Ava told herself she wouldn't go back.
The next evening, after the construction crew packed up and the sky turned bruised with incoming rain, she stood outside the warehouse with her keys in hand, heart hammering. It was ridiculous. A voice in an empty building. A man who claimed to exist ten years from now. She should call a doctor, or at least a priest.
Yet the pull was undeniable.
She slipped inside, the heavy door clanging shut behind her. The atrium felt larger in the near-dark, scaffolding casting long shadows under the work lights she'd left on. Rain began to patter against the temporary roof. Ava walked to the center of the open space, breath shallow, and waited.
Nothing at first. Only the soft hiss of rain and her own pulse.
Then his voice came — warm, low, and impossibly close, as if he stood just behind her shoulder.
"You came back." There was quiet pleasure in his tone. "I hoped you would."
Ava closed her eyes. "This is insane. I don't even know if you're real."
"I'm real enough to miss the sound of your footsteps," Theo replied. A soft chuckle followed. "You walk like someone who's afraid the floor might judge her designs."
She laughed despite herself, the sound echoing strangely. "Tell me something useful, then. The east wing — should I push for the taller windows or keep the original plan?"
Theo hummed thoughtfully. In the future, he said, the taller windows let in the morning light exactly right, turning the reading lounge into something almost sacred. He described it so vividly she could almost see the golden glow on polished wood floors. They talked design for nearly an hour — cantilevered beams, acoustic panels, the perfect height for the café counters.
But the conversation refused to stay professional.
"You sound tired," he observed gently. "Long day fighting for beauty no one else seems to value?"
Ava leaned against a concrete pillar, letting the coolness seep through her blouse. "Something like that. Why do you care?"
"Because I've seen what this building becomes when you fight for it," he said. His voice dropped, softer. "And because hearing you makes the future feel less lonely."
The words settled warm in her chest. She found herself telling him things she rarely admitted — how she chose this career to create pockets of peace in a chaotic city, how she sometimes felt like a ghost haunting her own life. Theo listened without interruption, offering quiet understanding that made her throat tighten.
When the rain eased, his voice began to fade.
"Will you come tomorrow?" he asked, almost hesitant.
Ava hesitated only a second. "If it rains."
She left the warehouse with flushed cheeks and an ache low in her belly she couldn't quite name.