CHAPTER TWO
2037 Words
The auditorium echoed with clapping hands and scattered cheers. Olivia stood on the stage in her cap and gown, smiling for the camera like she was supposed to. But inside, it felt hollow—like applause in an empty room.
Her name had been called. Her moment had come and gone. And her father’s seat in the front row remained untouched.
She held the diploma with both hands as if gripping it tightly might fill the space where he should’ve been.
As the ceremony ended, Olivia moved through the crowd in a daze. Everyone was hugging their families, taking photos, throwing their caps in the air. She slipped past them, quiet and unnoticed, until she was finally outside in the warm spring air.
And there he was.
Liam leaned against a black streetlamp just beyond the exit gate, dressed in a dark button-down and jeans, holding two drinks in a cardboard tray. One of them—she could already smell—was the cinnamon blackberry latte.
“How did you know I’d be here?” she asked, more surprised than alarmed.
He shrugged. “You said graduation was at two.”
She raised a brow. “So you just… showed up?”
“I had a feeling,” he said simply.
She should have been weirded out. Maybe she was. But seeing him there—on the one day she felt completely alone—settled something in her chest. A quiet click, like a puzzle piece falling into place.
“You want the latte or should I drink both?” he teased.
She walked over and took it from him, the cup warm against her fingers. “I’m starting to think this is your love language.”
“I only speak fluent caffeine and sarcasm.”
They stood together in silence, people streaming past them in caps and gowns and balloons. Olivia took a sip—and nearly choked.
“This is different,” she said.
“Different how?”
“There’s something in it… something floral. Lavender?”
Liam looked amused. “You taste that?”
She nodded slowly.
He leaned in, voice softer. “That wasn’t supposed to come through. But the fact that you did…” He trailed off.
Olivia stared at him. “What does that mean?”
Before he could answer, a sharp gust of wind whipped through the trees. The sky, cloudless just moments ago, began to dim like someone had drawn a curtain across the sun.
A streetlamp nearby flickered once, then went out.
Olivia turned back to Liam, but his expression was unreadable.
“I should go,” he said suddenly. “But I’ll see you tonight.”
“Tonight?” she echoed. “We didn’t make plans.”
Liam just smiled. “Not yet.”
And then he walked off into the thickening shadows, leaving her standing in the middle of a celebration that no longer felt like hers.
That night, sleep came in fragments.
The quiet of Olivia’s apartment was filled with the distant hum of the city, the faint creak of old pipes, and her own thoughts—all tangled like wires. She tossed once, then again, curling beneath the covers as if she could fold herself into something smaller, less exposed.
When the dream finally took her, it didn’t feel like sleep.
It felt like remembering something she never lived.
She stood in a garden, but not one she recognized. The trees were tall and silver, their leaves shimmering as if dusted with stars. A strange fog curled around her ankles, cool but not cold. The sky overhead pulsed with a dull violet hue, like twilight frozen in time.
And then she saw him.
Liam stood at the center of the garden, hands in his pockets, head tilted toward the sky as if listening to something she couldn’t hear.
“Liam?” she called, but her voice came out strange—warped, like it was echoing through water.
He turned to her slowly, eyes glowing faintly—not their usual warmth, but something… darker. Deeper. Like an eclipse of light.
“You’re not supposed to be here yet,” he said.
Olivia stepped closer, heart hammering in her chest. “Where is here?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached out his hand, palm facing up. A single gold leaf floated down from above, landing gently in his open palm. The moment it touched his skin, it blackened—curling in on itself until it vanished in a small puff of smoke.
“What are you?” she whispered.
The sky behind him rumbled like thunder in reverse—swallowing sound instead of releasing it. The trees trembled. The fog thickened.
“I tried to stay away,” Liam said, his voice quieter now, almost broken. “But you kept walking toward me.”
Then the ground cracked beneath her feet.
She tried to run, but her legs wouldn’t move.
The garden began to fall apart—petals turning to ash midair, trees fading into mist. And Liam—
Liam began to disappear.
“No!” she shouted, reaching for him.
His voice echoed as the dream collapsed:
“Some things are better left buried, Olivia…”
And then—darkness.
She woke up gasping.
Her sheets were tangled around her like vines. Sweat clung to her skin, and her heart felt like it was sprinting inside her chest. The clock on her nightstand read 3:03 AM.
She sat up, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and grabbed her water bottle with shaking hands. Each breath she took felt too loud in the silence. Too real after something so unreal.
The garden, the gold leaf, Liam’s eyes—it had all felt more like a memory than a dream. As if she’d been there before.
She pulled out her phone and stared at it for a long time. There were no new messages, no missed calls. Just the wallpaper—an old picture of her and her mother at a pumpkin patch, back when joy had been easier to find.
Against her better judgment, she opened a new message thread.
Olivia:
Did you dream too?
