The First Conversation

Ethan’s heart skipped.

“No. I…” He choked. How to explain without sounding insane? “I don’t remember meeting you.”

Her frown deepened. Not angry. Confused.

“You’re the one who always forgets,” she whispered, more to herself than him.

Her words sent a chill down Ethan’s spine.

“Forget what?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she stepped closer—slow, like movement might decode him.

Ethan didn’t back up, but his body stiffened.

Her closeness felt wrong—familiar and foreign at once.

“Ethan… are you okay?” Her voice dipped with worry.

Hearing his name in her mouth made his skin crawl.

“I’m…” He swallowed. “Trying to figure out what’s happening.”

She tilted her head, straight hair swaying. “You don’t need to overthink it. You always come back.”

The words choked him.

“Come back?”

He pressed a hand to his temple. None of this fit. If she knew him so well… why did she feel like a stranger?

“If we’ve been together this long…” His voice cracked. “Why don’t I remember any of it?”

She smiled softly, like she’d expected the question.

The panic hit. He couldn’t leave now.

Took a step forward, hand reaching for her—like touching her could anchor him here.

“Wait…” His voice frayed in the wind.

But the girl didn’t flinch. Same calm stare. Hair dancing in the breeze.

Then—she smiled. Not a goodbye smile. A knowing one.

Like she knew he’d return. Like this had happened a hundred times before.

Ethan tried to speak—but the void swallowed him first.

Everything went black.

Then—

He woke up.

The air still smelled like rooftop wind.

Ethan jerked awake, sitting up in bed, breath ragged. His heart slammed against his ribs. His mind hovered between dream and reality—still feeling the wind on his skin, still seeing her smile.

“You promised me last time we met.”

The girl’s words looped in his skull.

He pressed a hand to his chest, fingers trembling. Didn’t understand what this feeling was—deeper than fear, sharper than confusion.

The gut-punch of forgetting something vital.

Forced a deep breath. Just a dream.

But then—his gaze snagged on the desk.

Something that shouldn’t be there.

A photo.

Tucked between his things.

He picked it up carefully, a chill crawling up his spine. It was a childhood photo, taken in a park he couldn’t quite place. But what unnerved him most was the person beside him.

A girl his age. Her face was blurred, like time had smudged it, but her silhouette was clear—standing close, her hand almost reaching for his…

Something in his gut screamed she shouldn’t be there. “No… this photo didn’t exist before.”

His fingers shook as he held it. Denying this was getting harder. A knock at the door snapped him back.

“Ethan, breakfast!” his dad called from the hallway.

Ethan hesitated, still hollowed out. “Yeah… coming.”

He drifted downstairs, the photo burning in his mind. Sat at the table, picking at toast.

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