That Night
By Anaya Sikandar
That night, I saw him through the window.
He stood there — tall, striking, with a quiet intensity that sent shivers through me. I could only see his shadow at first, a silhouette under the silver glow of the moon. Then he stepped closer, and I saw his green eyes glinting with something unreadable — a smile tugging at his lips.
He leaned in, so close I could feel his breath against my ear.
"Amuse me," he whispered.
A thrill rushed through my body, like a wave of goosebumps and warmth at the same time. I felt lightheaded, almost swaying.
Then, gently, he pressed his lips to mine.
I should've pulled away — I didn't even know his name. A stranger. A shadow.
But I couldn't stop myself.
It was the first time I had ever felt something so... electric. So real. His kiss was deep, tender, like a secret he was giving me. He was too handsome, too close, and everything in me wanted to stay right there.
I didn't know who he was.
But I didn't care.
---
The moment ended as quickly as it began. He pulled away, but not far — his eyes still fixed on mine, glowing like emerald fire in the dark.
I opened my mouth to speak, to ask him something — anything — but the words tangled in my throat. I didn't even know what to ask. Who are you? Why are you here? Did I dream you?
He just smiled, almost like he already knew my thoughts.
Then he said softly, "You've been waiting for me."
My heart skipped. "How do you know?"
"Because I've been waiting for you too."
He stepped back, disappearing into the shadows again, like the night had swallowed him whole. I blinked — once, twice — and he was gone. No footsteps. No sound. Just the cold air kissing my skin where his warmth had been.
I stood frozen by the window, breathless. My fingers touched my lips — still tingling from his kiss.
Was he real?
The next morning, I woke up early, still unsure if I had imagined it all. But there, on the windowsill, lay a single white rose.
Still dewy.
Still fresh.
And tucked beneath it… was a small note.
Only three words, written in perfect, dark ink:
"See you soon."
---
I stared at the note in my hand.
See you soon.
There was no name. No explanation. Just that smooth, almost elegant handwriting — like someone who had written those same three words hundreds of times before.
I pressed the note to my chest. A part of me wanted to feel excited, enchanted. But something in my stomach twisted. The kind of feeling you get when someone calls your name, but you don't know how they know it.
That day, I couldn't focus on anything. His face — those green eyes, that whisper — kept repeating in my head like a dream on loop. But the more I replayed it, the more something felt… off.
Who just shows up at your window in the middle of the night?
Who kisses a stranger and disappears without a sound?
And that rose — where did it come from? There are no white roses in my garden.
That night, I didn't sleep. I sat by the window again, waiting.
And around 2:37 a.m., he came back.
Not through the door. Not like a normal person. One moment, the street was empty. The next, he was standing there — exactly in the same spot. Like he had stepped out of the darkness itself.
This time, I didn't open the window. I just watched.
He tilted his head slowly, like he could see me through the glass — even in the dark.
Then he smiled again.
But it wasn't the same smile.
There was something colder about it this time. Sharper.
And for the first time, I felt something I hadn't felt the night before.
Fear.
---
I wanted to look away.
But I couldn't.
His eyes — glowing faintly now, even in the dark — locked onto mine through the glass. He didn't move. He didn't blink. Just stared… like he was waiting for something.
And then, so slowly I almost didn't notice…
He raised his hand.
Not to wave. Not to knock.
He traced a shape on the glass with one finger — a small circle, then a line through it. Over and over.
It meant nothing to me. Or maybe it did.
Somewhere deep in my memory, it stirred something.
I stepped back. My breath caught in my throat. "Who are you?" I whispered, though he couldn't hear me.
Suddenly, his lips moved.
No sound. Just the shape of a word.
One word.
"Remember."
Then he was gone.
Not walked away. Not turned. Just… vanished.
Like smoke in the wind.
I gasped and stumbled back, heart hammering. My legs felt weak. I shut the curtains and collapsed onto my bed, trying to calm the shaking in my hands.
Remember? Remember what?
---
I didn't sleep. I couldn't. Every sound in the house felt louder. Every shadow felt longer.
By morning, I told myself it was my imagination.
A dream. A breakdown. Maybe I was just lonely. Craving something unreal.
Until I went downstairs.
The front door was unlocked.
And on the floor — just beneath it — was a photo.
Old. Black and white. Curled at the edges.
It was me. Standing by that same window.
But the date printed on the back… was twenty-seven years ago.
And next to me in the photo…
was him.
---
My fingers trembled as I turned the photo over again.
Me… and him.
But I had never seen this photo before. I had never stood beside him. And I had certainly never lived twenty-seven years ago.
Or had I?
I stared at my own face in the picture — younger, or older, I couldn't tell. But the eyes were mine. Same shape. Same sadness.
And beside me, he looked exactly the same.
Not a day older. Not a wrinkle. Not even a change in his smile.
I ran back to my room, searching for the rose from the night before. It was still there. But now… its petals had dried. Blackened at the edges. As if time had finally caught up to it.
Or maybe it belonged to a time that no longer existed.
And then, for the last time, I heard his voice.
Not outside. Not through the window.
But inside me.
> "I told you I'd come back…
You always forget.
But I always find you."
I fell to my knees, a tear sliding down my cheek.
Some part of me remembered now — flashes of a life before this one. His touch. His kiss. His disappearance. Over and over. A cycle. A loop.
A curse.
He was not just a man.
He was something else.
Something ancient.
And I…
I had loved him in every life.
Only to forget him in the next.
But not this time.
This time, I remembered.
And that night…
would never leave me again.
---
The End