# The Girl Who Remembered Everything
The afternoon sun hung low over the bustling streets of Tokyo, casting long, golden shadows across the pavement. The air was thick with the humidity of late summer, buzzing with the energy of the university district just a few blocks away.
"Get back here, you goof!" Max's voice rang out, bright and breathless, cutting through the ambient city noise.
Celine laughed, a sound like wind chimes in a breeze, as she sprinted ahead. Her dark purple hair, styled in a chic bob with the left side longer and held by a delicate ponytail cuff, bounced with every step. The right side was tucked behind her ear, revealing a gold dangle earring that caught the sunlight. She felt alive, weightless, the stress of exams forgotten in the thrill of the chase.
"Not a chance!" she teased, glancing back just long enough to stick her tongue out at Max before turning her eyes forward again.
But she didn't see the red light glowing steadily at the intersection. She didn't see the 'Don't Walk' signal. She only saw Max closing in and the open asphalt ahead.
At the zebra crossing, Nav stood waiting. He was a striking figure, even in a crowd. Tall and lean, he possessed an effortless charm that turned heads. His white hair was messy in a way that looked intentional, framing sharp blue eyes that held a perpetual spark of mischief and confidence. He adjusted the gold and platinum mixed bracelet on his left wrist, the metal clinking softly against the silver infinity chain resting against his collarbone. He was humming a tune, his mind likely racing with code for his startup or the next big project for the special coding program he was part of.
He was just a first-year, a junior to most here, but he carried himself like he owned the ground he walked on.
As Celine's foot left the safety of the curb, the world seemed to slow down. The screech of tires tore through the air like a scream. A sleek sedan, speeding around the corner, blinded the driver to the girl stepping into its path.
Time didn't just stop; it fractured.
Celine turned her head toward the screeching sound, her heart leaping into her throat. Her eyes locked onto the boy standing on the island in the middle of the crossing—the boy with white hair and blue eyes.
Their eyes met.
In that singular, infinitesimal fraction of a second, something broke inside Celine's mind. It wasn't just fear; it was a torrent, a floodgate bursting open. The world around her—the speeding car, the shouting Max, the Tokyo heat—dissolved into white noise.
She squeezed her eyes shut as the blinding headlights rushed toward her, but instead of darkness, she saw him.
Not the stranger in the street, but him. Her Nav.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Her heart didn't beat with fear; it beat with the rhythm of a life she hadn't lived yet.
Memories that didn't belong to her nineteen-year-old self crashed into her consciousness with the force of a tidal wave.
She saw herself, twenty years old, blushing as Nav, now nineteen, awkwardly asked her out on a date near the campus library after eight months of "accidental" meetings.
She felt the chill of the winter air three years later, standing in an apartment they had just bought together. The smell of turpentine and oil paint filled the room—her studio. Nav was in the other room, voice raised in excitement as he secured his first major investor for his startup.
She felt the weight of the diamond ring on her finger, Nav down on one knee, his eyes tearing up as he asked her to be his forever. He was twenty-two, she was twenty-three. The ceremony was a blur of white lace, happy tears, and the warm embrace of parents and friends.
Then came the travel. The beaches of Bali, the streets of Paris, the snowy mountains of Switzerland. They were young, successful, and deeply, stupidly in love.
The memories shifted, softening into domestic warmth. She was twenty-five, her hands resting on a swollen belly. Nav was twenty-four, hovering over her like a worried hawk, refusing to let her lift a finger. "I've got it, Celine. Just sit there and look beautiful," he'd say, cooking dinner while she laughed.
Then, a cry. A baby. Rika.
Tears streamed down Celine's face as she stood frozen on the asphalt, her eyes still tightly shut. She could smell Rika's baby powder. She could feel Nav's arms around her, strong and safe, as they rocked their daughter to sleep. She saw Rika's sixth birthday party. Nav was thirty-one, his hair starting to show a faint hint of silver at the temples, making him look even more distinguished. He was lifting Rika onto his shoulders, laughing that confident, charming laugh she knew so well.
And then... the screech of tires. Not this time, but that time.
