echoes between the pages

Chapter 2: Echoes Between the Pages

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The next day, Aurelia tried to return to normal.

But normal had shifted its shape.

She moved through the university like a shadow—present, but untouched. She sat in the library for hours, pretending to study, her books open but her mind adrift, drifting through half-formed thoughts and the sound of his voice.

No matter how hard she tried to stay grounded, it kept circling back:

> “You’ve survived.”

A simple phrase. But it felt like an echo from somewhere deeper than memory.

She hadn’t told anyone what happened in class. She couldn’t explain it, not even to herself. A stranger—no, not a stranger, not anymore—had cracked through the walls she’d spent years building. And he did it without prying, without force.

Just presence.

As the clock ticked toward noon, she closed her textbook. Her eyes burned from trying to focus on words that wouldn't land. Gathering her things slowly, she wandered outside.

The university courtyard was quieter than usual. A soft breeze wove through the arches and rattled the ivy clinging to old stone. Somewhere, a bird called once, then fell silent. It felt like the day was waiting.

She didn’t expect to see him again so soon.

But there he was.

Caelum leaned against the stone ledge of the courtyard’s fountain, headphones draped around his neck, sketchbook in hand. He was drawing—something fast, loose, incomplete. His pencil danced like it was chasing something fleeting.

She paused. Watched.

For a moment, she debated turning away. But his presence pulled her in like gravity.

He looked up.

Their eyes met.

No smile this time. Just acknowledgment. A silent thread tying yesterday to today.

“You came out of the shadows,” he said.

She folded her arms. “I didn’t realize I was in them.”

“You were,” he replied, closing his sketchbook with a quiet snap. “But I like shadows. They have depth. Sunlight can be shallow.”

Aurelia walked closer, unsure why. “What are you drawing?”

He hesitated. Then held it out without a word.

It was a rough sketch. A girl standing by a window, wind lifting her scarf, eyes staring past the pane like they were looking for something they’d lost in another world.

The resemblance was undeniable.

She exhaled. “That’s me.”

He didn’t confirm or deny. “I sketch what stays in my mind.”

She handed it back, her fingers brushing his. “That’s… dangerous.”

“Maybe,” he said. “But it’s honest.”

Silence followed. Not awkward—just a kind of quiet understanding. Like the space between notes in a song.

Then he asked something unexpected.

“Do you ever feel like you’ve met someone before—even if you know it’s impossible?”

Her breath caught. She looked away, then back.

“Yes.”

He studied her expression. “I didn’t believe in that sort of thing,” he said. His eyes softened. “Until yesterday.”

She didn’t answer. Her hands trembled slightly at her sides. She tried to hide it, but he noticed.

“Sorry,” he said, voice gentle. “I don’t mean to mess with your peace.”

“You’re not,” she said quickly. “You just… feel familiar. That’s all.”

He nodded slowly. “Like remembering a song you’ve never heard before.”

She smiled faintly, surprised by the poetry in his words. “Or a dream you wake up missing.”

He tilted his head, as if listening to something distant. “Maybe we’ve met… elsewhere.”

“Like in another life?” she asked, half-teasing, half-curious.

He looked at her, dead serious. “Or the same one. Just... earlier.”

Before she could respond, someone from Caelum’s class called out his name from across the courtyard.

He looked over, nodded, then turned back to her. “I’ll see you around, shadow-girl.”

Aurelia raised an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to be a nickname?”

He shrugged. “Guess it is now.”

He gave her one last glance—one that lingered just a second too long—and walked away.

Aurelia stood there, staring after him.

For the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel haunted by the past.

She felt haunted by something new.

And somehow, that was easier to carry.

Even comforting.

Like a secret whispered between the pages of a book you hadn’t meant to open… but somehow couldn’t put down.

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