I fell asleep not long after, exhaustion from the morning flight pulling me under. The cleaning, the arranging, the quiet movements around my parents' house and my own had drained me more than I realized.
The bed welcomed me like an old friend, soft and familiar, wrapping me in the kind of comfort that makes time dissolve. I slipped so easily into sleep that I didn't even notice I had skipped dinner.
But what woke me was not hunger.
It was heat. A different kind of heat.
The dream lingered, vivid and relentless, clinging to me like sweat on my skin. I could still feel the softness of that man's lips pressed against mine, the way his touch roamed across me, daring, unhesitant, coaxing awake a passion I had long buried.
My body betrayed me, remembering, craving. I could still hear my own voice... weak, trembling, breaking into moans that filled the air. It was as though the dream had crossed the boundary of sleep and planted itself into the marrow of my bones.
I opened my eyes, startled, and my gaze fell on the glowing red numbers of the clock: 2:00 AM.
Damn.
Why was I even dreaming of a stranger? Why was my body so alive with the memory of someone I could not even name? I couldn't even picture his face. All I remembered was the warmth of his breath, the weight of his presence above me… and the panic when I ran out of his room.
I sat up, restless, my sheets tangled around me as though they had been witnesses to something they couldn't explain. Sleep was impossible now. My mind spun, circling the same questions like a moth around flame. Who was he? Why him?
I dragged myself to the kitchen and pulled a cold bottle of beer from the fridge. I cracked it open, the sharp hiss breaking the silence, and drank it down fast, hoping the bitterness would wash him out of my thoughts.
But it didn't.
The memory clung tighter, every sip making me more aware of the fire I was trying to smother.
I pressed the cold bottle to my forehead and closed my eyes.
Who is he?
Why do I feel like this… as if my heart already knows the answer, and my mind is too afraid to speak it?
Suddenly, my phone buzzed with a message from my brother. Not by blood, but by bond, a sworn sibling I could always count on.
[Sis… Remember Patrick, your ex? He broke up with his fiancée. She caught him cheating with a forty-year-old woman!]
I stared at the screen, half-amused, half-annoyed. A forty-year-old woman? That was… interesting. But hardly surprising. Patrick was always chasing something... attention, validation, women who made him feel powerful. It wasn't new.
I remembered the way he once told me he had found someone "better" than me. And yet, that someone turned out to be old enough to be my mother. I should've laughed back then, but the words had stung.
After all, even during our relationship, I'd always suspected the real person who held his heart was his so-called best friend. The way they whispered, texted, shared little looks... it was all too intimate. I should've walked away sooner.
And he did, in fact, end up with her in the end. His best friend turned lover.
Funny how the pieces fit together now, yet back then, everything felt like chaos. Still, I couldn't recall much of the time after our breakup. Whole stretches of memory seemed blurred, like my mind had erased them for my own survival. Perhaps forgetting was my only way of moving on.
It didn't matter. Or so I told myself. I only hoped fate would be kind enough to keep our paths separate.
But maybe luck was not on my side.
The next morning, I stopped by the mall for coffee, still heavy-eyed from a restless night. I was stirring sugar into my cup when I felt the weight of someone's gaze. I turned, and there he was... Patrick.
And beside him, his so-called best friend. The same best friend who had turned into his girlfriend.
So much for breakups.
My chest tightened, not with love, not even with longing, but with a strange cocktail of disbelief, irritation, and something darker I couldn't name. I lowered my eyes quickly, pretending not to see, but my hands betrayed me, trembling as I lifted the cup to my lips.
I thought I had left him behind. I thought the past was buried.
But there he was. Flesh and blood. A ghost I never wanted to meet again.
Strangely, before the couple could reach me, someone slipped into the empty chair across from mine.
"Can I sit here?" he asked.
I didn't look up right away, only nodded politely. "Sure. No problem."
Maybe I wanted an escape, a shield to keep Patrick and his best-friend-turned-lover from thinking I was alone, vulnerable, available for some awkward exchange. Or maybe, deep down, I craved another presence, someone to distract me from the bitterness crawling up my throat.
But then he laughed. A low, warm sound that struck me like lightning. My heart stuttered in my chest, trembling as though it recognized something I didn't yet understand.
I looked up.
And when our eyes met, the world shifted.
In that single moment, something impossible unfolded before me... like a film reel flashing too quickly for me to catch in detail, yet sharp enough to burn into my memory.
I saw a home filled with laughter. A wedding ring gleaming under soft light. A pair of small hands reaching up to me, calling me mother. Him... this stranger... standing beside me, his gaze steady, protective, unwavering.
A whole future.
A married life.
I blinked, shaken, gripping my coffee cup as though it could anchor me to reality. It didn't make sense. I didn't even know his name, and yet… some part of me felt as if I already did.
Who was he?
And why did my heart whisper that he was not a stranger at all?
"Long time no see…"
His voice carried a warmth that sent a shiver down my spine, as though he was recalling something I couldn't place.
I frowned, my fingers tightening around the coffee cup.
"Do you know me?" I asked, trying to mask the unease in my tone.
He smiled, but it wasn't the smile of a stranger. It was the smile of someone who knew far too much, who had stood close enough once to see the cracks in me. Familiar, unnervingly so.
My mind raced, searching through faces, names, fleeting encounters, yet none of them fit. And still, the pull in my chest insisted that we had crossed paths before.
That laugh.
Those eyes.
The kind of familiarity that didn't belong to coincidence.
"I should," he said softly, leaning forward just enough that I caught the faintest trace of his cologne. It was subtle, but it stirred something buried deep within me.
And for a heartbeat, I was back in my dream, the weight of a body above mine, lips pressing fire into my skin, a voice that made me tremble.
No. It couldn't be.
Could it?