I nodded, though I couldn't explain why my heart beat so fast just standing beside her.
Without a word, we fell into step, circling the quiet lake. For a few moments, only the rustle of leaves and the ripple of water filled the silence.
"So…" Hannah finally said.
"Have you slept well?" I asked—just as she opened her mouth.
We both stopped mid-sentence, then broke into faint, sheepish smiles.
"You first," Hannah said, gesturing lightly with her hand.
"Yeah?" she prompted.
I cleared my throat, suddenly aware of the flutter rising in my chest.
"Did you sleep well?" The words were simple, almost trivial, yet speaking them to her made something stir deep inside me.
"Yup," Hannah said with an easy grin. "This factory building… it almost feels like my second home now. Or maybe my third."
She chuckled, the sound small and warm, echoing softly against the water.
I glanced sideways at her. The way the dawn light brushed her profile, the curve of her smile—it was enough to make me forget to breathe.
How pretty she is, I thought, unable to help myself.
"I see," I said after a moment, searching for steadiness. "So… why did you wake so early?"
"My eyes just opened really quick," she said, shrugging casually before tilting her head toward me. "How about you? Why did you wake up so early?"
I laughed under my breath, scratching the back of my neck.
"I run at this time a lot."
"Oh," Hannah said, turning her gaze to me with a sideways glance. "And you were about to run right now? Am I interrupting your routine?"
I shook my head quickly.
"No, it's okay," I said. My voice came out softer than I intended.
"You can run if you want to run right now," Hannah said, gesturing toward the open path.
But inside, my plan had already shifted. I no longer wanted the run for now. I wanted this—walking beside her, the quiet morning air, the nearness of her steps.
"Maybe later," I said, tilting my head with a faint smile.
Hannah turned, squinting at me as though trying to read something hidden. Her gaze lingered longer than I expected, and my chest tightened under the weight of it.
"Your eyes," Hannah said suddenly, her voice soft but certain, "they're really deep… and beautiful."
The words hung in the air, brighter than the breaking dawn.
Caught off guard, I chuckled—awkward, disbelieving. I turned my face aside, but when I looked back at her, she was still watching me. Those big, round eyes, full of light. Those plump lips curving in a way that made my heart ache.
You are really beautiful, I wanted to say. The words pressed at my throat, burning to escape, but they stayed locked inside.
I looked forward again, tilting my head just slightly, searching for air, for composure.
"Well, umm…" The words stumbled from me, clumsy yet sincere. Still, the warmth of her compliment lingered, resonating like a secret melody I couldn't unhear. "Do you want to perhaps go and grab a tea?"
Hannah looked at me and nodded without hesitation.
"Sure," she said, her voice light, her eyes glinting with curiosity. "Which way?"
Before I could answer, she had already quickened her pace, her steps springing forward with a kind of playful eagerness.
I felt my lips curve upward, almost involuntarily. A warmth spread through me—quiet, steady, unstoppable.
"This way," I said, pointing toward the left path that wound along the lake, its cobblestones still damp with morning dew.
She followed my gesture, and as we walked side by side, the rising sun spilled across the water, painting everything in gold. Her hair caught the light, shimmering with each step she took.
We soon sat across from each other at a little café tucked into a quiet alley.
Canon in D floated gently through the speakers, soft and nostalgic, as if the whole place had been designed to slow down time.
At a small corner table, beneath the flickering light of an old-fashioned lamp, sat Hannah. Her big, round eyes, sparkling with innocence and curiosity, were fixed on him. She lifted a fork to her lips, her muffled smile brightening as she savored the cake.
"You like it?" I asked, his arms casually crossed over his chest as he watched her, his voice smooth and calm.
"Yeah, of course." Hannah responded, her mouth full as she took another bite. "This is literally the best cake I know."
Her genuine joy was contagious, and I couldn't help but smile. I watched her for a moment, content in her happiness, the corners of my lips turning upward.
"Once I'm done with mission B tomorrow, I'll buy you cakes here again."
