Say I Love You When We Meet Again

The dream came again.

Amber skies stretched across an endless golden field, wheat swaying gently in a breeze that whispered like a heartbeat. Her bare feet brushed against warm earth. A figure stood at the edge of the horizon-tall, cloaked in shadow, arms outstretched. His eyes, silver-gray, locked on hers with a desperation that made her chest ache. His voice cracked like glass.

"Say I love you... when we meet again."

Amara Valencia jolted upright in bed, breath catching in her throat. Her skin was damp with sweat, her heart pounding like a drum inside her chest. Her fingers clutched at the sheets, grounding herself in the pale blue light of early morning.

The dream faded, but the ache remained-like the echo of something lost.

She had always known she was different.

Not in the obvious ways. She wasn't particularly striking or strange. She blended in easily, with her soft brown curls, delicate features, and a quiet demeanor that made her nearly invisible in a crowd. But Amara lived with a constant undercurrent of not-quite-belonging. A feeling that she was waiting-for something, or someone-without knowing why.

Her grandmother, Estelle, called it her "old soul." But Amara wasn't sure it was that simple. She couldn't explain the vivid dreams, the half-memories, the way certain places made her feel like she'd been there before-like she'd died there.

Velinora City shimmered under a late spring sun as she made her way through Rosehill District. The streets were still waking up: shopkeepers flipping signs to Open, the scent of fresh bread curling out of bakeries, and the rhythmic hum of a violinist playing on a corner near the fountain.

Amara clutched her sketchbook under one arm and the strap of her satchel under the other. Today was her first day at Ardent Corp-the design internship she'd fought tooth and nail to earn. It was supposed to be her big break. Her ticket out of anonymity.

But she couldn't shake the sense that something was coming. That everything was about to change.

Ardent Corp towered above the city like a cathedral of glass and ambition. The lobby alone was intimidating-marble floors, sleek modern sculpture, a scent of leather and citrus in the air. Everyone moved with purpose: heels clicking, voices low, phones glued to ears.

She clutched her badge like a lifeline, whispering the name again: "Amara Valencia. Intern, Design Division."

The elevator doors opened. She stepped in, alone. The walls were mirrored, giving her back a dozen reflections-each version of her looking just as nervous as the real one.

When the doors opened, she was met with minimalist luxury: black stone walls, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a reception desk made of polished steel. Behind it sat a woman so immaculately dressed, Amara was afraid to breathe wrong.

"I'm here for the internship," she said, trying to sound confident.

The woman checked her screen. "Ms. Valencia. You're meeting with Mr. Ardent personally."

Amara blinked. "Personally?"

"That's correct. He reviews all senior intern applicants." She gestured. "Top floor. He's expecting you."

The top floor was silent.

No clacking keyboards. No phone calls. Just open space and glass walls revealing a sweeping view of the city. At the far end, a figure stood by the window, back turned.

He didn't move as she entered.

Amara cleared her throat softly. "Mr. Ardent?"

He turned.

Their eyes met.

Her breath caught.

Silver-gray. The same eyes from her dreams. Cold, unreadable, but familiar in a way that hit like a tremor through her chest. For a moment, the room blurred. The golden field. The voice. The pain.

Leo Ardent took a slow step forward, his face unreadable.

"You're late," he said. But his voice wasn't irritated. It was... distant. Like he'd seen a ghost.

"I-" She shook herself. "I'm sorry. The elevator-"

He waved it off, but didn't stop staring.

Her heart pounded. "Have we... met before?"

It was a strange thing to ask. Inappropriate, even. But she couldn't help it.

Leo's jaw tightened. "No. We haven't." He turned back toward the window. "Let's begin."

The interview was a blur of words and silence. She answered his questions. Showed her portfolio. Tried not to tremble. But the feeling lingered. That déjà vu. That familiarity.

By the time she left his office, her head was spinning. She found the bathroom and locked herself inside, gripping the edge of the sink.

What is happening to me?

Later that evening, Amara sat on the steps of her grandmother's flower shop, twirling a strand of hair as the sun dipped low.

Estelle came out, wiping her hands on her apron. "You look like you saw a ghost."

"Maybe I did."

Estelle sat beside her. "The dream again?"

Amara nodded slowly. "But this time... I met him."

Estelle blinked. "In real life?"

"I think so." She stared at the sidewalk. "I looked into his eyes, and I knew. I've never seen him before, but... I know him. And he knew me."

Estelle's expression shifted subtly. "What's his name?"

"Leo Ardent."

Something flickered in Estelle's eyes. Fear. Or maybe recognition.

Amara frowned. "You've heard of him?"

Estelle stood quickly. "Come inside. There's something I need to show you."

They climbed into the attic together, dust motes swirling in the warm glow of a single bulb. Estelle pulled out a wooden trunk, old and weathered. Inside were sketches-portraits, landscapes, and one worn, faded painting of a young man.

Silver-gray eyes. The same solemn gaze.

Amara gasped. "That's him."

Estelle exhaled shakily. "His name was Leontius. And that painting is over 150 years old."