Reyansh didn't sleep easily that night.
It wasn't unusual.
But it wasn't normal either.
He lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, one arm resting over his eyes as if blocking the light would somehow quiet his thoughts.
It didn't.
They kept returning.
Uninvited.
Persistent.
Her voice.
Her expressions.
The way she paused mid-sentence.
"Just zoned out for a second."
His jaw tightened slightly.
You do that sometimes.
Why had he said that?
It wasn't a guess.
It hadn't felt like one.
It had felt—
Certain.
He exhaled sharply, sitting up.
"This is getting ridiculous."
Across the room, his laptop sat open.
The words on the screen unfinished.
Waiting.
Just like the thoughts in his head.
Meanwhile—
Anaya was very much awake.
And very much not thinking about anything serious.
Anaya:So, Mr. Writer… do you always stay up this late?
The message popped up on his phone.
Reyansh stared at it for a second.
Then picked it up.
Reyansh:Not always.
Anaya:That sounds like a lie.
A pause.
Reyansh:Most days.
She smiled at the correction.
Anaya:Better.
She shifted onto her stomach, chin resting on her pillow, completely relaxed now.
Anaya:What are you writing right now?
Reyansh glanced at the screen.
At the half-formed sentence.
Reyansh:Nothing finished.
Anaya:That means something is started.
His fingers stilled.
Persistent.
She was always—
He stopped the thought immediately.
No.
He typed instead.
Reyansh:Just fragments.
Anaya:Mysterious.
A pause.
Then—
Anaya:Read something.
He frowned slightly.
Reyansh:No.
She sat up instantly.
Anaya:Wow. Rude.
Reyansh:Private.
She rolled her eyes.
Anaya:Fine. Keep your secrets.
A second later—
Anaya:I read though.
His gaze shifted slightly.
Reyansh:I know.
She blinked.
Anaya:Oh?
Reyansh:You mentioned it.
"Right," she muttered.
Still—
Something about that answer felt incomplete.
Anaya:I read a lot actually.
Reyansh:I can tell.
She paused.
"…again?"
Anaya:What does that mean?
This time, he didn't reply immediately.
Because he didn't have a clear answer.
Just—
A feeling.
Across his mind, something flickered.
A girl sitting across from him.
Years ago.
"Stop guessing," she had said, annoyed. "You don't know me that well."
And he had smiled.
"I know enough, Ana."
Reyansh froze.
The memory hit sharper this time.
Clearer.
Not imagination.
Not vague.
Real.
His breath slowed.
"…Ana?"
The word slipped out under his breath before he could stop it.
Across the screen—
Anaya's next message appeared.
Anaya:Hello? You disappeared.
He stared at her name.
Anaya.
His grip on the phone tightened slightly.
The pieces—
Small.
Scattered.
But now—
They were starting to align.
Too closely.
Too precisely.
The way she pauses.The way she argues.The way she—
No.
It couldn't be.
Could it?
He typed.
Stopped.
Deleted.
Typed again.
Reyansh:Just thinking.
Anaya frowned at the reply.
Anaya:That sounds serious.
Reyansh:It's not.
She narrowed her eyes at the screen.
"…he's weird."
But she didn't stop smiling.
Anaya:You're a very suspicious person, you know that?
A pause.
Then—
Reyansh:You didn't think that earlier.
Her fingers stilled.
Her heart skipped slightly.
"…why does that sound like—"
She shook her head immediately.
"No. Not again."
She leaned back, exhaling.
"I seriously need to stop reading so much."
Because clearly—
Her brain was mixing things up now.
Making things feel familiar when they weren't.
Simple.
Logical.
Safe.
Across the city—
Reyansh wasn't feeling safe at all.
He leaned back in his chair, staring at nothing.
That name.
That memory.
That feeling—
It refused to stay buried.
"…no," he murmured under his breath.
Because if he was right—
Then this wasn't coincidence.
This wasn't familiarity.
This was—
History.
And somehow—
After all these years—
It had found its way back to him.
Reyansh had always believed in logic.
In things that could be explained.
Measured.
Understood.
This—
Was none of those things.
He stood across the street from the school, hands in his pockets, gaze fixed on the gate.
Students walked in and out, voices blending into a distant hum.
Ordinary.
Familiar.
And yet—
His chest felt tight.
"…why here?"
He hadn't planned to come.
Not consciously.
But somehow—
His steps had led him here anyway.
