Chapter 8: Déjà vu? (3)
She leaned in closer, her smile widening into something almost dazzlingly bright, her finger poking playfully at my chest as if she were marking her territory in my very soul.
"A what-?"
The word tripped over my tongue, my brow furrowing in a sudden, dizzying confusion.
A cold ripple of static seemed to shiver down my spine, the modern "bio" request feeling like a jagged stone thrown into a still, perfect pond.
"Got you!"
She said playfully, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she watched El's reaction-the way his eyes widened, the way his lips parted in surprise, the way his stoic mask crumbled just for her.
El blinked.
Then, slowly, a genuine laugh escaped him-awkward and breathless and absolutely real.
"Ha-ha."
The sound was soft, almost shy, nothing like his usual controlled demeanor.
He shook his head, but the smile wouldn't leave his face.
"You really got me."
Kaye's grin widened, delighted by her victory.
But then her expression shifted-softened-into something deeper.
Something that made the garden around them seem to hold its breath.
"Of course I want to be your forever, El."
Her velvet voice wrapped around each word like a gift.
"And I hope time will stop... that we could stay here together. Just like this. Forever."
The words hung in the air between them, warm and fragile and impossibly precious.
El's chest tightened-not with pain, but with a sweetness so intense it almost hurt.
He reached up slowly, reverently, as if touching something sacred.
His fingers found her hair-soft, impossibly soft-and began to gently stroke the dark strands.
They slipped through his fingers like silk, like water, like everything beautiful in the world condensed into one perfect moment.
"Yeah," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion he couldn't name.
"I want this beautiful moment to stay still too. Not time going forward... not waking up... just this. Just us. Just here."
His eyes never left hers.
Those deep, warm, impossible eyes that held galaxies and secrets and now-finally-held him.
Kaye leaned into his touch, her eyelids fluttering closed for just a second, a soft sigh escaping her lips.
When she opened her eyes again, they were glistening.
"Then don't let go," she whispered.
"Hold onto me. Even when you wake up."
El's hand is still in her hair.
When you wake up.
The words were a gentle reminder.
A soft warning.
A promise and a threat all at once.
"I don't want to wake up," he admitted quietly.
"Not from this."
Kaye smiled-sad and sweet and full of understanding.
"I know."
She reached up and covered his hand with hers, pressing it more firmly against her hair.
"But even if you do... I'll be here. Waiting. Always."
El's heart ached.
He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers, breathing in the jasmine and the sweetness and the impossible perfection of her.
"Always," he echoed.
The garden glowed around them.
The moment stretched like eternity.
And for now-for this perfect, fleeting now-that was enough.
"Hey, wake up, El! We're done, time to clock out."
Demi's voice sliced through my euphoria like a dull saw-jagged, relentless, and completely indifferent to the beautiful world it was destroying.
I blinked.
The gray cubicle walls closed in on me like a trap, their beige fabric suddenly suffocating.
My heart-which had been soaring moments ago, floating in a garden filled with jasmine and starlight and her-hit the floor with a heavy, hollow thud.
I sat there for a second.
Just one second.
Mourning the girl who didn't exist.
Mourning the confession I'd finally made.
Mourning the date that would never happen-12/09/30, whatever that meant, wherever that was supposed to lead.
"Damn..."
The word escaped my lips before I could stop it, barely a whisper.
"A dream again."
The disappointment tasted like copper in the back of my throat.
Metallic.
Bitter.
Familiar.
"Having a nice dream about your lovey-dovey again, huh?"
Demi smirked, leaning against my desk with the casual cruelty of someone who hadn't just lost the love of his life to a nap.
"Stop it. You aren't helping."
My voice came out sharper than intended, irritation rising like a shield against the lingering sadness still wrapped around my chest.
I couldn't let him see it-the rawness, the loss, the ache of waking up alone.
I grabbed a pen.
Then another.
I began aggressively aligning them-perfectly, obsessively, desperately trying to scrub the dream away with productivity.
With order.
With the only thing I could control.
My fingers moved on autopilot, straightening what was already straight, organizing what was already perfect.
Click.
I shut down my computer, the screen going dark mid-thought.
The spreadsheet-my almost-finished report for Friday-disappeared into sleeping pixels.
I'd have to reopen it tomorrow.
Reorient myself.
Waste precious minutes finding my place again.
I didn't care.
Right now, I need the screen black. Needed the reflection gone.
I needed to stop seeing my own tired eyes staring back at me.
"Just wait for me," I said, not looking at Demi.
"I'll clean my table, then we'll go to that cafe."
"Okay, okay! I'll wait for you at the exit, bro."
Demi threw a casual, mocking salute, his face splitting into a grin that was all teeth and genuine, annoying affection.
"Try not to fall in love with any staplers on your way out!"
