For a few seconds after Meera left, I couldn't move.
The bookstore around me slowly returned to normal—the faint sound of pages turning, quiet conversations between customers, the soft music playing near the counter—but inside my head, everything still felt distant and unreal.
Kabir snapped his fingers in front of my face.
"Okay," he said carefully, "either you just saw the love of your life… or you're about to faint."
I blinked and looked at him.
"She's real."
"That's usually how human beings work, yes."
"I'm serious, Kabir."
"So am I." He lowered his voice slightly. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
I leaned both hands against the counter, trying to steady myself. My pulse still hadn't slowed down properly. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her standing near the door, looking at me with that strange sadness.
Not fear.
Not confusion.
Sadness.
As if she had been waiting for something impossible.
Kabir studied my expression for a moment before pulling the chair beside him with his foot.
"Sit."
"I'm fine."
"You're swaying."
I sat down reluctantly.
The smell of coffee and old books filled the air between us. Outside the glass windows, the sky had turned pale gray again. More rain was coming.
Kabir crossed his arms. "Start from the beginning."
I stayed quiet for a few seconds, unsure where to even begin.
Then slowly, I told him everything.
The dreams.
The lake.
The conversations I couldn't fully remember after waking up.
The feeling that every morning someone important had disappeared from my life.
Kabir listened more seriously than I expected. Usually, he joked about everything, but this time he didn't interrupt once.
When I finished, he leaned back in his chair and exhaled slowly.
"You know what this sounds like?"
"What?"
"A trauma response."
I frowned.
"I'm serious," he continued. "Your mom passed away last year. You barely sleep. You isolate yourself all day except for work. Maybe your brain created someone comforting because you were lonely."
His explanation made sense.
Too much sense.
That should have comforted me.
Instead, it made the heaviness in my chest worse.
"Then why did she look at me like that?" I asked quietly.
Kabir raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"
"Like she knew me too."
He didn't answer immediately.
A customer approached the counter to pay for a novel, briefly interrupting the conversation. I scanned the book automatically while my mind remained somewhere else entirely.
Meera.
Even thinking her name felt strangely personal.
After the customer left, Kabir spoke again.
"Maybe she was just surprised because a random guy told her he sees her in dreams."
"That's not all."
"What do you mean?"
I hesitated before answering.
"When she said her name… I remembered something."
Kabir's expression shifted slightly. "What kind of something?"
"I don't know." I pressed my fingers against my temple. "It wasn't exactly a memory. More like a flash."
Rain pouring heavily.
A trembling hand holding mine.
Someone crying.
And that voice—
Please don't forget me again.
Even now, recalling it made my chest tighten painfully.
Kabir stayed silent for a while before speaking carefully.
"Arjun… has anything like this ever happened to you before?"
"No."
"Any accidents? Head injuries? Panic attacks?"
I almost said no immediately.
Then something stopped me.
A strange discomfort settled in my stomach.
"There was an accident," I admitted quietly.
Kabir straightened slightly. "What accident?"
"Three years ago."
He looked confused. "You never told me that."
"Because I don't remember most of it."
And that was true.
Three years ago, during my final year of college, I had been in a car accident while traveling back from a trip outside the city. I only remembered fragments after waking up in the hospital—bright lights, doctors talking, my father sitting beside me looking exhausted.
Everyone told me I was lucky.
Minor injuries.
A few stitches.
Nothing serious.
But there had always been a blank space in my memory surrounding that night.
At the time, I never questioned it deeply.
Now, for the first time, that gap terrified me.
Kabir's face had lost all traces of humor now.
"You think she was there?"
"I don't know."
"But you feel connected to her."
"Yes."
The honesty in my own voice surprised me.
Because it was true.
I had spent months convincing myself the dreams meant nothing, but the moment I saw Meera in real life, something inside me recognized her instantly.
Not logically.
Emotionally.
Like hearing a song you forgot you loved.
The rest of the afternoon passed slowly.
I tried focusing on work, but my attention kept drifting toward the bookstore entrance every few minutes, half expecting Meera to walk back in.
She didn't.
By evening, the rain had finally started again.
Kabir offered to drive me home, but I refused. I needed air. I needed time to think without someone watching me like I might collapse at any second.
The streets were crowded with umbrellas and headlights reflecting off wet roads. The city always looked softer in the rain, quieter somehow.
I stopped near a small café a few blocks away from my apartment and ordered coffee I didn't really want.
The warmth of the cup steadied me a little.
At a table near the window, a couple sat laughing quietly together while sharing dessert. Watching them stirred something uncomfortable inside me.
Not jealousy.
Longing.
I looked away quickly.
For the past year, I had avoided getting close to people. After losing my mother, emotional attachment started feeling dangerous. Temporary.
Everyone leaves eventually.
Friends move away.
Families break apart.
People die.
Maybe that was why Meera frightened me so much.
Because despite knowing almost nothing about her, being near her had felt natural.
Too natural.
As if my life had been quietly missing something until today.
My phone buzzed again.
Kabir: Did you reach home alive?
I smiled faintly before typing back.
Unfortunately.
His reply came instantly.
Drama queen.
For the first time all day, I felt slightly lighter.
After finishing my coffee, I stepped back outside. The rain had slowed to a drizzle now. I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets and started walking toward my apartment.
That was when I saw her again.
Meera stood across the street beneath the bus stop shelter.
This time she wasn't wearing the white sweater from before. She had changed into a dark blue hoodie, her damp hair loosely falling over one shoulder.
For a second, I thought I was imagining her again.
Then she looked up.
And smiled slightly.
A real smile this time.
Not sad.
Not distant.
Just warm.
I crossed the street before I could overthink it.
"You keep appearing unexpectedly," she said softly when I stopped in front of her.
I let out a nervous laugh. "I was about to say the same thing."
Up close, she looked even more familiar somehow. Not because of the dreams anymore, but because small details about her already felt known to me—the way she tucked her hair behind her ear while talking, the calmness in her voice, the way her eyes stayed focused completely on the person in front of her.
It shouldn't have felt this easy talking to someone I had just met.
But it did.
"I hope I didn't scare you earlier," I said awkwardly.
"The dream comment?"
I winced. "Yeah."
She laughed softly again.
"I'll admit, it was unusual."
"Most people would've walked out immediately."
"Maybe I'm unusual too."
There was something about the way she said it that made me look at her more carefully.
For a brief moment, silence settled between us—not uncomfortable silence, but thoughtful silence.
Rainwater dripped steadily from the edge of the shelter roof.
Cars passed by slowly.
Somewhere nearby, music played faintly from a roadside shop.
Then Meera spoke again.
"Can I ask you something honestly?"
"Sure."
"When you looked at me today…" Her voice grew quieter. "Why did you seem sad?"
The question caught me off guard.
I searched for an answer, but the truth came out before I could filter it.
"Because it felt like I already lost you once."