Falling For You in the Wrong Century

CHAPTER 7: THE AFTERNOON RITUAL

A week passes, and I can’t shake the memory of Romano. I find myself sitting in the rocking chair every day at 2 PM, hoping—praying—that I’ll fall asleep and see him again. On the fifth day, it happens.

The moment my eyes close, I’m back on the old street, and there he is—Romano, leaning against the banyan tree with a smile that makes my knees weak. “I knew you’d come back,” he says, pulling me into a hug that feels like coming home.

From then on, it becomes a ritual. Every day at 2 PM, I fall asleep in the rocking chair and wake up in the 1870s. We spend our afternoons walking through the town, sitting by the river, or just talking under the stars. He tells me he’s never felt this way about anyone, that he wants to marry me, build a life together. I want it too—more than anything—but I don’t know how to tell him I’m not from his time, that I might disappear at any moment.

I start keeping a journal, writing down every detail of our time together so I’ll never forget. The way he smells like sun and earth, the sound of his voice when he sings old folk songs, the way he looks at me like I’m the only person in the world. Even when I’m awake, I feel like I’m living between two worlds—one that’s mine by birth, and one that’s mine by love.