ECHOES OF PAST

The first thing I feel is warmth. A heavy, familiar weight draped over my waist. A soft breath against my neck. For a moment, I almost convince myself it's just another nightmare. But nightmares don't feel this real. My eyes snap open. The ceiling above me isn't the white sterile hospital ceiling I expected. It's the pale beige ceiling of our old apartment. The one we lived in years ago, when I still believed Evan and I had a future. The curtains flutter in the soft morning breeze from the cracked window. The cheap clock on the nightstand ticks steadily, just like it did when we couldn't afford anything better. My heart slams against my ribs. Evan's arm is wrapped tightly around me, his chest pressed against my back. His breathing is slow, even. He's asleep. I don't move. I can't. I just stare at the wall, trying to understand how I went from bleeding on the floor of a ball room to this. No, this isn't real. I shift slightly, testing the weight of his arm. His hand twitches but doesn't let go. His scent fills my nose-the same warm cologne he used back then, the one I begged him to stop wearing years later because it made me dizzy. I turn my head slowly. His face is right there. Peaceful. Beautiful. The same face I loved for ten years and hated in the last ten minutes of my life. Evan. Alive. Breathing. Sleeping like he hadn't just killed me. A tiny, hysterical laugh escapes my throat. His eyelids flutter open. Warm brown eyes meet mine. He smiles, the lazy morning smile that used to make my heart melt. "Morning," he mumbles, voice still rough with sleep, my throat goes dry. "What's wrong?" he asks, noticing my stiff body. He leans forward to kiss my cheek like nothing's wrong. "You look like you saw a ghost." I flinch before he touches me. His brows knit together. "Hey. What's going on?" I shove his arm off and sit up. My hands are trembling. My breath comes out in shallow bursts. "Aria," he says, sitting up too. "Talk to me." I scramble out of bed. My feet hit the cold wooden floor. Everything around me is wrong. Or maybe too right. The room is exactly the way it was years ago. The ugly lamp we found at the thrift store. The tiny wardrobe with its squeaky door. The framed picture of us on the nightstand. My stomach twists. This is the past. "How did I get here?" I whisper. Evan frowns. "What are you talking about? You've been here all night. You came home late, but you were fine." I stare at him like I don't know him. Because I don't. Not this version. This is the man before the mask slipped. "Aria," he says carefully, "did you have a nightmare?" A nightmare. Sure. That's easier than the truth. "Yeah," I say weakly. "Something like that." He reaches for me, and I automatically take a step back. His hand falls to his lap, and something flickers across his face. Irritation. That old, familiar look I ignored for years. "What's going on with you?" he asks. I shake my head. "Nothing. I just need a minute" I hurry into the bathroom, closing the door behind me. I grip the edge of the sink until my knuckles turn white. My reflection stares back at me from the mirror. I expect blood. A wound. Something. But my skin is smooth. My hair is longer, the way it was years ago. There are no bruises, no bloodstains on my shirt. I lift my wrist. The thin gold bracelet I lost six years ago glints under the bathroom light. My breath catches. I lean closer to the mirror. The woman staring back at me isn't the one who died last night. She's younger. Softer. Her eyes don't have the lines carved by ten years of disappointment. "Oh my god," I whisper. I look at the calendar stuck to the wall. A cheap cat calendar Evan's mom gave us. The date hits me like a punch. May 17th. Ten years earlier. I squeeze my eyes shut, but when I open them again, the numbers don't change. The mirror doesn't lie. I really came back. The sound of Evan's voice through the door makes me jump. "Aria? Are you okay in there?" "I'm fine," I say too quickly. "You're acting weird," he says. "Did something happen at work?" Work. At this time, I was still a junior assistant at that marketing firm. Still naïve. Still stupidly in love. I press my hand against my chest. It's pounding too fast. "I'm fine," I repeat. Silence follows, then I hear him moving around the room. I know his routine by heart. He'll make coffee, complain about the rent, flirt with me like he's not sleeping with someone else behind my back. But right now... he isn't. Not yet. I step out of the bathroom slowly. Evan's already dressed in a gray Tshirt and jeans, his hair messy in that annoyingly perfect way. He's scrolling through his phone. He looks up when he sees me. "You sure you're okay?" he asks. "You look pale." I force a smile. "I'm fine." He narrows his eyes, like he's trying to read my mind. He can't. But I can read his. Except... I can't, can I? That was just a weird whisper before I died. But something inside me stirs. A sharp, clear thought that isn't mine slices through the silence. She looks weird today. Did she find out about that thing with Jason? Nah. She's too trusting. I freeze. My gaze snaps to Evan. His lips didn't move. But I heard his voice. Not out loud. In my head. Oh my god. I take a step back. "What?" he asks, frowning. "Nothing," I whisper. Another thought. This one lazier, smug. Gotta get her to stop nagging about the trip. If she pushes, I'll tell her we can't afford it. She'll drop it. She always does. I swallow hard. My heart is hammering against my ribs. I can hear him. I can hear what he's thinking. "Aria?" "I need air," I say quickly, grabbing my sweater. He follows me to the door. "We're supposed to have breakfast together. Remember?" I spin around. He's smiling at me like he used to. Like the man I loved. But now, under that smile, I hear it. She's cute when she's upset. It's like a slap. I can see him clearly now. Not the mask. Not the carefully painted charm. The truth. "I'll be back," I say, and push past him before I throw up. The morning air hits me as I step outside. The neighborhood looks exactly like it did ten years ago. The peeling paint on the bakery's wall. The cracked pavement in front of Mrs. Patterson's fence. The world smells like fresh bread and car exhaust. I walk fast, hugging myself, trying to keep my head from spinning. This is real. I died. I woke up here. And I can hear thoughts. The man jogging across the street is thinking about how late he is. The old lady waiting for the bus is worried she left the stove on. A teenage boy on his bike is singing a rap song in his head, badly. I press my palms against my ears, but it doesn't help. The voices are still there. A flood of unfiltered thoughts. It's overwhelming. "Shut up," I whisper. "Please, shut up." And just like that, the noise dulls. Not gone, but softer. Manageable. Like turning the volume down. I take a deep breath. Okay. I can control this. Maybe. I wander toward the park down the street, the one where Evan and I used to sit with cheap coffee and big dreams. I collapse onto the old bench and stare at the empty playground. Ten years. I have ten years before everything goes wrong. Ten years before he betrays me, before he tries to kill me. This time, I'm not going to waste them. I lean back, letting the cool air fill my lungs. I should feel broken. Terrified but there's a strange calm settling in my chest. For the first time in years, I'm ahead of him. I hear footsteps crunching on the path. A man walks by, tall, dark suit, expensive shoes. He passes me without looking, but when he does, his gaze flicks toward me for a split second. My heart stutters. I reach out with that strange new sense, expecting to hear his thoughts too. But there's nothing. No sound. No noise. Just silence. I sit up straighter, following him with my eyes. I can hear everyone else around me. But not him. Who the hell is he? He stops at the end of the path, glances back once, and then walks away. The silence around him is louder than the crowd in my head. I grip the edge of the bench. I don't know who he is. But something in my gut tells me this isn't a coincidence. I stare at the spot where he disappeared, my pulse racing. Ten years ago, I had no power. No choices. Now I have both. And someone just noticed me. A cold wind blows through the park, and I swear I hear a faint whisper again, the same one that came before I died. Time is ticking, Aria. My blood runs cold.