Celeste's Apartment
The kettle clicked off with a soft ding, but Celeste didn't move.
She was still standing by the window, her mug untouched on the counter. Outside, the wind was brushing through the trees, and everything looked still. Peaceful.
But her head wasn't still.
Not lately.
She had started having these… flashes.
Not dreams. Not thoughts.
Just flashes.
Earlier that morning, she'd picked up a navy-blue scarf from the laundry basket—and for one second, her chest tightened like someone had yanked her backward.
And then—gone.
Like a breeze through a crack.
Other times, it came in sound. The clink of a spoon. A soft laugh on TV. The smell of car exhaust. Her fingers would go cold, her skin pulling tight, her throat dry—and then the moment would pass, and she wouldn't remember why it felt familiar.
Now, she rubbed the mug between her palms, trying to warm up.
What if I'm just tired?
What if this is normal?
What if… it's something more?
She didn't even remember her favorite food. People laughed when she said that—like she was joking. But it wasn't funny. Sometimes, even the face in the mirror didn't look right.
Like she was playing dress-up in someone else's skin.
Celeste walked to her bookshelf and pulled down the photo album Leon had quietly left her—no note, no message, just the gesture. She flipped through it slowly. Most of the pictures made her smile. But some felt… too distant. Like she was looking at a stranger's life.
In one photo, she was laughing with someone whose face was half-out of frame.
The laughter was real.
But she didn't remember it.
Her fingers hovered over the image. Her chest tightened again.
A flash—this time, a voice.
"You always leave your books open. What if the wind takes your page again?"
She gasped softly, eyes wide. The voice had come from inside her mind—clear, gentle, male—but unfamiliar.
Was that Leon?
No—it wasn't his voice.
So whose was it?
She closed the album quickly, breath uneven now. A prickle ran down her spine. She rubbed her arms, trying to shake the chill, but the feeling stayed.
Like she wasn't alone in her own head.
Celeste's Apartment
The kettle clicked off with a soft ding, but Celeste didn't move.
She was still standing by the window, her mug untouched on the counter. Outside, the wind was brushing through the trees, and everything looked still. Peaceful.
But her head wasn't still.
Not lately.
She had started having these… flashes.
Not dreams. Not thoughts.
Just flashes.
Earlier that morning, she'd picked up a navy-blue scarf from the laundry basket—and for one second, her chest tightened like someone had yanked her backward.
And then—gone.
Like a breeze through a crack.
Other times, it came in sound. The clink of a spoon. A soft laugh on TV. The smell of car exhaust. Her fingers would go cold, her skin pulling tight, her throat dry—and then the moment would pass, and she wouldn't remember why it felt familiar.
Now, she rubbed the mug between her palms, trying to warm up.
What if I'm just tired?
What if this is normal?
What if… it's something more?
She didn't even remember her favorite food. People laughed when she said that—like she was joking. But it wasn't funny. Sometimes, even the face in the mirror didn't look right.
Like she was playing dress-up in someone else's skin.
Celeste walked to her bookshelf and pulled down the photo album Leon had quietly left her—no note, no message, just the gesture. She flipped through it slowly. Most of the pictures made her smile. But some felt… too distant. Like she was looking at a stranger's life.
In one photo, she was laughing with someone whose face was half-out of frame.
The laughter was real.
But she didn't remember it.
Her fingers hovered over the image. Her chest tightened again.
A flash—this time, a voice.
"You always leave your books open. What if the wind takes your page again?"
She gasped softly, eyes wide. The voice had come from inside her mind—clear, gentle, male—but unfamiliar.
Was that Leon?
No—it wasn't his voice.
So whose was it?
She closed the album quickly, breath uneven now. A prickle ran down her spine. She rubbed her arms, trying to shake the chill, but the feeling stayed.
Like she wasn't alone in her own head.