"How did you…" Seraphine whispered.
The young man met her gaze. "Your hands," he said quietly.
"There's paint on them. The color reflects what you feel."
Before Seraphine could ask what he meant, he spoke again. "Tomorrow, I'll show you what you need to know about working here. The manager asked me to." Without another word, he turned and walked back into the café, leaving Seraphine standing there, completely bewildered.
Night came, and after such a long, exhausting day, all Seraphine wanted was a peaceful sleep. But instead of rest, a dream came to her. It was the same dream she had seen once before, long ago, the only one that ever stayed with her.
Before her stretched a massive, dark painting. It turned slowly, swallowing the light around it. The brushstrokes seemed alive, moving like waves in a stormy sea. At the center of the canvas, something pulsed faintly, like a beating heart behind the paint.
Then everything collapsed.
A towering cathedral crumbled before her eyes, turning into clouds of dust that swallowed the air. Amid the ruins stood Seraphine, silent and expressionless, her eyes vacant as she stared at the devastation around her.
Through the rubble came a whisper, faint and almost tender, yet it pierced through everything.
"Finish it."
Everything went dark.
Seraphine's eyes snapped open. Her breathing came in short, uneven gasps, and cold sweat ran down her forehead. Outside, the world was still dark, and the moon hung clearly in the night sky.
What was that dream? Why did she have to see it again? Every time it returned, she woke the same way—trembling, breathless, and afraid.
Her hands shook as she looked down. Her eyes widened in shock.
There, in the center of her palm, was a faint blue stain.
It was the same color as the stormy sky painting from the café.
The next morning, Seraphine returned to the university as if nothing had happened. When she showered before class, the blue mark had vanished, just as mysteriously as it had appeared.
As she walked toward the main gate carrying her drink and a few papers, she spotted someone waving at her from a distance.
Yvonne.
Her bright face and wide smile stood out even from far away. Seraphine waved back, but her view was suddenly blocked by someone passing in front of her. When she looked up, she saw him.
That face.
The young man from the café. But now, instead of a café uniform, he wore a white shirt and a gray jacket. A student ID hung around his neck.
Nox Valenhardt.
Seraphine exhaled sharply and glared at him, half irritated. "You again?"
Nox said nothing at first, then replied in his calm, detached voice. "What a shame. You had to run into me again?"
"And you almost bumped into me, Nox Valenhardt. Can we have one normal meeting, please?"
"Lucky for you, I didn't knock you over. The ground remembers too."
He raised his hand, gently pressing a finger against her forehead before walking past her, leaving Seraphine speechless.
His words made no sense. Was he trying to joke? If so, it was not funny at all.
When Nox disappeared from view, Seraphine looked around for Yvonne, but her friend had already vanished. She sighed deeply and decided to shake it off, heading for her next class.
Hours later, tired and drained from another long session in the art studio, Seraphine sat alone in the university courtyard. The wind carried the smell of wet grass, and the soft chatter of passing students faded into the background. She closed her eyes and tilted her head toward the sky, enjoying a rare moment of calm.
Then a sudden sting pricked her hand. She opened her eyes quickly and looked down.
There it was again.
The same faint blue mark.
Seraphine stared at it in disbelief. How could that be possible? Had she touched paint again without noticing?
Before she could make sense of it, a chill ran down her spine. The wind swept through the courtyard once more, carrying a whisper so soft she almost thought she imagined it.
"Find me."
Seraphine turned around, her heartbeat racing, but there was no one there.
In the distance, across the courtyard, Nox suddenly stopped walking. He turned his head slightly, as if he had heard the same voice.
For one suspended moment, the world felt utterly still. Both of them looked toward the same direction, though neither knew why.
And the wind continued to move, carrying that same faint whisper through the air, as if the world itself was calling to them.