But to my surprise, Hannah shook her head, her eyes thoughtful.
"No, it's fine," she said with a soft laugh. "You really don't need to. One time is enough. Next time, I'll buy it on my own."
I chuckled.
She's never predictable...
I watched her closely and I internally smiled.
And this is probably the last good memory of Hannah…
The thought tears at Julian's chest, a quiet ache that time never manages to dull. A hundred years have passed, and yet the memory remains raw, as if it happened only yesterday.
In the crisp, recycled air of the airplane cabin, surrounded by the hush of sleeping passengers, Julian slowly opens his eyes. The dim cabin lights cast faint shadows across his face as he turns to the oval window. Outside stretches an endless ocean of night—pitch dark, infinite, stars scattered like faint embers.
For a fleeting moment, he almost hears it again.
Canon in D, the same tender notes that filled the café when Hannah sat across from him, laughing over cake. The melody presses against his memory until it almost becomes real, a ghost of the past lingering in the present.
"Maybe I should drop by that café," Julian murmurs, his voice barely audible above the soft hum of the engines.
His lips curve into a quiet smile, bittersweet yet steady.
The thought of Grace waiting somewhere in Mellany—the possibility of meeting her—sends his heartbeat into a slow, deliberate rhythm, as though preparing for something both inevitable and divine.
Julian reaches down, pulling his black leather bag into his lap. From within, he takes out the Bible, its pages softened by time and travel. Under the dim reading light above his seat, he opens it carefully, letting his eyes trace the verses that carry him through wars, loss, and lifetimes of wandering.
The words are familiar, yet tonight they feel alive again—anchors to his spirit, reminders that his path is not his own. He reads, and reads again, each line echoing in the quiet cabin like a prayer whispered straight to his Heavenly Father in heaven.
Julian steps out of the airport doors and is immediately greeted by the cool breath of spring in Mellany. The air carries a gentle bite, tinged with the faint sweetness of blooming trees. He pauses, closes his eyes for a moment, and draws in a long breath as if to anchor himself in this return.
"Lord, thank You for letting me come back here safe," he whispers, eyes lifting toward the pale morning sky before falling to the bustle ahead.
The taxi line stretches in front of him, cars rolling up one by one. He grips the handle of his single suitcase and steps forward. A driver, a man with graying hair and lines of quiet kindness etched into his face, climbs out from behind the wheel.
"Only just this one suitcase?" the driver asks, opening the trunk with practiced ease.
"Yes, I can put it in," Julian replies, lifting the bag and settling it into the empty space.
"Come in, sir," the man says with a smile, shuffling back to the driver's seat.
Julian slides into the back, the leather faintly worn, and lowers the window. A rush of crisp air slips in, carrying the scent of fresh earth and the faint hum of the city waking.
"It's a nice, crisp spring morning," the driver remarks with a laugh as he checks the mirrors.
"Yeah," Julian says softly, his gaze lingering on the skyline where the city slowly unfolds. "The weather's nice."
The car eases forward, and Mellany begins to reveal itself in fragments—morning markets opening their shutters, students rushing with books clutched to their chests, the sprawl of stone buildings kissed by sunlight.
"And what brings you to Mellany, sir?" the driver asks, voice steady, as though it has carried a thousand stories from this very seat.
"I came here to…" Julian pauses, catching the driver's gaze in the rearview mirror. His reflection stares back, weary yet steady. "To meet someone."
The driver's lips curl into a knowing smile.
"Perhaps, like your girlfriend?" he asks, his tone light, teasing.
A small chuckle slips out of Julian.
Girlfriend… Julian thinks. She's the woman I've been in love with for over a hundred years, but not my girlfriend now… not yet, I think. But she's the woman who I want to now step forward to.
The driver glances at Julian through the mirror, noticing my silence, and smiles gently.
"Okay, okay, I won't pry. How long are you staying here?" he asks, his voice warm, easy.
Julian returns his smile, letting it linger just a moment.
"I'm planning to stay for a week."