The scene shifted violently. Rika was eight. Celine was thirty-two. They were crossing a street. A car, out of control.
"Celine!"
She watched, helpless, as her husband—the love of her life, the father of her child—shoved her out of the way with desperate strength.
The impact. The thud.
The world turned gray. She remembered the funeral, the black suits, the deafening silence. She remembered the nights following, lying in a cold bed, reaching out for a warmth that was no longer there. She remembered the conversations with Nav's mother, Yumi.
"Celine, Nav was my son, but you are my daughter too... maybe you need someone else..."
She felt the phantom sensation of clutching Yumi's hand, her own trembling. "Mom, don't say that!! There is only one father of Rika and only one husband of mine, that's Nav!"
The grief hit her with the freshness of an open wound. The loneliness of raising Rika alone, the lingering scent of Nav's cologne on his old shirts, the way Rika would ask for Daddy and Celine would have to bite her lip to keep from sobbing.
"That idiot left us with everything to remain happy... If just I had another chance to see him again!?"
The wish echoed in her soul, a desperate scream into the void.
...I want him. I want him back.
Suddenly, the white light faded. The smell of exhaust fumes and Tokyo asphalt returned with a jarring snap. The wind from the speeding car whipped against her face.
But she didn't feel the impact.
A hand, strong and gripping her forearm with iron force, yanked her backward.
Celine's eyes flew open.
The world rushed back into focus. The car missed her by inches, the side mirror grazing her shoulder, a gust of wind nearly knocking her over. She stumbled back, tripping over the curb, but she didn't fall. She was pulled against a firm chest.
For a moment, everything was silent. The car sped away, the driver oblivious or too scared to stop. Max was shouting somewhere in the distance, his voice panicked.
But Celine couldn't hear him. She could only hear the frantic beating of her own heart—and the heartbeat of the person holding her.
She looked up, her breath hitching in her throat.
White hair. Blue eyes. Tall, lean, charming.
Nav.
He was younger. The faint lines of worry that had marked his face in the future were gone. His skin was smoother, his face less rugged. He looked exactly as he had in her memories of university—bright, arrogant, and full of life.
He was wearing the gold and platinum bracelet. The silver infinity chain glinted at his neck.
He was alive.
"Are you insane?"
Nav's voice broke the silence. It was deeper than she remembered from their early dating days, but it was him. It was him.
He released her arm but kept a hand on her shoulder, steadying her. His blue eyes were wide, a mix of shock and annoyance swirling in their depths. "You nearly became a pavement pancake. Didn't your parents ever teach you to look both ways?"
Celine stared at him, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly. Her brain was short-circuiting. The soul of a thirty-four-year-old widow was trapped inside this nineteen-year-old body, staring at the ghost of her husband.
He's here. He's real. I can touch him.
Tears, which had started during the vision, continued to stream down her cheeks, unchecked.
Nav's annoyance faltered. He blinked, looking at the girl he had just saved. Up close, she was breathtaking—elegance personified. Her purple hair was disheveled, her brown-yellowish eyes wide and wet with tears. She looked... devastated.
It wasn't the reaction he expected. Shock, yes. Fear, sure. But she looked at him as if she had just seen a miracle and a tragedy all at once.
"Hey," Nav said, his voice softening considerably. The arrogance melted away, replaced by a tentative concern. He leaned in slightly, his playful nature trying to diffuse the heavy atmosphere. "I know I'm handsome and all, but usually, girls smile when they meet me. crying is a new reaction. Did I scare you?"
He reached out with his thumb, hesitating for a second, and gently wiped a tear from her cheek. The touch was electric—a spark that ignited fifteen years of longing in an instant.
Celine gasped at the contact. Warmth. Real warmth.
"Nav..." she whispered, the name falling from her lips like a prayer.
Nav froze. His eyebrows shot up. A slow, charismatic grin started to spread across his face, though confusion still lingered in his eyes. "Oh? So you know me? I guess my reputation precedes me."
He stepped back, striking a pose, though his hand remained near her, ready to catch her if she fell again. "Nav. First year. Coding prodigy, part-time entrepreneur, full-time charmer. And you are?"
