Jay didn't remember falling asleep.
One moment he was staring at the ceiling, replaying the alley's ticking sound in his mind…
and the next, the world simply softened — edges blurring, colors folding inward like petals closing at dusk.
He floated in that in-between space where thoughts turned into light, and light turned into memory.
And then the dream took shape.
---
It began with footsteps.
Soft. Bare. Familiar.
Jay looked down and realized he wasn't wearing shoes. He stood on warm stone — smooth, ancient, humming faintly beneath his feet. Mist curled gently around his ankles, glowing gold in the dim half-light.
Ahead of him stretched a narrow path lined with lanterns floating in midair, each flame swaying without wind.
The air smelled of sandalwood.
He frowned.
"Not my apartment. Not my world."
Yet he didn't feel afraid.
Only… nostalgic.
Like he'd walked this path before.
---
He followed the lanterns.
Each step felt heavy, echoing like they belonged to someone older, someone who moved with purpose. The mist parted as he walked, revealing a towering silhouette ahead.
A tree.
Not an ordinary one.
It rose impossibly high — roots spread like veins of gold across the stone ground, trunk gleaming as if carved from time itself. Thousands of gears and clock hands nestled within its branches, ticking gently like windchimes made of hours and centuries.
At the center of the trunk was a pulsating light — a heart that beat not blood, but time.
Jay whispered, breath unsteady,
"…The Clock Tree."
He didn't know where the name came from.
He didn't remember learning it.
But the moment he spoke it, the air shifted — as if the world knew he finally recognized it.
The branches stirred. Clock hands clinked softly, resonating like laughter wrapped in memory.
And someone stepped out from behind the tree.
---
He wore simple white robes.
Barefoot, hair tied loosely behind him, eyes calm as still water.
Gentle.
Wise.
Ageless.
Jay froze.
The man looked at him with quiet recognition — the way one might greet someone returning home after too long.
"Hello," the man said softly.
Jay swallowed. "Who… who are you?"
The man smiled gently.
"I think you already know."
Something in Jay's chest pulled tight.
He did know — or part of him did. It wasn't a logical knowing. It wasn't memory. It was something deeper, something woven into the marrow of his being.
The man stepped closer, and with every step, Jay felt a weight lift from the world around him — like gravity itself softened out of respect.
"You've walked far," the man said. "Farther than any soul should."
Jay opened his mouth, but no words came.
He could only stare.
The man lifted his hand.
Not threateningly — gently, as if inviting Jay to speak the question tangled in his throat.
Instead, Jay whispered the first thing that escaped him:
"Are you… Parikshit?"
The man paused.
Then he smiled — not proudly, not mysteriously… but with a warm sadness.
"In another life," he said quietly.
"In another story."
Jay's heart stuttered.
He took a shaky breath. "Am I dreaming? Or remembering?"
"Does it matter?"
The man's eyes softened.
"Dreams carry truth when memory cannot."
The Clock Tree behind him pulsed, gears spinning faster, roots glowing brighter.
Jay stepped forward without meaning to.
"Why do I feel like I know you?"
Parikshit laughed softly — a sound that felt like wind brushing through old leaves.
"Because you do," he said.
"Because pieces of you still remember the life you lived before this one."
He lifted his gaze toward the glowing branches.
"And because you followed the ticking."
Jay flinched.
"The ticking in the alley…"
"A whisper," Parikshit said. "A heartbeat. The world was calling. You listened."
His eyes grew distant for a moment — as if he saw every world at once.
"The Clock Tree has waited fifty years for someone to hear it again."
Jay blinked slowly, voice trembling.
"What… is it?"
Parikshit walked to the trunk, rested his hand on its glowing surface.
"This tree measures existence," he said.
"It counts lives. Cycles. Choices. Regrets."
His voice softened further.
"It remembers every version of us, even when we forget."
Jay stared at him.
"Why show me this? Why now?"
Parikshit turned, eyes filled with a depth that made Jay's breath catch.
"Because time has begun to move again," he said.
"And you… you are its awakening."
Jay shook his head. "No. I'm no one. I'm just a student. I'm—"
"You are alive, Jay."
He stepped closer.
"And sometimes that's all the universe needs."
Jay's voice cracked.
"I don't want to be anything else. I just… I wanted peace. I wanted normal."
Parikshit reached out, placing a hand gently on Jay's shoulder — warm, real, grounding.
"And you will have it," he whispered.
"This world is your second breath. Not a burden. Not a destiny."
Jay swallowed hard, blinking away a stinging in his eyes.
"Then why show me all this? Why bring me here?"
Parikshit's expression shifted — warm, sad, knowing.
"Because even if you forget everything else," he said,
"You must remember this one truth—"
He leaned closer, voice like the last chime of a clock before silence:
> "You were never alone in the turning of time."
Jay's breath hitched.
The gears of the Clock Tree began spinning wildly — branches shivering, light swelling, the entire world trembling like it was waking from a century-long dream.
Parikshit stepped back, dissolving slowly into shimmering fragments of gold.
"Wake up, Jay," he said softly.
"Before the world remembers you first."
And then—
CRACK.
The trunk split, light burst through, and everything shattered into brilliance—
---
Jay gasped awake.
His heart hammered in his chest.
His shirt clung to sweat.
The room was dark except for the faint neon glow slipping through the blinds.
The clock on the wall ticked calmly.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
He covered his face with both hands, breath shaking.
"That was… a dream," he whispered.
"A dream. Just a dream."
But his fingers trembled.
Because he knew.
Deep down, beneath every denial — beneath every slow breath — he knew:
That wasn't a dream.
It was a memory.
Incomplete.
Impossible.
Inevitable.
He stared at the clock again.
For a moment—
just one impossible moment—
the second hand stopped.
Then moved backwards.
Tick.
Jay's eyes widened.
"…No," he breathed.
But the truth pressed against his ribs like the whisper of a forgotten king:
Time had found him again.