Ava woke up screaming, her chest heaving and her sheets tangled around her legs. Her heart pounded like a drum inside her ribcage, and sweat slicked her hair to her forehead. The dream had come again.

Flames. A temple consumed by fire. A man’s voice, soft but desperate, echoing in the smoke:

“Ava… forgive me…”

She clutched the thin blanket to her chest, trying to chase the memory away. Her tiny room smelled faintly of burnt coffee from last night, but the scent couldn’t mask the lingering fire in her mind.

A soft knock at the door made her jump.

“Ava, are you okay?” her aunt’s voice was gentle, tinged with worry.

“I’m fine,” Ava whispered, forcing her voice to sound normal. “Just… a bad dream.”

Her aunt didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press. Ava lay back on the pillow, staring at the ceiling, wishing she could remember more. There was something in that dream—a flicker of truth buried under smoke and shadows.

Later that morning, Ava descended the narrow stairs of her apartment building, balancing a tray of coffee and her battered notebook. She worked part-time at the café downtown—just enough to scrape by—and her notebook was her sanctuary. Filled with sketches, scribbles, and fragments of stories inspired by dreams she couldn’t fully explain.

She stepped outside, squinting against the morning sun—and collided with someone.

Coffee splashed. Her bag tumbled. Papers scattered.

“Oh no!” Ava cried, flustered.

The man she’d run into looked down at the mess. Tall, sharp-suited, hair perfectly in place. Silver cufflinks caught the sunlight. His eyes—piercing, unnerving—made her stomach twist.

“You—what are you doing?!” he barked, shaking his coat.

“I—I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking—”

“You spilled coffee on me!” His voice was sharp, but for a flicker of a second, Ava caught something softer—pain? surprise? She couldn’t tell.

Her cheeks burned. “I’ll pay for the dry cleaning, I swear!”

He scowled, glanced at his watch, muttered, “Late,” and started walking away.

But then… he stopped. Turned back. Looked at her like he recognized something in her face. And then just shook his head and disappeared into the crowd.

Ava spent the rest of the day in a daze. She couldn’t focus. Clara, her coworker, leaned against the counter.

“You’re spacing out again,” Clara teased, smirking as she poured coffee.

“It’s nothing,” Ava mumbled, pretending to stir the milk. But her mind kept replaying his face. Something about him felt… familiar. Not like a face she had seen before, but like someone she had known forever.

That evening, Ava collapsed on her bed, exhausted. Her hand brushed against a silver, moon-shaped pendant on her bedside table—the one she’d picked up at a flea market months ago. It was old, slightly tarnished, with a small crack running through it.

She turned it over in her hands, and a memory slammed into her like a jolt of lightning:

A man’s hand, warm and trembling, reaching for hers. Eyes full of sorrow.

“Forgive me…”

Her breath caught. The fire. The temple. The voice. Somehow, deep inside, she remembered. She had loved someone before. And somehow… she had lost him.

The next morning, fate seemed to mock her.

Ava ran late for work, the streets crowded, her bag swinging wildly. And then—boom! She ran straight into him again.

Coffee. Notebook. Bag. Chaos.

He looked down at the mess, then at her. And then… he smiled.

Ava froze. The smile was disarming, familiar, like a memory she couldn’t place.

“Looks like we keep meeting,” he said, brushing off his sleeve.

“I… I’m so sorry,” she said, laughing nervously this time.

“Adrian,” he said, holding out his hand.

Ava stared at it, her heart thudding. Something inside her whispered: You’ve met him before. Trust him.

“I’m… Ava,” she whispered, and when their hands touched, warmth shot through her chest.

Two souls who had loved and lost centuries ago had found each other again—unaware of the past watching, unaware that fate had given them a second chance.

The city pulsed around them, oblivious. And as Ava’s dreams began to clear, and Adrian’s guilt started to stir, love—messy, complicated, and real—was quietly tying their lives together again.