"Celine!" Max's voice finally reached them. He came running up, breathless, his face pale as a sheet. "Celine! Oh my god, are you okay? I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have chased you that far! Are you hurt?"
Max skidded to a halt, eyeing the stranger with white hair suspiciously, then turning his full attention to Celine. He grabbed her shoulders, looking her over for injuries.
Celine tore her gaze away from Nav to look at her best friend. Max. Her goofy, wonderful Max, who was alive and young and terrified.
"I... I'm fine, Max," Celine choked out. Her voice sounded weak, fragile. She looked back at Nav.
He was watching her with an intensity that made her knees weak. He was still smiling, that confident, teasing smile, but his eyes were searching hers, trying to decipher the depth of sadness he saw there.
"You sure?" Nav asked, crossing his arms. The bracelet on his wrist caught her eye again. She remembered buying that for him on their third anniversary. Or was it the second? No, in this timeline, he had it already.
"I'm... I'm sure," Celine said, wiping her face. She took a deep, shuddering breath. Get it together, Celine. This is the past. This is a second chance.
"Well, Celine," Nav said, rolling her name around his tongue as if tasting it. He smirked, leaning in slightly. "Since I saved your life, I think you owe me a coffee. Or maybe dinner? I usually charge a consulting fee for life-saving services, but for you, I'll make an exception."
Max bristled, stepping between them. "Hey, back off, white-haired Casanova. She just almost got hit. She doesn't need a pickup line right now."
Nav looked at Max, unimpressed, then looked past him at Celine, his blue eyes locking onto hers with a challenge. "I wasn't asking you, bro. I was asking her."
Celine looked at the boy who was her husband, the father of her child, the love of her life who she thought she had lost forever. He was standing there, annoying, arrogant, and absolutely beautiful.
She remembered her wish. If just I had another chance to see him again!
God had a twisted sense of humor, sending her back to the start. But as she looked at him, really looked at him, she felt a surge of determination rising above the grief.
She wasn't just the grieving widow anymore. She was Celine, nineteen years old, with the future in her head and the love of her life standing right in front of her.
She straightened her back, brushing her purple hair aside. A small, genuine smile touched her lips—the first smile of her new life.
"Coffee," Celine said, her voice gaining strength. She stepped around Max, ignoring his protest. She looked directly into Nav's eyes. "I'd love that, Nav."
Nav blinked, clearly surprised by her sudden shift in demeanor. He had expected a shy nod or a rejection thanks to the protective friend. But this... this was interest.
"Great," Nav said, recovering his cool instantly. He pulled out his phone, flipping it open with a flourish. "Give me your number then. But don't fall in love with me too fast, okay? I'm a busy man. Startups don't run themselves."
As he typed her number in, Celine watched his fingers—the same fingers that would one day hold their daughter, the same fingers that would slip a ring onto hers.
"I'll try to keep that in mind," she said softly, her heart whispering words her mouth dared not speak yet.
I already love you more than you can imagine. And this time, I'm not letting go.
The world settled back into its normal rhythm, but for Celine, everything had fundamentally changed.
She stood there on the sidewalk, Max still fussing over her, Nav typing her number into his phone with that infuriatingly confident grin, and pedestrians flowing around them like water around stones. The traffic light had cycled through twice already. Everything was painfully, beautifully normal.
Except her.
*I'm nineteen again,* she thought, flexing her fingers experimentally. *This body... it's younger. Lighter.*
There were no aches in her lower back from hunching over canvases for hours. No faint stretch marks on her abdomen from carrying Rika. Her hands were smooth, uncalloused from years of gripping paintbrushes. Even her breathing felt different—easier, fuller, as if her lungs had more capacity.
But her mind... her mind carried the weight of thirty-four years. Fifteen years of memories that hadn't happened yet pressed against her skull like a overfilled water balloon ready to burst.
"Celine? Hello? Earth to Celine?"
Max's voice snapped her back to the present. He was waving his hand in front of her face, concern etched into every feature. "You're spacing out. Did you hit your head? Should we go to the hospital?"
