The boy stood frozen on the edge of the schoolyard, his hand still trembling from the one the girl had held only moments ago. The chaos of students moving past him felt distant, muffled, as if they were walking through water. He could still hear her words echoing in his mind, warm and impossibly familiar: *"Will you be my darling?"*
His chest felt tight, his thoughts scrambled, and for the first time in years, he allowed himself to wonder if it was possible to recognize someone without ever having met them before. Because that's exactly how he felt—like she had always been a part of him, like some fragment of memory was surfacing that didn't belong to this life alone.
The girl had walked away, blending into the crowd of students, but her presence lingered, heavy and insistent. He knew he had to follow her. He didn't know why—he didn't even fully understand what was happening—but some primal part of him urged his legs forward.
"Hey!" His friend's voice snapped him out of his daze. "You coming or are you just gonna stare at the wind all day?"
"I… I need to go," the boy said quietly.
"To class?"
"No. Not yet. I… I need to see her again."
His friend froze. "Wait, what? AGAIN?! Bro, she just… showed up and basically confessed or something—how are you already trying to stalk her?!"
"I'm not stalking," the boy said, exhaling sharply. "I… I just need to talk to her. She… she's important."
The friend blinked, speechless, before finally shrugging. "Whatever. You're insane. But go ahead, Romeo."
---
The boy moved through the crowd, weaving past students and backpacks, searching for her familiar silhouette. His heart pounded—not with fear, not with embarrassment—but with a kind of aching recognition that he couldn't put into words. The girl had disappeared behind the cherry blossom tree near the edge of the campus, the same place where the first whispers of their connection seemed to gather.
He approached slowly, taking deliberate steps. She hadn't noticed him yet. Her hands were tucked into the pockets of her skirt, and she stared up at the branches, lost in thought. She seemed smaller somehow when she was still, but the gravity of her presence was undeniable.
"You're… hard to find," he said softly, not wanting to startle her.
She turned immediately, her eyes locking onto his. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The world seemed to shrink until it was just the two of them, standing under the light shade of the tree, separated from everything else by some invisible barrier.
"You came," she said.
"I had to," he replied, his voice low and steady. "I… I don't know why, but I needed to see you again."
She smiled faintly, a small, wistful smile that tugged at something deep in him. "I thought you might. You always did."
"What do you mean… 'always did'?" he asked. His brows knitted together in confusion.
She looked down at her hands, then back up at him, her eyes bright with unspoken memories. "Because we've met before, in ways you won't remember yet. Long before this life, before that tree, before all of this."
The boy's breath caught. "Before this life?"
"Yes," she said gently. "I didn't just disappear eight years ago. I've been searching for you ever since, through time, through whatever strange paths our lives took. And today, I found you again."
He swallowed hard, his throat dry. "You… you really mean that?"
"I do," she said. "Every word. I meant it then, and I mean it now."
His hands twitched at his sides, unsure if he should reach for hers again. "Then… the words you never finished…"
"'Will you be…'" she whispered, finishing the sentence. "My darling. I waited eight years to say it fully."
The boy felt a warmth rush through him, and for a moment, he simply stared. "I… I don't know what to say."
"Then don't say anything," she said softly. "Just be here."
The boy's mind raced with fragments of memories he couldn't quite grasp. He remembered the tree from his childhood, the soft light filtering through its leaves, the feeling of something unfinished, something vital that he had been trying to remember for years. And now, it was all coming back—not clearly, not fully—but enough to make him tremble.
He stepped closer. "I feel… like I've known you forever."
"That's because you have," she said, taking a careful step toward him. "Even if your mind doesn't remember yet, your heart does."
He felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes. "But why… why me? Why now?"
"Because you were always mine," she said simply. "And I was always yours."
He laughed softly, a short, broken sound. "That… that sounds impossible. You sound like a story someone made up to haunt me."
"Maybe it's a story," she said, "but it's our story. And it's not finished yet."
He reached out, slowly, hesitantly, until his fingers brushed hers. She didn't flinch; instead, she intertwined her fingers with his, warm and solid. The connection was electric, like a spark that had waited years to ignite.
"You don't understand," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Every time I look at you… I feel something I can't explain. It's like… like I've always been waiting for this."
"And I have," she said. "I've been waiting for you to remember, for you to realize it too. That's why I came back."
"Came back…" He shook his head. "All this time, you were… here, somewhere… and I didn't even know?"
"I was," she admitted. "And I'm sorry for leaving you with that question, for making you wait. But now… now we have time."
The boy exhaled shakily, feeling his chest loosen just slightly. "Time… yeah. I guess… maybe I already was yours."
Her eyes softened, glistening with emotion. "Yes. You always were."
They stood together in silence for a moment, just holding hands under the gentle sway of the cherry blossom tree, listening to the wind rustle through the leaves. The noise of the schoolyard seemed distant now, irrelevant. Nothing mattered but the presence of the other, the tangible proof that this connection—this impossible, inexplicable connection—was real.
Finally, he whispered, "Then… what happens now?"
"Now," she said, tilting her head and smiling, "we start again. Slowly. You'll remember everything eventually, but for now… just be with me. Walk beside me."
"I… okay," he said, a mixture of relief and wonder in his voice. "Walk beside you… I can do that."
Her fingers squeezed his. "Good. That's all I wanted to hear."
They started walking together slowly, hands still linked, through the small paths around the school grounds. The boy's heart was racing, not from fear or confusion anymore, but from something that felt like home—a feeling he had been chasing unknowingly for years.
"So…" he said after a while, "this… this connection we have. How long has it been going on? I mean, really?"
"Longer than you can imagine," she said softly. "We've met in other forms, other times… other lives. Every time, somehow, our paths crossed."
"Other lives?" he repeated, unsure if he could fully grasp it.
"Yes. Don't worry about the details yet. Your memories will come back, piece by piece. But the important thing is this moment, here, now. That's what matters."
He nodded slowly. "Okay… now I understand a little. It doesn't matter if I remember everything right away. I just… I want to be with you now."
"You already are," she said. "And that's enough for me."
For the first time in years, he felt at peace. Not fully, not completely—but enough to breathe. Enough to take a step forward, hand in hand with the girl who had haunted his dreams and memories, who had left him with an unfinished question, and now was standing by his side, whole and present.
They walked together under the shadow of the tree, and the boy knew—even if he didn't fully remember the past—this was where he belonged. Not in the confusion of the schoolyard, not in the chatter of other students, but here. With her.
And as they reached the far edge of the grounds, he looked at her and whispered, almost to himself, "Maybe… maybe I already was yours."
She smiled gently, squeezing his hand again. "Yes. You always were."
And for the first time in eight years, the boy felt like everything had come full circle.
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