The wind blew gently, carrying the scent of trees and the distant murmur of water from the park's fountain.
Ethan still felt the warmth of the memories lingering in his mind, as if the images of his childhood with Iria had been seared into his skin.
But there was something unsettling about it all.
He didn't remember living those moments… not until now.
Iria stood before him, her expression calm. But her eyes held something new. Something sharp.
"Ethan…" Her voice was soft, yet laced with a blade that scraped his nerves raw. "Why're you staring?"
He blinked. How long had he been gaping?
"Dunno…" he muttered, voice fraying.
Couldn't explain it.
Couldn't even start.
Every time he looked at her, something inside him shifted.
At first, it was barely there—a faint itch at the back of his skull. But the longer he stayed near her, the louder it gnawed. Like her very presence was carving deeper into his memory.
But… why?
The wind whispered between them, lifting her hair with a ghost's touch. The sunset's light gilded her hair gold—but Ethan knew she wasn't blonde.
Not a trick of the light… but a trick of her.
Like the light itself clung to her. Like her very existence pulsed with a… wrongness you couldn't unsee.
Silence thickened between them.
Ethan couldn't look away.
His eyes traced every small detail about her—as if he were discovering them for the first time.
How she nervously twisted a strand of hair between her fingers. A simple habit, but he realized he'd seen it a thousand times before.
What unnerved him?
He'd never actually noticed it until now.
Why?
How her smile seemed to glow even in the dark.
There was something about her that lit up the space around her. Something that made even the emptiest room feel less hollow when she was near.
But… had she always been this… bright?
The way her eyes locked onto his with an intensity he couldn't parse.
Her stare felt… unworldly.
Not just warmth.
Not just softness.
Something… deeper.
Something that seemed to whisper:
"How long till you figure it out?"
His chest twisted—like something inside him was clawing awake.
He didn't know what. But it was feral. Hungry. A shape taking root in his ribs.
"You've always mattered to me," she said suddenly.
Her voice was soft but laced with something that scraped his bones raw.
His heart flatlined for a heartbeat.
Not just the words.
Not even close.
It was the static roaring in his skull—the wrongness of her smile.
The way her eyes burned now—like she'd finally stopped pretending.
It was how she said it.
Iria didn't speak with hesitation or doubt. Not a sudden confession. Not words tossed carelessly into the wind.
She said it like a bone-deep truth.
Like it was undeniable.
Like she'd known it longer than he'd even existed.
"Even when you… forget," she added.
A quiet ache threading through the words.
A chill razored down Ethan's spine.
Her words clawed at him—too sharp, too knowing.
She spoke like she'd cracked open a secret he hadn't even realized was buried.
Like… somewhere else… some other fractured version of them…
…had already had this talk.
But that was impossible.
Right?
Ethan's lips twitched open—questions clawing up his throat.
But before the words could spill, Iria smiled.
A smile sweet as summer, serene as still water—but beneath it, something… darker.
A shadow that choked the air from his lungs.
"Hope you don't forget me."
The words hit him like a gut-punch. Breath fled his lungs.
For the first time in years—muscles coiled tight—a cornered animal staring down the barrel.
It was like something shattered inside him in that moment.
An invisible thread—a barrier that had kept two halves of his mind walled apart—ripped open without warning.
Then…
The memories.
They slammed into him like a freight train.
His life before Iria—before the dreams—flashed through his mind in a single, gutting instant.
Friends. Family. Every mundane milestone.
Past relationships.
Moments shared… then lost.
All of it burned. All of it bled.
And all of it… lingered like smoke—familiar, yet suddenly foreign.
His childhood memories were hazy, but now jagged new pieces stabbed through—ones he'd sworn weren't there before.
And then… her.
The girl from before.
The one he'd shared everything with.
Did she even exist here?
The thought hit him—cold, brutal.
"What if none of it… the life I lived before I saw her in the dreams… was ever real?"
The wind howled.
But this time, Ethan didn't feel the cold.
Just… fear.
Raw. Gnawing. A void chewing through his chest.