"I'm fine," Celine said automatically, then paused. Her voice sounded different to her own ears—younger, higher-pitched. She cleared her throat. "Really, Max. I'm okay."
"You don't look okay," Max said bluntly. He shot Nav a suspicious glance. "And you—thanks for pulling her back, but you can stop hitting on her now. She's clearly in shock."
Nav looked up from his phone, one eyebrow raised in amusement. "Hitting on her? I'm simply collecting what's owed. She agreed to coffee." He turned his attention back to Celine, and something in his expression softened just a fraction. "Though your friend has a point. You still look pale. Want me to walk you guys back to campus? Make sure you don't wander into traffic again?"
*He's worried,* Celine realized with a jolt. *Even now, even as a stranger, he's worried about me.*
It was such a Nav thing to do—hide genuine concern behind layers of teasing and bravado. How many times had she seen through that facade in their years together? How many times had she watched him pretend everything was fine while secretly stressing over a business deal, or Rika's fever, or whether he'd remembered to pay the electricity bill?
The memory hit her like a physical blow: Nav at three in the morning, sitting in Rika's nursery, their six-month-old daughter finally asleep in his arms. He'd looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, but he'd been smiling. "I've got her, Celine. You sleep. You're the one who has to paint tomorrow. I can survive on coffee."
"Celine!"
She blinked rapidly, forcing the tears back. Max was shaking her shoulder now, genuine fear in his eyes.
"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I'm just... processing. It all happened so fast."
That was true enough. Though what she was processing wasn't the near-accident—it was the impossibility of her situation. She'd been thirty-four years old, lying in bed after tucking Rika in, staring at Nav's side of the bed and wishing desperately for one more chance to see him.
And then... this.
*How?* her mind screamed. *How is this possible? Did I die? Is this a dream? Some kind of dying hallucination?*
But Nav's hand had felt real when he pulled her back. The heat of the Tokyo afternoon was real. The smell of exhaust and Max's cologne and the faint scent of coffee from a nearby café—all real.
"Come on," Nav said decisively, pocketing his phone. "I'm walking you back. Consider it part of the life-saving package. No extra charge."
Max opened his mouth to protest, but Celine cut him off. "Thank you, Nav. That would be nice."
She needed more time. More time to look at him, to convince herself he was real, to figure out what the hell had just happened to her.
Max looked between them, clearly unhappy with this development, but eventually threw his hands up. "Fine. But I'm coming too. And you," he pointed at Nav, "keep your hands to yourself, coding prodigy."
Nav's grin widened. "Jealous, Max? Sorry, but you're not my type."
"I'm her best friend, you arrogant—"
"Max," Celine interrupted gently, placing a hand on his arm. "It's okay. Really."
Max's expression softened immediately. He'd always been protective of her—in both timelines, she realized with a strange sense of déjà vu. In the future she remembered, Max had been at her wedding, had visited when Rika was born, had been one of the first people she'd called when Nav...
*Don't think about that,* she commanded herself. *He's alive. Right here. Alive.*
The three of them started walking, Nav falling into step beside her with easy confidence. He moved like someone who'd never questioned their place in the world, long strides eating up the pavement. The late afternoon sun caught on his white hair, making it almost glow.
Celine had forgotten how young he looked at eighteen. In her memories of him, he'd aged into his features—become more refined, more distinguished. This Nav was all sharp angles and boyish energy, though the core of him was unmistakable.
"So," Nav said conversationally, "second year, right? What's your major?"
"Art," Celine answered. "Visual arts with a focus on painting."
"Ah, a creative type." Nav nodded as if this explained something. "That explains the whole 'running into traffic without looking' thing. Artists. Always in their own worlds."
Max made an indignant noise. "She's not usually like this! You don't know her."
"Not yet," Nav agreed cheerfully. "But I will. We have coffee plans, remember?"
Celine felt her lips twitch despite everything. This was classic Nav—turning every interaction into a playful challenge, never taking no for an answer, absolutely convinced that the universe would bend to his will.
And the terrifying thing was, it usually did.
*Or it did,* she thought with a pang. *Until it didn't. Until a car came out of nowhere and I lost him.*
"What about you?" she asked, needing to distract herself. "First year computer science?"
