Sleep didn't come easily that night.
Ayla lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, her room wrapped in darkness except for the faint glow of streetlights leaking through her curtains. The quiet felt louder than usual.
Her mind wouldn't stop.
Noah's voice kept replaying.
"…Lena."
She turned to her side, pulling the blanket closer around herself.
"I'm not her…" she whispered again, as if saying it enough times would make it true.
But something inside her resisted.
Something deep, buried…
Something that didn't want to be ignored anymore.
When sleep finally took her, it wasn't gentle.
It dragged her under.
The wind came first.
Soft.
Warm.
Familiar.
Ayla's eyes fluttered open—and she was no longer in her room.
She stood barefoot in a wide field of white flowers stretching endlessly under a golden sky. The petals swayed gently with the breeze, brushing softly against her legs.
It was beautiful.
Too beautiful.
And yet—
It didn't feel new.
It felt like returning.
"…You're late."
Her breath caught.
That voice.
She knew that voice.
Slowly, she turned.
And there he was.
Noah.
But not the Noah from school.
This version of him… was different.
His expression was softer, his eyes warmer, like he wasn't carrying the weight he had in real life. He looked at her like she was something precious.
Like she mattered.
Her heart reacted instantly.
Not confusion.
Not fear.
Recognition.
"You're the one who's late," she heard herself say.
Ayla froze.
That wasn't what she meant to say.
That wasn't even her tone.
It was playful. Light.
Familiar.
Noah smiled slightly.
And that smile—
It broke something inside her.
"I've been waiting," he said, stepping closer.
Her pulse quickened.
"…For me?" she asked, even though she already knew the answer.
He stopped right in front of her.
Close.
Too close.
"Always."
The word hit her like a memory she wasn't supposed to have.
Her chest tightened painfully.
No.
This isn't real.
This isn't my life.
But her body didn't move away.
Instead…
Her fingers twitched slightly at her side.
Like they wanted to reach for him.
"…You said you wouldn't leave me again," he continued softly.
Ayla's breathing became uneven.
"I didn't—"
Her voice stopped.
Because suddenly—
Everything shifted.
The wind grew colder.
The sky dimmed.
And Noah's expression changed.
The warmth in his eyes flickered… and was replaced by something else.
Fear.
"…Lena," he said again.
But this time—
It sounded like a warning.
A sharp pain shot through her chest.
Ayla gasped, stumbling back slightly.
Her hand flew to her heart.
It hurt.
So much.
Like something had pierced straight through her.
"What… is this…?" she whispered, panic rising in her throat.
Her vision blurred.
The field began to distort.
And then—
She saw it.
A flash.
A memory.
A different scene.
Night.
Rain pouring heavily.
Her body—no, someone's body—lying on the ground.
Cold.
Still.
And standing above—
A shadow.
Watching.
Waiting.
"…No…" Ayla whispered.
Her breath shook violently.
"This isn't me… this isn't—"
But deep down—
She knew.
"AYLA!"
She woke up with a gasp.
Her body shot upright, her breathing wild, her heart slamming violently against her ribs like it was trying to escape.
Her room.
Dark.
Safe.
But her chest still hurt.
She clutched it tightly, shaking.
"What was that…?" she whispered, her voice breaking.
That wasn't just a dream.
It felt like…
A memory.
The next morning felt unreal.
Like she hadn't fully come back.
Everything around her seemed distant, like she was watching life instead of living it.
By the time she got to school, she was already exhausted.
And the worst part?
She knew she was going to see him again.
She stepped into the classroom quietly.
And just like yesterday—
He was already there.
Noah Blake.
Sitting beside her seat.
Waiting.
Her steps slowed slightly.
Why does it feel like he's always there before me?
She walked over and sat down, keeping her gaze forward.
Maybe if I ignore him…
"Did you sleep well?"
Her breath hitched.
Too late.
She glanced at him.
He was already looking at her.
Of course he was.
"I did," she lied.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"No, you didn't."
Ayla frowned faintly.
"…You don't know that."
"I do."
The way he said it—
So certain.
So calm.
Like he wasn't guessing.
Like he felt it.
Her fingers tightened around her pen.
"Why do you care?" she asked quietly.
There was a pause.
And for the first time—
He hesitated.
That caught her off guard.
But then he spoke again.
"…I don't know."
His honesty made her heart stutter.
"I just…" he trailed off, studying her face again.
And then, more quietly—
"…I feel like I should."
Silence fell between them.
But it wasn't empty.
It was heavy.
Full of things neither of them understood yet.
Later that day, during lunch break, Ayla sat alone under a tree at the far end of the school field.
She needed space.
To think.
To breathe.
To forget those dreams.
"…You're avoiding me."
She stiffened.
That voice again.
She looked up.
And there he was.
Standing a few steps away.
Of course.
"You're following me," she replied.
Noah walked closer, unfazed, and stopped right in front of her.
"Same thing."
She frowned.
"It's not."
"It is."
Ayla sighed, looking away.
"Why are you doing this?"
"Doing what?"
"This!" she gestured slightly. "Talking to me. Watching me. Acting like you know me."
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he sat down beside her.
Close again.
Too close.
"…Because you feel familiar," he said finally.
Her heart skipped.
"That's not a good reason."
"It is for me."
She shook her head slightly.
"You said I look like someone."
"I did."
"Then go find her," Ayla said, her voice tightening slightly. "Not me."
The moment the words left her mouth—
Something shifted.
Noah's expression darkened.
His jaw tightened slightly.
"She's dead."
The words landed heavily.
Ayla froze.
"…What?"
"She died," he repeated, his voice lower now. Controlled. But there was pain beneath it.
Real pain.
Ayla's chest tightened again.
Why does that hurt…?
"I'm sorry," she said softly.
He looked at her.
Really looked at her.
"…That's the same thing you said back then."
Her breath caught.
"What…?"
But he shook his head slightly.
"Forget it."
They sat in silence after that.
The wind moved gently around them.
But Ayla's thoughts were anything but calm.
Dead.
Lena is dead.
Then why…
Why do I feel like I was there?
"…Ayla."
Her name.
The way he said it—
Soft.
Careful.
She looked at him.
"Yes?"
He hesitated again.
Then slowly—
He reached into his bag.
And pulled something out.
A photograph.
Old.
Slightly worn.
"…Tell me this doesn't look like you."
He handed it to her.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she took it.
And the moment her eyes landed on it—
Her world stopped.
It was her.
No.
Not her.
But—
Exactly her.
Same face.
Same eyes.
Same everything.
But the girl in the picture was smiling.
Brightly.
Happily.
Standing next to Noah.
Holding his hand.
On the back of the photo…
One name was written.
Lena.
Ayla's grip tightened.
Her breathing became uneven again.
"This…" she whispered.
Her mind screamed.
Impossible.
Impossible.
Impossible.
But her heart—
Her heart whispered something else.
You remember this.
Noah's voice came quietly beside her.
"…So tell me," he said.
And this time—
There was no hesitation.
No doubt.
Only something intense.
Something almost desperate.
"…Who are you really?"