A place he hadn't visited in years.
A place he had stopped thinking about.
Or at least—
Tried to.
A faint breeze passed, carrying with it echoes of something long buried.
Laughter.
Voices.
Fragments of a time that no longer existed.
And then—
Without warning—
A memory surfaced.
A girl sitting by the window.
Sunlight falling across her face.
A book open in front of her—
Unread.
"You're not even paying attention."
She looked up, annoyed.
"I am."
"You're on the same page for ten minutes."
"That's because this is boring."
He had leaned closer, glancing at the book.
"It's not boring. You just don't try."
She rolled her eyes.
"Stop acting like you know everything."
A pause.
A small smile.
"I know enough, Ana."
Reyansh's breath hitched.
The memory didn't fade this time.
It stayed.
Clear.
Sharp.
Unavoidable.
He shut his eyes briefly.
"…no."
Across the city—
Anaya stood in front of her class, chalk in hand, explaining something she had already explained twice.
"And that's why the tense changes depending on the context—"
She paused.
Her gaze drifted slightly.
Unfocused.
For a second—
The classroom felt… different.
Brighter.
Louder.
A desk by the window.
Someone sitting there—
Writing.
Her grip on the chalk tightened.
"…Anaya ma'am?"
She blinked.
The image vanished instantly.
"Yes," she said quickly, straightening. "Sorry. Where were we?"
The students exchanged glances.
"Past continuous, ma'am."
"Right," she nodded. "Focus."
She turned back to the board.
But her hand moved slower this time.
Uncertain.
"…this is getting out of hand."
Meanwhile—
Reyansh stepped inside the school.
The corridor felt smaller than he remembered.
Or maybe—
He had just grown.
His footsteps slowed as he passed by classrooms.
Each one carrying a faint echo.
A possibility.
And then—
He stopped.
Room 12.
His fingers curled slightly at his sides.
"…of course."
He pushed the door open.
Empty.
Dust particles floated in the sunlight streaming through the window.
The same window.
His gaze shifted to it instantly.
And there—
The desk.
His chest tightened.
Because for a second—
Just a second—
He could almost see her sitting there again.
Leaning forward.
Frowning at something.
Completely lost in her own world.
"Ana…"
The name slipped out this time.
Soft.
Unintentional.
But real.
Reyansh's jaw clenched.
It wasn't a coincidence.
It couldn't be.
The way she spoke.
The way she reacted.
The way she—
And now this.
He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply.
"…it's her."
The realization didn't come like a sudden shock.
It settled.
Slowly.
Heavily.
Like something that had always been true—
Just waiting to be acknowledged.
Across the city—
Anaya sat at her desk, staring at her notebook.
Unwritten.
Her mind wasn't on the lesson anymore.
It was—
Elsewhere.
She picked up her pen.
Wrote a word.
Stopped.
"…why does this feel so familiar?"
Her phone buzzed.
She picked it up immediately.
Reyansh:What are you doing?
She blinked.
Then smiled slightly.
Anaya:Trying to work.
A pause.
Reyansh:Trying?
She rolled her eyes.
Anaya:It's not going well.
Reyansh:You get distracted easily.
Her fingers froze.
Her heart skipped.
"…again?"
Anaya:You say things like you already know me.
The message sat there.
Heavy.
Across the classroom—
Reyansh stared at his phone.
His expression unreadable.
Because this time—
He didn't deny it.
Didn't brush it off.
His fingers moved slowly.
Reyansh:Maybe I do.
Anaya stared at the reply.
Something about it—
Didn't feel like a joke.
Didn't feel casual.
It felt—
Close.
Too close.
Her chest tightened slightly.
For a second—
She almost asked.
How?
But then—
She leaned back, shutting her eyes briefly.
"No."
Not again.
"It's just the novels."
That's all it was.
Her imagination.
Her overthinking.
Nothing more.
She opened her eyes again.
Anaya:Confident, aren't you?
A pause.
Then—
Reyansh:Only about certain things.
She frowned at the screen.
"…he's weird."
But this time—
The smile didn't come as easily.
Because somewhere—
Deep down—
Something felt…
Off.
And across the city—
Reyansh stood in an empty classroom.
Looking at a past that had somehow—
Found its way back to him.
Even if she didn't remember it.
Even if she didn't remember him.
"…you forgot."
The words were quiet.
But they carried weight.
Because he hadn't.
Not really.
No matter how much he had tried.