Nav looked impressed. "You have been asking about me. I'm flattered."
"You literally introduced yourself five minutes ago," Max interjected.
"And she remembered," Nav shot back. "That's a good sign. Shows excellent taste and judgment."
Celine couldn't help it—she laughed. It bubbled up from somewhere deep inside, genuine and surprised. It was such a Nav thing to say, and God, she'd missed this. Missed him. The easy banter, the ridiculous confidence, the way he could make her laugh even when the world felt heavy.
Both boys looked at her—Max with relief, Nav with something that might have been curiosity.
"There we go," Nav said softly. "That's better. You have a nice laugh."
Their eyes met, and for a moment, time seemed to suspend again. Celine saw the interest in his gaze, but also that strange recognition, as if some part of him sensed that this wasn't a normal first meeting.
*Can he feel it too?* she wondered. *Does his soul remember, somehow?*
But no—that was wishful thinking. The Nav she'd known had been completely blindsided by the accident. If he'd had any premonition, any sense of what was coming, he would have been more careful. He wouldn't have...
She swallowed hard, looking away.
They walked in silence for a bit, passing by familiar landmarks. The convenience store where she and Max usually bought snacks. The bookstore with the cat that always sat in the window. The ramen shop that was closed on Mondays.
Everything was the same, but different. In her timeline, that ramen shop had closed down three years ago—or would it be three years from now? The temporal mechanics made her head hurt.
"Hey," Nav said quietly, and she realized Max had pulled slightly ahead, distracted by his phone. Nav leaned in closer, his voice dropping. "You okay? And I mean really okay. You can drop the brave face."
Celine looked at him sharply. His blue eyes were serious now, concerned. He'd dropped the playful mask.
*He always could read me,* she remembered. Even in the early days of their relationship, Nav had possessed an almost uncanny ability to sense when she was upset, no matter how well she thought she was hiding it.
"I'm..." she started, then stopped. What could she possibly say? *I'm fine, except I'm actually fifteen years older than I look and you're my dead husband who I've been grieving for three years and I don't understand how this is happening but I'm terrified if I blink you'll disappear again?*
"I'm overwhelmed," she settled on. "It's been a strange day."
Nav nodded slowly, as if this made perfect sense. "Nearly dying will do that. Been there."
Celine's heart stopped. "What?"
"When I was sixteen," Nav said casually, adjusting his bracelet. "Motorcycle accident. Some drunk driver ran a red light. I got lucky—just some broken ribs and a concussion. But I remember that feeling after. Like the world had tilted sideways and couldn't quite settle back."
*He never told me that,* Celine thought, stunned. *In all our years together, he never mentioned a motorcycle accident.*
But then, why would he have? They'd known each other for years before he died, but there were still stories left untold, details they'd never gotten around to sharing. That's what time was supposed to be for—slowly unspooling your lives to each other, decade after decade.
They'd been robbed of that.
*But now I have it back,* she realized. *I have time again.*
"Thank you," she said suddenly, intensely. "For saving me. I mean it. Thank you."
Nav blinked, clearly taken aback by the depth of emotion in her voice. "I... yeah. Of course. Anyone would have done it."
"But you did it," Celine insisted. She felt tears threatening again and blinked them back furiously. *Pull it together. You're going to freak him out.*
But Nav just looked at her with those impossibly blue eyes, and slowly, his trademark grin returned. "Guess that makes me your hero, huh? Better remember that for our coffee date. Heroes deserve the good pastries."
The moment broke, but gently. Celine found herself smiling again.
"I'll keep that in mind."
They reached the campus gates, and Max turned around, finally pocketing his phone. "Okay, we're back. Thanks for the escort, I guess." He didn't sound particularly grateful.
Nav ignored him entirely, keeping his attention on Celine. "So. Coffee. When are you free?"
Celine's mind raced. In the original timeline—if she could call it that—they'd met several more times "accidentally" around campus before Nav finally asked her out properly. That had taken eight months.
Eight months of dancing around each other, of coincidental meetings, of building tension and friendship before it bloomed into something more.
