I didn't sleep that night.
Not because I was scared.
But because my mind refused to be quiet.
"You don't remember."
Those words kept replaying like a whisper under my skin.
Remember what?
I tried to convince myself it was a prank. A coincidence. A weird stranger with too much imagination.
But deep down…
I knew it wasn't random.
The next evening, I told myself I wouldn't go to the café.
I lasted until 9:02 p.m.
By 9:14, I was walking there faster than usual, heart pounding like I was late for something important.9:17.
He was already there.
Waiting.
Our eyes met the moment I stepped in.
No surprise on his face.
No curiosity.
Just… certainty.
Like he knew I would come.
Like he knew I couldn't stay away.
This time, I didn't sit at my usual table.
I walked straight to him.
My legs felt strange, like they weren't fully under my control.
I stopped in front of his table.
He didn't speak.
He just watched me with that same unreadable expression."What do you mean I don't remember?" I asked.
My voice sounded braver than I felt.
He tilted his head slightly, studying me like a puzzle piece that didn't fit.
"You really don't," he said quietly.
A shiver crept up my arms.
"Remember what?" I pressed.
His eyes softened for the first time since I'd known him.
And somehow, that scared me more than the darkness in them.
"Me."
My breath caught.
My mind searched frantically, flipping through faces, places, years.
Nothing.
"I've never seen you before," I whispered.
A small, almost sad smile touched his lips."Yes," he said. "You have."
Silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating.
He leaned back in his chair, eyes never leaving mine.
"You used to look at me the same way," he added.
Confusion tangled with something else in my chest.
"What way?"
"Like you were trying to understand why I existed."
That made no sense.
None.
"I don't know you," I said, more firmly this time.
He nodded slowly.
"I know."
The way he said it…It didn't sound like disagreement.
It sounded like confirmation.
My hands were trembling now.
"Then tell me," I demanded. "Tell me where we met."
He glanced at the clock on the wall.
9:23 p.m.
Then he looked back at me.
"Not yet."
Anger flashed through me. "You can't just say things like that and expect me to—"
"You'll remember," he interrupted gently.
"How?"
His gaze dropped briefly to my wrist.
Then back to my eyes.
And for the first time…I saw something close to guilt in his expression.
"You already are."
I frowned. "What is that supposed to mean?"
But he didn't answer.
He just stood up.
Left money on the table.
And walked past me.
Again.
Like the conversation had ended in his head long before it ended in mine.
I stood there, frozen, trying to make sense of a story I didn't know I was part of.
Then I felt it.
A strange, tight sensation on my wrist.
I looked down.
And my heart stopped.Because faintly, barely visible…
…was a thin, old scar I had never noticed before.