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.

She was the last person I thought I'd see again.


And still — when I stepped into the café and caught a glimpse of her in the corner, elbows resting on the wood, one hand half-curled around a mug — it was like something in me… stopped.


It was a memory. It was that night in the elevator. That fire exit. That first slow confession, late at night, when she said, "I think I like you, but I'm not sure."


But I walked forward instead — like some part of me never stopped moving toward her.


Her name tasted strange in my mouth. Not foreign, just unfamiliar from too much silence.


She looked up. Her eyes widened just slightly. No smile. No frown. Just recognition — like her soul clocked mine before her mind did.


For a second, neither of us said anything.


Then I said the one truth I hadn't let myself admit out loud until now.


My voice cracked more than I meant it to.


She nodded, almost carefully. "Yeah. Just… unexpected."


I wasn't sure if she meant the dream. Or seeing me again. Or both.


Before I could say more — the bell above the door rang.


I didn't turn. Not right away. But I felt her gaze shift.


Then I heard the voice. Low. Confident. Familiar.


He crossed the café like he belonged to the scene. Like this was a life I never got to live with her. He placed his hand on the small of her back like it was muscle memory.


She didn't move. Didn't flinch. But she didn't pull away either.


I wasn't part of this version of her anymore.


I stepped back, letting the air fill the space between us.


"I should go," I said, quieter now. "Take care."


She opened her mouth, maybe to say my name again. But I didn't wait.


As I walked out, the words came uninvited, like a cruel joke from the universe:


The past doesn't always come back alone. 


And sometimes, you're the only one who remembers how it ended.


Chapter 23 - Chapter Twenty-Three: The Past Comes Back in Pairs