She didn't have eight months to waste.
*I'm not nineteen,* she reminded herself. *I'm thirty-four. I know exactly how this story goes, and I know exactly how it ends. This time, I'm changing the ending.*
"Tomorrow," she said firmly. "I'm free tomorrow afternoon. Three o'clock?"
Nav's eyebrows rose, but he looked pleased. "Eager. I like it. Tomorrow at three. There's a good café near the engineering building—Café Serendipity. Know it?"
*Of course I know it,* Celine thought. *That's where you proposed to me.*
Out loud, she said, "I'll find it."
"Great." Nav pulled out his phone again. "I'll text you the address. And Celine?" He met her eyes one more time. "Try not to walk into any more traffic before then, yeah? I'd like my coffee date to actually show up."
Despite everything, she smiled. "I'll do my best."
With a final wave, Nav turned and headed off across campus, white hair bright in the fading sunlight. Celine watched him go until he disappeared around a corner.
*He's alive,* she thought wonderingly. *He's alive and young and completely oblivious and he just asked me out for coffee and he's alive.*
"Okay," Max said slowly. "What the hell was that?"
Celine turned to her best friend—her wonderful, loyal, completely-unaware-of-the-time-loop best friend.
"I need to sit down," she said faintly.
"Yeah," Max agreed. "Yeah, I think you do. Come on. Let's get you back to your dorm. You can explain why you looked at that random first-year like he was the love of your life."
Celine's step faltered, but Max was already walking ahead, muttering something about "arrogant coding prodigies" and "too-smooth pickup lines."
*The love of my life,* she thought, touching her ring finger instinctively. There was no ring there now—wouldn't be for years.
But she could still feel its weight, like a phantom limb.
*I found you again, Nav. I don't know how or why, but I found you. And this time, I'm not losing you.*
# The First Night
Celine's dorm room was exactly as she remembered it—or rather, as she'd half-forgotten it.
The walls were decorated with art prints she'd collected during her first year: a Monet reproduction, a vintage travel poster for Kyoto, a abstract piece by some local artist whose name she'd long since forgotten. Her desk was cluttered with textbooks, sketchbooks, and a ceramic mug filled with brushes. The window overlooked the campus courtyard, where students were still milling about in the golden hour light.
It was small, cramped, and undeniably hers.
Max had insisted on walking her all the way to her door, despite her protests that she was fine. Now he was sitting on her desk chair, spinning in slow circles while watching her with concern.
"You're being weird," he announced.
Celine was sitting on her bed, hugging her knees to her chest. "I almost got hit by a car. I'm allowed to be weird."
"Not that kind of weird. You're being..." Max gestured vaguely, "...intense weird. You've been staring at your hands for five minutes."
Had she? Celine looked down. Yes, she supposed she had been.
These hands had painted hundreds of canvases. Had held Nav's hand at the altar. Had cradled Rika as a newborn, so small and fragile and perfect. Had gripped Nav's hospital bed rails when the doctors told her there was nothing more they could do.
Now they were young again. Smooth and uncalloused.
"Max," she said slowly, "do you believe in second chances?"
Max stopped spinning. "What, like academically? Because if you're worried about that exam next week, I can help you study—"
"No. I mean..." Celine struggled to find words that wouldn't sound insane. "Like... if you could go back and do something over. Change how things turned out. Would you?"
Max was quiet for a moment, actually considering the question seriously. That was one of the things Celine had always loved about him—beneath the goofiness, he had real depth.
"I guess it depends," he said finally. "On what I was changing. And whether I'd remember what happened the first time." He tilted his head. "Why? Do you have regrets or something?"
*Regrets?*
Celine almost laughed. She regretted not telling Nav she loved him more often. Regretted every stupid argument they'd ever had. Regretted going out that day, the day of the accident, regretted not insisting they take a different route, regretted—
*No.* She stopped that spiral before it could consume her. *I can't change what happened. But maybe... maybe I can prevent it from happening at all.*
"Everyone has regrets," she said instead.
Max nodded sagely. "Deep. Very philosophical." He spun in the chair again. "So are you going to tell me what's really going on? Because you've been acting strange since white-haired pretty boy saved you."
