The world around her shimmered in shades of gold and green. The air was soft, thick with the scent of spring, and sunlight filtered gently through the canopy above. Mira lay on the grass, eyes blinking open to the sight of a great oak tree—its trunk carved with small, uneven letters: M + O.
A slow smile curved her lips. She rose to a sitting position, brushing her hands against the cool blades beneath her. For a moment, peace wrapped around her like a blanket — warm, nostalgic, almost too real.
From behind the tree, laughter echoed. Two small children darted into view — a boy and a girl, chasing each other in dizzying circles. Their giggles filled the air, pure and endless. Mira's breath hitched. Something deep inside her recognised them — the way the girl's ponytail bounced, the way the boy's dimples deepened when he laughed.
And then a familiar voice broke the trance.
"Enjoying the view?"
Her heart clenched. She turned — and there he was. Ozan.
He stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets, eyes gleaming like she remembered — calm, teasing, achingly alive.
Mira gasped softly, her throat tightening. "Ozan?"
He smiled. "What happened, Mira? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Her lips trembled. "You— You're not supposed to be here."
Ozan chuckled, stepping closer. "Neither are you. But here we are."
She stared at him, the sunlight catching in his hair, making him look almost angelic. "This place... It's beautiful," she whispered.
He looked up at the tree and grinned. "Still the same old you. Always staring, never climbing."
Her eyes softened. "You know I hated heights."
He leaned closer, his tone playful. "You hated a lot of things. Frogs. Rain. And oh — nightmares."
Her smile faltered. "Who are they?" she asked suddenly, glancing toward where the two children were still laughing.
Ozan followed her gaze. "Them?" His expression warmed. "That's us. You and me."
She blinked. "Us?"
"Yeah. Before the world turned ugly." His voice grew quieter. "Before everything changed."
The laughter began to fade. Clouds gathered, shadows stretching across the field. The air turned heavier, colder.
Mira frowned. "What's happening?"
Ozan looked distant now, the warmth leaving his eyes. "You shouldn't have come here."
She grabbed his arm. "Wait, Ozan. Tell me—how did you die? Why would Seyran do that to you?"
The ground quaked beneath her. The once-green grass shrivelled, the air twisting into storm-grey spirals. The carvings on the tree trunk bled into one another like ink in rain.
"Mira, stop asking," he said sharply. "You'll wake it up."
"Wake what up?" she cried, holding tighter. "Please, just give me something. Anything."
Ozan's form flickered, like static on an old screen. His hand trembled as he touched her cheek, eyes full of sorrow.
"Find the tree," he whispered. "You'll find something there."
And before she could speak, the world shattered into darkness.
Mira jolted awake, a gasp tearing from her lips. The ceiling came into focus — pale, unmoving. Her head throbbed dully, and the remnants of Ozan's voice still echoed in her mind.
The faint aroma of coffee drifted through the room. She turned her head and blinked — there was Alden, lounging on the couch, wearing her jacket, his hair a mess, sipping calmly from a mug.
Her groan filled the silence. "What time is it?"
He looked up without surprise, voice low. "About five." A pause. "You slept the whole day... and a half."
Mira blinked. "What?"
Alden smirked, resting his elbow on his knee. "Yeah. Thought I'd have to check your pulse."
She squinted at him, noticing the pyjama pants. "Are you—wearing my jacket?"
He shrugged, unbothered. "You were drooling on mine."
Her jaw dropped. "I did not!"
He chuckled. "You did. Should've taken a picture."
She snatched a pillow and hurled it at him. "You would."
He caught it easily, grinning—but his eyes, behind that calm humor, lingered too long on her face, as if searching for cracks.
"I think I need buckets of tea," she muttered, rubbing her temples.
He stood and moved closer, his movements slow, deliberate. "You sure you're okay?"
"Yeah," she said, too quickly. "Just... weird dreams."
He nodded, though the muscle in his jaw twitched. "You've been having a lot of those lately."
"Maybe it's just stress," she said softly.
"Maybe." He studied her for a beat too long, then handed her the cup. "Here. Drink this. You look like you've wrestled a ghost."
She took it, smiling faintly. "Maybe I did."
Alden's lips curved, but his eyes didn't. "Let's just hope it didn't win."
Their gazes lingered—hers confused and fragile, his careful and watchful. The room, dimly lit by the fading daylight, seemed to shrink around them. Outside, rain whispered against the window again, the same rhythmic hum that seemed to follow them wherever they went.
And beneath that sound—beneath the warmth of his hand when he brushed a strand of hair from her cheek—Mira could feel it.
The tension.
The unspoken fear.
The ghost of a name that neither dared to say aloud.
Ozan.