After New Year's, Frank organized another gathering for everyone.
This time, he brought someone new.
The meeting wasn't at a bar, but in a quiet little café on the Upper West Side. The rain had just stopped, leaving the streets glistening, and the streetlights outside stretched long reflections across the wet pavement.
Frank introduced David, a college friend now working in neuroscience research.
David looked young, wearing thin-framed glasses. His voice was calm, almost like he was giving an academic presentation.
"Frank told me about your experiences," he said, "the flight, the recurring dreams, and the patterns you noticed in the seating arrangements."
He placed a small notebook on the table and opened it carefully.
"If these dreams were isolated to one person, they'd likely be stress or trauma responses," he continued. "But when multiple people have structurally similar dreams, that's worth investigating."
Sabrina listened quietly.
David went on, "The human brain reorganizes memories during sleep. Usually, dreams are just a recombination of past experiences."
He paused.
"But there's another theory—"
Everyone at the table instinctively looked up.
David continued slowly:
"Dreams could also be predictive models the brain uses to anticipate future information."
Someone chuckled. "Predict the future? That sounds like science fiction."
David didn't flinch.
"Prediction doesn't have to be mysterious. Every day, your brain does it. Catching a flying ball, for instance—you're predicting its trajectory."
He paused again.
"But what if the timescale of that prediction were extended?"
The room went silent.
Frank's eyes sharpened.
David leaned forward.
"If, in extreme circumstances, the brain receives information not from the past but from the future—then dreams could become echoes across time."
Some people frowned. Skepticism was clear.
Sabrina thought of Story of Your Life—the alien language, the non-linear perception of time, where past and future coexisted in a loop.
David seemed to sense their doubt. He closed the notebook gently and said:
"But lately, I've been pondering an even stranger question."
All eyes turned to him.
He looked at his coffee cup, gathering his words. Then he said:
"What if the future in dreams isn't actually the future—"
He raised his head.
"But another timeline that has already happened?"
The table went utterly silent, even breaths seemed loud.
Someone immediately spoke up: "Isn't that just parallel universes?"
David nodded.
"That's one way to look at it."
Frank's gaze became complex. Mary's death flashed across his mind.
If it truly was another timeline—
Does that mean the child she saw in her dream really existed?
Just—
Not in this world.
Outside, the rain-slick streets reflected the lights.
No one spoke.
Each person quietly repeated the thought in their head:
Another timeline that has already happened.
The café slowly emptied. Some whispered softly, others seemed unwilling to continue the conversation. The post-rain air was cool, and people stepped out one by one.
Streetlights flickered on, one by one.
Frank and David lingered by the door. Sabrina had already reached the street corner and looked back, seeing them still talking.
David's expression remained calm, analytical, as though he were reviewing experimental data.
"If you really want to understand this," he said, "the most important thing isn't speculation—it's documentation."
Frank asked, "Document what?"
"Dreams," David replied simply.
He explained that memory of dreams fades quickly after waking, and without immediate recording, crucial details are lost.
"If these dreams truly contain temporal information," he said, "the details are critical."
Frank nodded.
David added one final point:
"And one more thing."
Frank looked up.
"If dreams involve different timelines," David said, "the details from the dreams could gradually appear in reality."
He paused.
"That's what's really worth noticing."
For a moment, silence hung between them. Outside, the wind swayed tree branches, the wet leaves quivering gently.
Frank suddenly realized—
That office in Hong Kong might have been one of those details.
For the first time, he sensed this might be more complex than they had imagined.
That night, Sabrina returned home late. William was already asleep.
The kitchen light was dim, casting a soft glow. She poured herself a cup of warm water and sat at the table, her mind still on the café conversation.
Another timeline that has already happened.
The thought landed like a stone in the depths of her consciousness.
She remembered the office Frank had found in Hong Kong.
If dreams really could connect different times—
Were they glimpsing the future, or an already existing past?
She didn't pursue the thought any further.
It was late. Sabrina turned off the light and went to bed.
In the middle of the night, she suddenly woke up. Heart racing.
She sat up. Darkness surrounded her.
The dream was still vivid in her mind—not fragmented—but a complete, clear scene.
She stood in a massive airport terminal.
Announcements echoed with boarding information. People bustled around. She looked up at the flight information screen, and a familiar city name flashed:
Beijing.
Before she could make sense of what was happening, the scene shifted.
She saw a woman.
Standing on a train platform.
The air was cold and foggy.
A green train slowly approached the station in the distance.
The woman lifted her head.
And in that moment, Sabrina saw her face clearly—
Li Hua.
The dream ended abruptly.
Sabrina's eyes flew open.
Outside, New York's night was still dark.