"Nav," Celine corrected automatically.
"Oh, we're on a first-name basis already?"
"He introduced himself, Max."
"Yeah, but you said it like..." Max waved his hand again in that vague gesture. "Like you've known him forever. And the way you looked at him..." He leaned forward. "Celine. Be honest with me. Have you guys met before?"
*Yes. We've met, we've dated, we've married, we've had a child together, and then I watched you deliver his eulogy at his funeral while I sat there unable to breathe.*
"No," Celine said. "We've never met before."
It was technically true. That Nav—eighteen-year-old, first-year Nav—had never met her until today.
Max didn't look convinced. "Then why did you agree to have coffee with him? You never go on dates. Remember that guy from the literature department who asked you out last month? You turned him down in like three seconds."
Celine remembered. Vaguely. In her original timeline, she'd turned down several guys during university. She'd had her reasons then—focusing on her art, not feeling ready, wanting to find someone who really understood her.
And then Nav had stumbled into her life, arrogant and charming and impossible to ignore.
"Maybe I changed my mind about dating," she said.
"Overnight? Because of one near-death experience?"
"People change, Max."
He studied her for a long moment, and Celine resisted the urge to squirm under his gaze. Max knew her better than almost anyone. If anyone would notice something was fundamentally different about her, it would be him.
Finally, he sighed. "Okay. Fine. Keep your mysterious secrets. But I'm coming with you tomorrow."
Celine's head snapped up. "What? No!"
"Yes," Max said firmly. "You're acting weird, and this guy—Nav—is way too smooth. I don't trust it. I'm going to sit at a nearby table and make sure he doesn't try anything."
"Max—"
"Non-negotiable, Celine. I let you almost die once today. I'm not letting you get your heart broken by some first-year lothario with good hair."
Celine opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. The truth was, having Max nearby might actually be helpful. In her original timeline, she'd gone to that first coffee alone and been incredibly nervous. Nav had teased her about her blushing for weeks afterward.
This time would be different. This time, she had fifteen years of knowing him, of loving him, of understanding how his mind worked.
*But I can't act like that,* she realized with a sinking feeling. *If I come on too strong, if I know too much, he'll think I'm some kind of stalker. I need to be careful. Let things develop naturally.*
The thought was frustrating. She wanted to run to him, throw her arms around him, tell him everything. Tell him how much she'd missed him, how many nights she'd cried herself to sleep, how their daughter had his eyes and his smile and how she asked about Daddy every single day.
But she couldn't.
She was trapped in this strange limbo—knowing everything while being able to reveal nothing.
"Fine," she conceded to Max. "You can come. But stay out of sight. And don't interfere."
"Scout's honor." Max held up three fingers, despite never having been a scout.
He left shortly after, making her promise to text him if she felt dizzy or strange. Celine assured him she would, then closed the door and leaned against it.
Silence.
For the first time since her... regression? Time travel? Whatever this was—for the first time, she was alone with her thoughts.
The memories of her future life sat heavy in her mind. She could recall them with perfect clarity: Rika's first steps. The taste of the wedding cake. The exact shade of blue Nav's eyes had been in the morning light streaming through their bedroom window.
But she was also undeniably here, in this nineteen-year-old body, in this dorm room from fifteen years ago.
*How?*
She moved to her desk, pushing aside textbooks until she found her laptop. It was old—ancient by the standards of the 2040 she'd left behind. But it worked. She opened it, waiting impatiently for it to boot up.
The date on the screen confirmed it: September 2026.
Fifteen years before Nav's death. Fourteen years before Rika's birth. Thirteen years before their wedding.
*Right back to the beginning,*
Celine pulled up a search engine and typed: "time travel real"
The results were predictably unhelpful—science fiction articles, theoretical physics papers way beyond her comprehension, conspiracy theories.
She tried again: "regression in time alive again"
More nonsense. Stories of reincarnation, past-life regression therapy, a few novels with similar premises.
