He called me Sarah

I woke up really late on Monday morning. I rushed to the bathroom and took a quick bath , brushed my teeth , grabbed some snacks and run downstairs only to remember that I had left my files on my table . I rushed back and picked them up , no time to search for a bag to place them in . I clutched my documents to my chest as I run down the streets , balancing my snacks as I went along regretting my decision of going to a night club on a Sunday evening knowing very well that I had work the next morning. I took a turn down the streets and bumped into him. My papers scattered across the pavement like pigeons about to perk on some bread crumbs . “I’m , I’m so sorry, miss.” The man crouched immediately, his voice was low and steady. “I wasn’t watching ahead , I wasn’t paying attention, I didn’t mean to…..” “It’s fine,” I muttered as I cut him short , and then dropped to gather the papers. “Mondays are chaotic but will survive.” But when I lifted my head…. He froze. Completely. His fingers hovered over one of my documents, but his eyes… his eyes were locked on my face with a stillness that made my skin prickle. “Sarah , Sarah! .” I blinked in confusion . “Huh?” He didn’t move, he didn’t breathe. “Sarah,” he repeated once more , this time very sure with his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s you, I can’t believe it’s you .” “I’m sorry ,” I said slowly, looking puzzled and making a face . “Do I know you?” . “You don’t remember me.” He said as he walked gently towards me. “I—I think you have the wrong person,” I said, stepping back slightly. He walked towards me and held my shoulders, as if he was trying to make me remember something by holding me . . “I failed you once,” he said quietly. “I won’t let anyone come between us again.” My breath cut short. “What are you talking about sir ? Sir, I—” His eyes flickered, like he realized something. Then he released me. “Forgive me,” he said, voice cold now. “I thought you were someone else.” He stood slowly, almost reluctantly, like leaving me required effort. Then he turned and walked away, his shoulders stiff, his steps controlled and heavy. I watched him until he disappeared around the corner. Paris was huge. Mistakes happened all the time. Especially in my line of work—people confused faces, names, memories… everything. But the way he stared at me… It didn’t feel like confusion. It felt like recognition. It felt like possession. It felt like I was something precious to him , like something he had lost before and all of a sudden he had found it again . I checked the time. 10:25 a.m. Wonderful , very wonderful . I was Late. I sprinted across the street, entered the elevator, and practically dove into my office. My first patient sat already waiting, eyes glued to me. “Good morning,” I said, forcing my breathing to slow. But all session long, the man’s voice replayed in my mind. Sarah. It’s you. The subtle desperation beneath the coldness. The way he looked at me like he’d crawled out of a grave just to see me again. Unsettling didn’t even cover it. After work, I returned home, replaying the encounter over and over again. He wasn’t acting like someone who made a simple mistake. He was too certain. Too intense. And the name he called me… Sarah. I didn’t know a Sarah. I certainly wasn’t one. At least, I didn’t think I was. With a sigh, I made myself pasta and stared out my kitchen window. A moving truck pulled up next door, and a man stepped out of a sleek black car. He muttered a curse, slammed the car door, and vanished inside the house. A new neighbor. Maybe I’d introduce myself. Eventually. For now, I just needed sleep. The next morning, I arrived early for once. The office was quiet. I straightened the files on my desk and sat down, finally feeling caught up. Then suddenly there was a knock. “Come in,” I called. When the door opened, my heart skipped a beat. It was him. The man from yesterday. The cold, obsessive one. For a moment, neither of us spoke. He stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him, his gaze never leaving me. “You again,” I breathed. He studied me slowly, like memorizing every detail. “I have an appointment.” I checked the list. His name was there. Then I realized , I actually never asked his name on Monday , so of course there was no way I knew he had an appointment with me . “Please… sit,” I said. He sat across from me with the calmness of someone who was anything but calm beneath the surface. He didn’t look away. Not once. “I want to apologize,” he said quietly. “For yesterday.” “You don’t have to. Mistaken identity happens a lot.” “I don’t make mistakes with identity.” The way he said it, cold, confident and absolute made my pulse jump. “What’s your name again ?” I asked, trying to regain control of the session. “John Anderson.” I straightened a little. The name was familiar. Black Empire. A massive corporation. One of the wealthiest men in Paris. So this wasn’t just anyone. And suddenly his controlled intensity made sense. Billionaires rarely moved like normal people. “I see,” I said. “So, John… what brings you here?” He hesitated. For the first time, something lit behind his eyes. Something dark. “I lost someone,” he said. I nodded gently. “A wife?” His jaw clenched. “Yes.” I waited. “She went missing five years ago.” His voice didn’t waver. But something in him tightened, like that single memory was a blade pressing into him. “I’m sorry,” I said softly. He didn’t react to the sympathy. “She looked like you.” My breath caught. “What?” He pulled out his phone, opened a picture, and slid it across my desk. I took a look at it and I froze . Her face… Her features… Her hair… Her eyes… Everything looked exactly like mine. “This is your wife?” I whispered in amazement . His gaze sharpened. “ yes , that’s my wife Sarah.” Sarah , The same name he called me yesterday. I pushed the photo back gently. “Resemblance doesn’t mean—” “Where are you from?” he asked suddenly, cutting through my words. “I can’t disclose personal information,” I said firmly. “Hospital policy.” “Even if your life depends on it?” I froze. What kind of question was that? He leaned back in his chair, eyes never leaving mine. “Coffee?” he asked suddenly. “No,” I said quickly. “I don’t discuss personal matters with patients.” “So there are things you can’t tell me.” Not a question—an observation. He watched me like a puzzle he intended to solve piece by piece. “Let’s continue the session,” I said. He told me about how his wife’s signatures were needed before a deal was supposed to be accepted and she refusing to comply . This gesture got some heads of the company angry , two weeks later she was found unconscious below the stairs of their mansion, when she was taken to the hospital , they had to transfer her to a different hospital, it was during the transfer that the ambulance had an accident and her body was no where to be found . Detectives were brought in to solve the case , the hospital was sued , a whole lot . But no one found her body . Everyone said she had died , but deep inside his heart . He knew his wife was alive. his voice never trembled as he spoke , making me believe what he was saying . When the session ended, he stood up slowly, when he got to the door he turned around and said . “Avery,” he said with that same unsettling calm, “I’m not mistaken.” I didn’t dare respond. As He left without another word. Hours later, I sat alone in my apartment, staring into my coffee. Was it possible? No. No, it wasn’t. But the resemblance between me and Sarah . My lost memories from the said coma which was mentioned to me five years ago, the same time frame Sarah got missing … I grabbed my pillow and hugged it tightly. I had no one to talk to, no one to ask for perspective. Just myself. And my doubts. A knock startled me. I opened the door and to my amazement, John stood there. He was shocked to see me standing behind the door . I asked him what he was doing at my house and how he found out about where I lived , I live next door , he said simply with an Expression unreadable and Presence overwhelming. I got scared at this point , what if he was up to something. I said to myself. Of course. You are the man I saw moving in some few days ago . “ yes “ he added . “ I didn’t know you lived next door , we are neighbors now “ he said “ well Good night, Avery , don’t wanna engage you in any conversation which will take your time and make you run late tomorrow “ he said as he turned and left . But before he turned away, his eyes were set on me a moment too long. Possessive. Certain. Like he already knew the ending of a story I hadn’t even started reading yet. And in that moment… I realized something terrifying: This wasn’t a coincidence. I can feel it .