We Meet Again

Chapter- 13 We Meet

Nicko's POV:

It was pouring. I was standing under

the shed with my friends, just trying to stay dry, when I felt someone staring. It was her again—Elena. She had that look on her face, the one where she looked like she was about to confess her soul, but her lips wouldn't move.

​“She’s lost it,” I muttered to myself. We’d only spoken once a few days ago, and now she was acting like we were in a drama. There are so many girls like that these days, always assuming too much.

​But as I walked away, a sharp pang hit my chest. I glanced back and saw her standing there, drenched, without an umbrella. There was a profound sadness in her eyes that felt... familiar. Like a song I had forgotten the lyrics to, but could still feel the melody of in my bones.

One afternoon, I saw her chasing a piece of paper across the street. She didn't see the massive truck barreling toward her.

​"Elena! No!" I screamed.

​I ran, my heart ready to burst. But before I could reach her, the antique watch in my pocket—a family heirloom I never understood—began to vibrate. Suddenly, the roar of the engine vanished. The truck froze mid-air. The birds stopped flapping.

​Time had stopped.

That was the moment I realized I wasn't just "Nicko," a college student in 2016. I was tied to this clockwork. And this girl I thought was just "delusional" was the key to a past I was subconsciously trying to bury.

Every time I got close to Elena, the watch would tick differently. One night, I saw a name etched into the back of the casing: David.

​I remembered the stories my grandfather told me about a man named David in 1932. He was a man who loved a woman named Lara with everything he had, but their story was severed by the war and the mysteries of time.

​I frowned. Was Elena my Lara? Was I the reincarnation of David? Is that why every time I look at her, I feel an overwhelming urge to apologize for a crime I don't remember committing?

I found her asleep on a campus bench. It was already 10 PM. I knew she had been kicked out of Ms. Donovan’s class earlier—that woman is a terror. I couldn't help but feel a wave of pity for her. Why was she always late? Why did she look so exhausted?

​"Ms? Are you okay?" I shook her shoulder gently.

​She woke up in a daze, clearly dizzy. I didn't know why, but I couldn't just leave her there. I carried her and walked her home. As we walked, the watch began to pulse. With every step, the modern streets of Manila seemed to flicker. For a split second, I saw horse-drawn carriages and old Spanish streetlamps instead of cars and neon signs.

We eventually found our way to that old shop in Escolta. The watch in my hand was losing its power; the gears were slowing down. The old man in the shop told us the truth: we had to choose.

​“Nicko,” Elena called my name. She knew. We both knew. This wasn't just a 2016 crush. This was 1932 trying to find its way home.

​I looked at her, and all my annoyance vanished. She wasn't a "fan girl" or an "attention seeker." She was the woman David had been searching for for nearly a century.

​"I won't leave you in the past, and I won't let you disappear in the future," I told her, gripping the watch.

​We used the last of the watch’s energy. Not to go back to 1932, and not to struggle in the chaos of 2016. We created our own "now." A paradise where the rain no longer brought sadness, and every letter was finally read by the one it was written for.

I found it on the clinic desk, right next to a half-empty bag of White Rabbit candies. It was a silver watch—sleek, expensive, and ticking with a precision that felt insulting. I picked it up, the cold metal biting into my palm.

​On the back, there was an inscription that made my blood run cold:

​"For Elena. To the hours that belong only to us. — J."

Julian didn't give her this watch to help her be on time for her shifts. He gave it to her to overwrite me.

​Every tick was a heartbeat he was stealing. Every second was a wall he was building between her and the girl who used to climb the Narra tree with me. He was "matching" her to a version of life where the fire never happened, where her father wasn't a martyr, and where I was nothing but a ghost she didn't need to chase.

Julian didn't give her this watch to help her be on time for her shifts. He gave it to her to overwrite me.

​Every tick was a heartbeat he was stealing. Every second was a wall he was building between her and the girl who used to climb the Narra tree with me. He was "matching" her to a version of life where the fire never happened, where her father wasn't a martyr, and where I was nothing but a ghost she didn't need to chase.

​I was still holding it when Julian walked into the room. He didn't look surprised. He just leaned against the doorframe, a smug, "heroic" smile playing on his lips.

​"It’s a beautiful piece, isn’t it, Nickolas?" Julian asked, his voice smooth as silk. "It keeps her grounded. It keeps her eyes on the future. My future."

​"It’s a lie, Julian," I spat, tossing the watch back onto the desk. It landed with a hollow clack. "You’re using it to drown out the symphony. You think if you give her enough 'new' hours, she’ll forget the old ones."

​"She wants to forget, Nicko!" Julian stepped closer, his eyes flashing with a dangerous protective streak. "Look at her. She’s happy. She’s a nurse. She’s at peace. Why would you want to drag her back to a burning house? You’re not here to save her; you’re here to satisfy your own guilt."