I froze. The hallway felt oddly silent as I stared ahead, trying to place the back view I had just seen.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Clean haircut. Smooth stride. My mind spun wildly, fingers clenching by my side.
I couldn’t place his face—I hadn’t seen it. Just the outline, the movement. Still, something inside me stirred.
Was I imagining things? Could it just be some random man? A stranger who happened to walk like someone from my past?
Or was this another cruel trick of my memory—one that loved to drape old ghosts over new faces?
I blinked, shook my head lightly, and tried to snap out of it. But I didn’t move.
Mr. Simmons had already made it halfway down the corridor. When the echo of my heels stopped following him, he turned.
“Mia?” His voice echoed gently, cutting through the air.
