were searching. Studying me like she saw through the version of me sitting here and into someone older, someone she used to know.
"I remember you," I said quietly.
But the truth was, I didn't. Not in this life.
Camille leaned forward, her perfume curling through the air. "Do you ever feel like you've met someone before?" she asked.
The question landed like a drop of rain in still water — soft, but the ripples reached deep.
My pulse quickened. "What makes you ask that?"
She smiled faintly. "Because when I look at you, Ayla… it doesn't feel like I'm meeting you for the first time. It feels like I'm remembering you."
For a heartbeat, the world stilled.
The music faded, the chatter dimmed, and it was just us.
A thread pulled tight across lifetimes.
And just when I opened my mouth to say something — anything — laughter erupted from a nearby table, shattering the moment. Camille looked away, embarrassed, and I exhaled the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.
We talked about safer things after that — business, travel, the company's expansion plans. But I wasn't really listening.
Because every time she smiled, a name from another life whispered in my head.
And it wasn't Camille's.