She hovered over the send button… then deleted the text.
He’d think she was insane.
But then her phone vibrated in her hand.
Liam:
I’m sorry you saw that.
Her blood turned to ice.
Olivia:
How did you know I was dreaming?
Three dots appeared, then disappeared. Then appeared again.
Liam:
Because I was there.
Because I was there.
The words sat on the screen like a stone in her chest. Heavy. Impossible.
She stared at them, waiting for a follow-up. A just kidding, or a bad dream, huh?, anything to suggest he wasn’t serious. But nothing came. Just that last sentence hanging in digital silence.
She typed back.
Olivia:
That wasn’t just a dream… was it?
Again, the dots. Hesitation.
Liam:
You should get some rest.
A chill ran down her spine.
Olivia:
No. You don’t get to say that after something like this.
A minute passed. Then two. No reply. The dots never came back.
Frustrated, Olivia tossed her phone on the bed and got up. She paced her room barefoot, the cold floor grounding her as her mind raced.
What had she even seen? A garden that didn’t exist. A Liam who didn’t feel like Liam. The way everything broke apart as soon as she tried to reach him—it was like her subconscious was trying to tell her something. Or warn her.
Or… was it him?
She sat back down and opened a blank note on her phone. She started typing out everything she could remember—the color of the sky, the gold leaf, the words he’d said.
"You’re not supposed to be here yet."
"I tried to stay away."
"Some things are better left buried, Olivia."
Her fingers hovered over the screen, trembling.
Buried. What had he meant by that?
By the time the sun finally rose, she hadn’t slept a wink.
The next morning, Olivia moved like a ghost through her small kitchen. She made herself tea—no coffee, not after everything—and stared blankly at the steam rising from the mug.
Her phone buzzed once more.
Liam:
If you want answers, come by the café tonight. After close.
No emojis. No playful tone. Just that. An invitation—and a promise of something she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear.
The day passed in a blur. Graduation came and went like a montage from someone else’s life. She walked across the stage in her gown, shook hands, smiled for photos she wouldn’t post. Her father hadn’t called again, but she’d stopped expecting him to.
It was strange—something that should’ve been a milestone now felt small, distant. Like it belonged to the version of her who hadn’t stepped into that dream garden.
Now she couldn’t stop thinking about Liam. About his eyes. His voice. And the way she’d felt when he vanished.
By nightfall, Olivia stood outside the café.
It was closed.
But the “OPEN” sign flickered half-lit, like it was struggling to stay alive.
She knocked once.
The door opened before her hand even came down the second time.
Liam stood there, dressed in black again. Always black. And for the first time, he looked tired—not physically, but like something inside him had been unraveling for a long time.
“Come in,” he said.
The café was different at night. Shadows clung to corners. The soft jazz had been replaced by silence. Only the hum of the fridge and the whisper of her footsteps filled the air.
He locked the door behind her.
“You’re not going to offer me a drink?” she said, trying to keep it light.
But Liam didn’t smile.
Instead, he walked behind the counter, poured a black coffee—no sugar, no foam—and set it in front of her.
“You’re not here for coffee,” he said.
She sat.
“No. I’m here because you were in my head. And because I think you’re hiding something from me.”
Liam exhaled, running a hand through his hair.
“I didn’t plan this,” he said. “You weren’t supposed to see… what you saw.”
“Then explain it. Explain all of it. Because I’m not crazy, Liam. That dream felt—real. You were there. Weren’t you?”
His eyes met hers.
And he nodded.
“Yes.”
Silence fell again, thick as syrup.
“I don’t understand,” she whispered.
“Neither do I,” he said. “Not fully. But it started when you walked in here the first time. The moment I saw you, something… connected.”
Olivia frowned. “Connected how?”
Liam looked away. His fingers tapped the countertop rhythmically—like he was counting seconds.
“I used to have dreams too. But not like yours. Mine were visions. Pieces of places I’d never been. A garden. A girl crying in the rain. Fire. Always fire.” He paused. “Then they stopped… for years. Until you showed up.”
“Are you saying I triggered them?”
“I don’t know,” he said, quieter now. “But when you walked through that door, it was like something ancient stirred. Something that had been sleeping.”
She swallowed hard, unsure if she wanted to ask what came next. But she did.
“What are you, Liam?”
He didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he pulled up his sleeve.
A tattoo ran down his forearm—one she hadn’t noticed before. It looked like a tree, but the roots were made of symbols. Old, unfamiliar. Maybe ancient.
“I don’t know what I am,” he admitted. “But I know this isn’t the first time we’ve met.”
Her breath caught in her throat.
“What do you mean?”
He finally looked at her—and in his eyes, there was sorrow. Not sadness. Sorrow. The kind that lived deep.
“I think we’ve done this before,” Liam said. “You and me. Over and over again.”
- Writer