His laughter erupted like a sudden thunderclap, vibrating through the thin office partitions and making the pens I'd just straightened jump.
I didn't laugh back.
I never did.
---
Hi. My name is El Ignacio. I am 28 years old and single-painfully, relentlessly single-living in Landsburge, the city where businessmen are born and dreams go to die in expensive apartments.
I'm currently working at the Tate Association as a Marketing Assistant.
My life is simple.
Plain.
Like soup porridge without egg or beef-edible, nourishing, but utterly forgettable.
Sometimes I add seasonings to give it taste.
A coffee run.
A nap.
A dream about a girl who doesn't exist.
Just showing up to work like everyone else.
Just existing like everyone else.
Just-
"ELLL! What are you doing? Hurry up, you know the company won't pay us if we stay longer than work hours, right?!"
Demi's sudden voice didn't just interrupt.
It detonated.
Ripping through the quiet hum of the office like a fire alarm in a library.
My heart gave a sharp, startled kick against my ribs.
My train of thought-already fragile, already scattered-derailed instantly.
"Tsk."
The sound escaped through gritted teeth.
"I'm making an intro here, Demi."
The words left my mouth automatically, a reflex born from years of friendship.
But as they hung in the air, something strange happened.
A shiver.
Cold.
Brief.
Wrong.
I froze, hand hovering over a pen that was already perfectly aligned.
Wait.
I'd said this before.
Exactly this.
These words.
This moment.
Demi's interruption.
My irritation.
The intro I never got to finish.
It had already happened.
I knew it with a certainty that made no sense-a bone-deep knowing that had nothing to do with logic and everything to do with something deeper.
Something primal.
Something that whispered you've been here before even as my rational mind screamed impossible.
"Huh?"
The word escaped me in a whisper, meant only for myself.
My hands kept moving-straightening, organizing, tidying-but my mind had stopped entirely.
"Wait, wait..."
I murmured, staring at the pens without seeing them.
"Has it already happened?"
The office hummed around me.
Keyboards clicked.
Phones rang.
Someone laughed in the distance.
Normal sounds.
Ordinary sounds.
But nothing felt ordinary.
"Is it... déjà vu?"
The question hung in the air, unanswered.
My fingers found the edge of my desk-solid, real, here.
I gripped it like an anchor, trying to ground myself in the present.
Now.
On Monday that felt like every Monday and yet somehow-impossibly-like one I'd already lived.
You're being ridiculous, I told myself firmly.
Déjà vu happens to everyone.
It's just a brain glitch.
A trick of memory.
Nothing more.
But even as I thought it, another voice whispered in the back of my mind.
Soft.
Warm.
Impossible.
Time is weird here.
I shook my head violently, as if I could physically dislodge the memory.
I wasn't there anymore.
I was here.
In this cubicle.
In this life.
This Monday was definitely, absolutely, positively the first Monday I'd ever lived.
Right?
I grabbed my bag and walked toward the exit, leaving my organized desk and my shattered dreams behind.
But the question followed me.
Has this already happened?
---
TATE ASSOCIATION - 9TH FLOOR HALLWAY
"What took you so long, El? Your table is so clean that you don't have to clean it time after time."
Demi remarked as they stepped into the hallway.
He shook his head, his voice dripping with a mix of genuine bafflement and the impatient energy of someone who couldn't stand a moment of stillness.
El didn't respond immediately.
Because the words hit him like a small wave-familiar, rhythmic, expected.
He'd heard this before.
Exactly this.
The same inflection.
The same head shake.
The same impatient energy radiates from his best friend like heat from a radiator.
"You've known me for six years and you still ask me that question? Tsk."
El clicked his tongue-a sharp, brittle sound that echoed his growing unease. But beneath the irritation, something else stirred.
A cold thread of recognition weaving through his chest.
I've said this before too.
Word for word.
He felt a weary tug in his gut, wondering if anyone-Demi, the universe, anyone-would ever see the comfort he found in a world that stayed exactly where he put it.
In a life that made sense.
"Yeah, I've known you for six years and I still don't know the reason why you keep cleaning a spotless table,"
Demi countered, his eyes rolling with a playful, theatrical flair that showed he was already moving on to the next thought.
Completely oblivious.
Completely normal.
He doesn't feel it, El realized.
He doesn't know.
"It's just-"
El started, his voice softening.
A rare moment of vulnerability began to surface as he tried again, apparently-to explain the peace of his "soup porridge" life.
The comfort of control.
The safety of the sameness.
But the sentence died in his throat.
Because he'd tried to explain this before.
And it hadn't worked then either.
THWACK.
Demi's hand collided with his back in a heavy, bone-jarring slap.
"Whatever! I don't care about the reason, just hurry up!"
Demi laughed, the sound booming through the corridor with a boisterous, unapologetic force that completely shattered the mood.
His eyes were wide with a manic, caffeine-starved light.
