The drive home was a blur. Mira's fingers gripped the steering wheel, knuckles pale as her mind replayed the moment — you came back. The words looped like static in her head. The stranger's voice had weight, familiarity, like an echo from a life she couldn't remember.
By the time she reached the house, her hands were trembling. The light outside had dimmed into a honeyed dusk, and Alden's car was already in the driveway. She took a deep breath before stepping inside, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
Alden stood near the kitchen counter, loosening his tie, the faint aroma of coffee filling the air.
"Hey," he said, smiling. "How was your first day with the patients?"
His tone was casual — warm, even — but when he looked at her closely, his smile faded.
"Mira… what happened?"
She set her bag down and tried to sound calm.
"It was fine. Mostly. There was… an incident."
"An incident?" His brow furrowed.
"One of the patients attacked me," she admitted. "He seemed… normal. Like he didn't belong there. He knew me somehow."
That got his attention. Alden's entire expression changed — the relaxed softness of a tired doctor replaced by sharp, clinical alertness.
"What did he say?"
"Just—" she hesitated, the words catching in her throat. "He looked at me and said… 'You came back.'"
Alden's face froze. For a second too long, he didn't move, didn't blink. Then he turned away, pacing slowly toward the window.
"Did he hurt you?"
"Just scared me," she said quickly, rubbing her neck unconsciously.
He turned back, eyes scanning her face as if searching for something he didn't want to find. Then his tone softened again, practiced and professional.
"I'm sorry you had to go through that. Some of the patients experience deep delusions. They project identities onto strangers. It's… a symptom, nothing more."
But his voice carried a tremor she couldn't miss.
"You're sure?" she asked quietly.
"Of course," he replied too quickly, smiling faintly. "Just forget about it. I'll review his file tomorrow."
He stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from her face. The gesture was tender, but his eyes — usually so calm — were distant, calculating.
"Promise me you'll stay out of the asylum for a few days," he said. "At least until things settle."
"But I need to finish the article—"
"Mira." His tone hardened, cutting her off. "Promise me."
She hesitated, then nodded.
"Okay. I promise."
He smiled again, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"Good. Now, sit. I'll make you tea."
Later that night, after she had fallen asleep on the couch, Alden sat alone in his study. The only light came from his laptop screen. On it, a patient file was open — Patient ID: 1437 — Name: Cunayet Vural.
Diagnosis: Dissociative delusional state. Claims recognition of individuals he has never met.
Alden scrolled down slowly. His jaw clenched as he reached the session notes, typed by another doctor two years ago:
"Subject repeats the phrase 'She came back' whenever shown certain inkblot patterns involving water and light. Possible trigger for buried trauma."
Alden's eyes darkened. He shut the file abruptly, exhaling through his nose.
From the doorway, Mira stirred slightly in her sleep, whispering something — a half-dreamed word he couldn't make out.
He looked at her for a long moment, the light from the screen painting his face in pale blue shadows.
"You shouldn't have gone there," he murmured under his breath.
The clock ticked quietly in the background. Somewhere in the silence between them, something old had begun to awaken.