"Sometimes the mind doesn't lie; it only shows you what you're not ready to accept."
Daniel was easy to be around. That was the first thing I noticed. The second was something I couldn't quite name.
We sat under a tree just outside the faculty building, his friends gathered around like they had known each other forever. Their laughter came easily, slipping between inside jokes and unfinished sentences that still made sense to them. It should have felt normal.
It almost did.
"You transferred mid-session?" one of them asked, leaning forward. "That's rough. What happened?"
The question was simple, but something shifted in the air. Not enough to draw attention, just enough to be felt.
Daniel didn't answer immediately. He took a slow sip from his drink, like he was buying time.
"I needed a change of environment," he said.
A girl beside him glanced briefly at another guy. It was quick, almost invisible, but not invisible enough.
"Yeah," the guy added with a small laugh, "the last place was… intense."
"Intense how?" I asked before I could stop myself.
Daniel's eyes met mine, and for a brief second, something closed off in them—sharp, controlled. Then it disappeared only to be replaced by an easy smile.
"Nothing you need to worry about."
The conversation moved on after that. Laughter returned, voices overlapped again, and whatever had shifted seemed to settle back into place.
But I didn't.
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Later that afternoon, I stood outside my dorm, staring at my phone. Mum's voice echoed in my head, calm but firm.
You need to talk to someone, Phoebe.
I had ignored it before. It was easier that way. But the past few days had been different. The unease, the strange moments, the feeling that I'm being watched and the feeling that something was always just out of reach. It was so much that it's getting harder to pretend it wasn't there.
I dialed Ava.
She picked immediately. "So you're alive. Good. I was about to file a missing person report or maybe book a space at the morgue."
I rolled my eyes "That's an expensive joke Ava. I've just been busy."
"My bad, sorry. Busy doing what, though? Adjusting to New York or falling in love already?"
"Please focus."
Harper's voice came louder than it should be in the background. "Put me on speaker!"
Ava didn't argue.
"How's NYU?" I asked.
Ava groaned. "Stressful. Everyone here looks like they're heading to a fashion show every day."
Harper laughed quietly. "We're settling in. It's just… a lot at once."
"I get that," I said.
There was a brief pause before Harper spoke again. "Are you okay?"
I hesitated. "I think I'm going to check the school clinic. Just to talk to someone."
Ava didn't joke this time. "That's actually a really good idea but just know, if they're not compei, werohere at your beck and call."
"We're proud of you," Harper added gently.
I nodded, even though they couldn't see me. "Yeah. I'll go today."
"Let's know how it goes" Ava said... Almost sadly
Ava has always been my backbone, being strong for me when I'm not
"I love you both" I say quietly before hanging up.
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The university clinic wasn't far, but the walk there felt longer than it should have.
The moment I stepped inside, the smell hit me—clean, sharp, controlled. It isn't the first time I'll step into an hospital, I've just never liked it. The white walls that were meant to be a consolation are usually a scene in one of those dark horror movies. Places like this always carried memories, the kind that stayed even when you tried to forget and I don't like the feeling yet it settled in my chest in a way I didn't like.
I paused just past the entrance, my body resisting before my mind could catch up. I could leave. No one would know I had even come.
For a moment, Carmel-by-the-Sea felt very far away.
Back home, the air always carried a mix of salt and sun-warmed wood. People moved slower. Conversations lingered. Even silence felt soft, like it was holding you instead of closing in on you.
Here, everything felt contained.
I swallowed and forced myself to move.
It took a few wrong turns before I found the right unit. The sign read Psychological Services, plain and almost indifferent.
I stood there briefly before pushing the door open.
The process was simple. A form, a few questions, and a receptionist who barely looked up.
"I'd like to book a session," I said.
She nodded and slid a form toward me. "Fill this out. You'll be assigned a psychologist. We'll contact you by email."
That was it. No questions, no concern. No probing. Just quiet procedure.
I filled the form, handed it back, and turned to leave.
That was when I saw him.
At first, it didn't register. Just a figure down the corridor.
But something about him seemed so familiar. It made me slow down without thinking.
Tall. Still. Familiar in a way that didn't make sense.
I blinked, trying to focus.
No… that wasn't possible.
The last time I had seen him wasn't here. It was back in Carmel, on a quiet evening that should have been forgettable. The kind where the sky melted into the ocean and everything felt too calm to matter. He had been there, just passing through, just another face in a place where strangers stood out without trying.
He wasn't supposed to be here.
Not in New York. Not in my school.
I looked again, my heart picking up this time.
There was something in the way he stood. Something steady, almost detached, like the world moved around him, not with him.
For a second, it felt real.
Then someone walked past, blocking my view.
It was brief, barely a moment.
But when the space cleared, he was gone.
No footsteps. No door closing. Nothing.
Just an empty hallway.
I stood there longer than I should have, my thoughts struggling to catch up.
"This is not real," I whispered.
It had to be my mind. It had been doing that a lot lately, filling in gaps, turning uncertainty into something more.
Still… it hadn't felt imagined.
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Outside, the air felt cooler, but it didn't settle anything. The noise of campus carried on like nothing had changed—voices, footsteps, laughter blending into something ordinary.
I stood there, letting it pass through me.
Everything looked normal.
Everything sounded normal.
But something wasn't.
And for the first time since I got to New York, the thought came without resistance.
Maybe I wasn't imagining things.
Maybe I was remembering them but from whose point of view would I be seeing?