*Maybe I'm just insane,* she thought desperately. *Maybe the grief finally broke something in my brain and this is all an elaborate delusion. Maybe I'm actually in a psychiatric ward somewhere, drooling on myself, while thirty-four-year-old me has finally snapped.*
But no. This felt too real. The ache in her feet from walking. The faint sounds of other students in neighboring rooms. The particular smell of the cheap air freshener her roommate from first year had loved.
*Roommate.*
Celine froze. She'd forgotten—in second year, she had a roommate. Akari. They'd gotten along well enough, though they'd never been particularly close. Akari was studying abroad this semester, which is why Celine essentially had the room to herself until winter break.
*Right. I remember now. She doesn't come back until December.*
The memories of this time were fuzzy around the edges, like a photograph that had faded with time. She could remember the major events—meeting Nav, their developing relationship, graduating—but the day-to-day details had blurred.
*I need to be careful,* she realized. *I can't just rely on my memories. Things might be different this time. Butterfly effect and all that.*
Her phone buzzed. She picked it up, and her heart lurched.
Unknown number: "Its Nav. Just making sure you didnt give me a fake number ;) Sleep well, Celine. See you tomorrow"
Her hands trembled as she stared at the message. She'd deleted all of Nav's messages years ago—after the funeral, she couldn't bear to see his name pop up on her phone. She'd removed his contact, deleted their text chains, archived their photos.
It had felt like a necessary amputation to survive the grief.
Now here he was again. Texting her misspelled words and winky faces like an eighteen-year-old boy without a care in the world.
Because he was. He was eighteen, carefree, alive.
Celine saved his number with shaking fingers. For the contact name, she almost typed "Husband," then caught herself.
*That would be insane. He'd see it if he ever looked at my phone.*
She settled for just "Nav."
Then she stared at the text, trying to figure out how to respond. How had she responded the first time? She couldn't remember. It had been so long ago, and it had seemed so insignificant then—just another text from a boy she'd just met.
She hadn't known he would become everything.
Finally, she typed: "Not fake. Sleep well too. See you tomorrow."
Short. Casual. Normal.
She hit send, then immediately wondered if she should have added an emoji. Or been more playful. Nav liked playful.
*Stop overthinking,* she commanded herself. *You're acting like a teenager.*
Which was ironic, considering she was in a teenager's body.
Her phone buzzed again.
Nav: "Looking forward to it 😊"
Such a simple message. Such a normal message.
Celine clutched the phone to her chest and let the tears fall.
She cried silently, shoulders shaking, for everything she'd lost and everything she'd somehow been given back. She cried for Rika, who hadn't been born yet, who might never be born if Celine changed too much. She cried for Nav, who had died saving her and didn't know it yet. She cried for herself—both the grieving widow and the nineteen-year-old girl who had no idea what was coming.
Eventually, the tears subsided. Celine wiped her face, took a deep breath, and stood up.
She caught her reflection in the small mirror hanging by the door. Purple hair disheveled, eyes red and puffy, gold earring catching the light.
She looked young. God, she looked so young.
*I won't waste this,* she promised her reflection. *I don't know why I got this chance, but I'm not wasting it. I'm going to save him. I'm going to save us.*
She didn't know how yet. The accident was years away. She had time to figure it out.
But first, she had a coffee date.
Celine changed into pajamas and climbed into bed. The mattress was lumpy—she'd forgotten about that. In the apartment she'd shared with Nav, they'd had a proper memory foam mattress that he'd insisted on buying despite the cost.
"We spend a third of our lives sleeping," he'd argued. "It's worth the investment."
He'd been right. He usually was about practical things, even if he'd pretend otherwise.
She pulled out her phone one more time, looking at Nav's messages.
"I love you," she whispered to the screen. "I love you so much. And tomorrow, I'm going to start showing you, even if you don't understand why yet."
Sleep came eventually, and with it, dreams.
She dreamed of Rika—eight years old, laughing as Nav spun her around in the park.
She dreamed of the accident—the screech of tires, Nav's body hitting the ground.
She dreamed of the funeral—rain pouring down as they lowered the casket.
And she dreamed of tomorrow—a café, coffee, and a white-haired boy with blue eyes who didn't know yet that she would love him for two lifetimes.