The girl who reset Love

I didn’t believe in déjà vu… until I met him. His name was Kairo. He transferred into my school mid-term, during the rainy season when everything felt slower, heavier, like the world itself was walking through water. The sky had been gray for days, like it forgot how to be bright. That morning, I was late again. My uniform slightly damp, my shoes tapping against puddles as I rushed through the school gate. That was when I saw him. He was standing under the old almond tree near the school field. Rain slid down the leaves, but he didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Like he had been waiting there for a very long time. And then he looked at me. Not a casual glance. A stare. Like I wasn’t a stranger. Like I was a memory. My steps slowed without permission. That’s strange… I’ve never met him before. But my heart disagreed. It felt like it recognized him first. As if it had been waiting longer than I had. He smiled. Not loud. Not playful. Soft… and painfully familiar. Like someone returning to a place they almost lost forever. I looked away first. Because it scared me how safe it felt. Later in class, I tried to forget him. Until the door slid open. And he walked in. The teacher introduced him casually, but I barely heard the words. All I heard was my heartbeat. He scanned the room once. Then walked straight to the empty seat beside me. No hesitation. Like it was already decided. He sat down and whispered: “Hi, Amina. You still hate rainy days, right?” My body went cold. I turned slowly. “How do you know my name? He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked at me like the question hurt him Like he had been asked that before… too many times. Then he said: “Because I’ve met you before.” A pause. “…More than once.” I laughed nervously. “That’s not funny.” But he didn’t smile back. And that was when I realized he wasn’t joking. After that day, everything started bending. Not loudly. Quietly. Like reality was rewriting itself in small mistakes only I could notice. Kairo knew things he shouldn’t. What I would order before I ordered it. When I would raise my hand before I even decided to speak. He once placed my dropped pen back on my desk without even looking at it. Like gravity was optional for him. One afternoon, I confronted him behind the school building where the wind always sounded louder than it should. “Stop acting like you know me,” I said sharply. He turned slowly. Rainwater dripped from his hair, but his eyes stayed calm. Too calm. “You always say that,” he replied. My brow furrowed. “What?” “In every timeline,” he added softly. The world felt quieter after that sentence. “What timeline are you talking about?” He stepped closer, and I swear the air around him flickered. Like a broken screen trying to stabilize. “You wouldn’t believe me,” he said. “Try me,” I snapped. He hesitated. Then finally: “This is the fourth time I’ve met you.” My breath caught. “And every time… you die before the semester ends.” For a moment, I forgot how to breathe properly. The sound of rain disappeared. Or maybe I just stopped hearing it. “You’re insane,” I whispered. But my voice shook. Because his eyes weren’t lying. They looked like someone carrying memories too heavy for one lifetime.