"I really, really want to drink coffee!"
El stumbled forward from the impact, catching himself against the hallway wall.
And in that moment, the déjà vu hit him like a truck.
This exact conversation.
This exact walk.
This exact slap on the back.
He'd lived this before.
Every word.
Every gesture.
Every annoying, familiar beat of his friendship with Demi.
It was all repeating.
El's hand pressed against the wall, steadying himself.
His heart hammered against his ribs-not from the slap, but from the realization of the blooming cold and terrifying in his chest.
I've done this. All of this. Already.
---
ELEVATOR - 9TH FLOOR TO LOBBY
The elevator doors slid shut, trapping them in the small metal box with the usual faint smell of disinfectant and someone's leftover perfume.
Demi immediately started humming-some tuneless noise that bounced off the mirrored walls.
El stared at their reflections.
Demi, bouncing slightly on his heels, completely unaware that anything was wrong.
Himself, pale-faced, hands shoved deep in his pockets to hide their trembling, watching the floor numbers descend with desperate focus.
8... 7... 6...
"Hey."
Demi's voice broke through.
"You're quiet. Even for you. What's up?"
El's reflection met Demi's in the mirror.
"Nothing," he lied.
"Just tired."
Demi squinted at him.
"You've been saying that a lot."
Because I've been living this day a lot, El thought but didn't say.
5... 4... 3...
"I'm fine," El said instead.
Demi shrugged, already distracted by his own reflection, adjusting his collar with theatrical precision.
"If you say so. But if you die from exhaustion, I'm claiming your desk. It's way more organized than mine."
The elevator dinged.
Lobby.
The doors slid open.
---
STERLING TOWER - OUTSIDE THE BUILDING
As we stepped out of the Tate Association building, the late afternoon sun hit my face-warm, golden, real-reminding me that the world was still turning.
Still moving forward.
Even if I felt stuck in place.
Even if my dream life was infinitely more successful than my actual one.
We began our ritualistic march toward the only caffeine we could afford.
The same route we'd walked hundreds of times.
The same cracked pavement.
The same aggressive pigeons. The same thing.
"So,"
Demi started, swinging his arms like a toddler who'd had too much sugar-or in his case, not enough.
The motion was so familiar, so perfectly Demi, that my chest ached with it.
"Since you were having such a spicy dream, are you treating me to a premium latte today? I feel like my presence as your alarm clock deserves a tip."
There it is. The exact same words.
I adjusted my bag, my fingers itching-as they always did-to straighten the strap of his backpack, which was hanging precariously off one shoulder like it was about to stage a dramatic escape.
"I live in Landsburge, Demi. The land where businessmen are born and bank accounts go to die.
Between my rent and my collection of desk organizers, my budget has the structural integrity of a wet napkin."
Exactly what I said before. Word for word.
"Excuses, excuses,"
Demi scoffed, nearly walking into a street lamp because he was too busy checking his reflection in a shop window.
He swerved at the last second, completely oblivious to how close he'd come to disaster.
He almost hit the lamp last time too. The exact same lamp.
"You're just stingy. You probably have a secret vault filled with perfectly labeled gold bars."
"If I had gold bars, do you think I'd still be wearing a tie that I bought from a vending machine?" I retorted.
The words left my mouth automatically, like a script I'd memorized without realizing it.
"Fair point."
Demi stopped abruptly, clutching his stomach as if he'd been shot.
His performance was flawless-the same stagger, the same pained expression, the same dramatic collapse I'd witnessed before.
"Oh, humanity! El, look! My blood sugar is dropping! If I don't get a Chai-flavored chemical solution in the next three minutes,
I might actually have to start doing my own spreadsheets tomorrow!"
Three businessmen in tailored suits turned to stare.
Just like before.
I walked faster, pretending I was just a concerned stranger passing by.
Just like before.
"Fine! But we're going to Whimsy,"
I hissed, grabbing his sleeve to drag him along.
The contact was real.
Solid.
Here.
But even that felt like a memory.
"Whimsy?"
Demi straightened up instantly, his 'near-death' experience forgotten.
"The place where the napkins are made of recycled sandpaper? My favorite!"
We turned the corner.
And there it was.
The familiar, slightly depressing neon sign of Whimsy Coffee Shop flickered like a dying heartbeat against the darkening sky.
WHIMSY. COFFEE. SINCE- the sign flickered-WE DON'T KNOW.
I stopped walking for just a second.
The shop looked exactly the same as it always did.
Exactly the same as it had looked in my memory of this exact moment.
Exactly the same as-
"Coming?"
Demi called from the doorway, already holding it open.
"Or are you going to have a romantic moment with the sign?"
I shook myself and walked forward.
It was time to trade our dignity for a P356.22 cup of liquid disappointment.
Again.
Whatever again meant anymore.