I blinked.
The soft hum of my ceiling fan stirred the silence in my room, slicing through the heavy fog in my head.
Wasn't I just... on the floor of that demolished theater? Holding the photo in my hand, the same one we had seen on Chloe's phone? The mural with that girl and boy—me and Peter?
I sat up in bed, my breath catching in my throat.
There was no photo. No post. No Chloe screaming, "Emma, this is you!"
Nothing. Just a vision. A painfully vivid one. Like a movie my brain rolled without asking.
I looked around. My room was still the same mess—sketches and journals strewn on the floor, the corner lamp flickering like it was haunted. A cold shiver ran down my spine.
I picked up my phone and opened my chat with Chloe. No photo. No messages about it. The article, the mural—it didn't exist.
"Emma?" Mom's voice came from the hallway.
"Yeah?" I called back, trying to sound normal even though my heart was pounding like a bass drum.
"You okay? You were... crying in your sleep."
Crap. I wiped my cheek and realized she was right. My face was soaked.
I had dreamt it. Or… remembered it?
Later that day, at Chloe's, I sat on her floor while Peter played with the corner of the rug like he was trying to disappear into it.
"You look like you saw a ghost," Chloe said, handing me a soda.
"I think I did," I mumbled.
Peter looked up, his hazel eyes catching mine for a moment. "The nightmares again?"
"No. Not nightmares. Something else. Like… a flashback. It felt so real. That theater, the mural on the wall. A painting of me and peter lookalike. "
Chloe and Peter exchanged a look, the kind that said "uh-oh, we've unlocked another level of weird."
Peter shifted. "You've been remembering things a lot more lately."
"Or dreaming," Chloe offered.
I shook my head. "It's not a dream if I can smell the dust in the air and feel the brick under my fingers. I can hear the whispers. I can feel my past."
Chloe chewed her lip. "So the mural doesn't exist?"
"No. Not in this reality. But maybe... it used to."
Peter leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Maybe your powers are showing you things now. Like rewinding time."
"Or projecting possible memories from your past life," Chloe added. "Like a psychic VHS tape."
"Wait," I said slowly. "What if these flashes aren't just showing me the past... What if they're leading me somewhere?"
Peter stiffened. "Like where?"
I paused.
"To the truth."
Silence fell over the room like a curtain.
And then it began again.
My fingertips tingled. My chest felt tight, but not painful—more like… activated. A pressure building. And behind my eyes, the scene flickered again. The mural. The boy. A kiss under a stormy sky. My fingers moved on their own, tracing the outline of the wall that no longer existed.
I gasped and pulled away.
Peter was already by my side. "You okay?"
"I think… something's waking up inside me."
Chloe leaned closer. "We need to be careful, Em. These powers of yours—these memories—they aren't just daydreams. They're bleeding into our real life."
And I knew she was right.
The mural wasn't a photo. It was a flash from another lifetime, another reality where love was dangerous, power was deadly, and the boy I now sat next to had once—maybe still—been everything.
Everything I'd lost.
And maybe… everything I was about to lose again.
The next few days? Surprisingly… normal.
I mean, sure, I was still a walking mystery with bleeding eyes and dreams from a past life, but for once—just once—things slowed down.
I woke up to the sound of birds instead of screams, the scent of pancakes instead of disinfectant. Mom seemed less anxious too. She smiled more. Kept asking if I wanted to go shopping for school supplies like we hadn't just lived through a full-blown supernatural storm.
I wasn't complaining.
At school, Amanda was back. Ugh.
She walked in like she owned the place, strutting down the hallway with her perfect hair and two new girls behind her like she was the queen of freaking England. But this time, I didn't feel that sharp jab in my chest. I didn't flinch. I didn't shrink.
Peter and Chloe were waiting by my locker.
Chloe gave me her classic smirk. "Look who crawled back from wherever she was. The drama llama returns."
"Don't be mean," I said. "She probably needed some time off to grow a new soul."
Peter chuckled. "Maybe she downloaded a personality update."
I giggled and bumped his shoulder. "You're awful."
"Awfully charming," he said, giving me that lopsided grin that made my stomach flutter like a thousand butterflies had their own band concert in there.
Classes were dull but easy. I started getting better at catching up with what I'd missed during my mini coma phase. Peter helped with math—because of course he's good at it—and Chloe made me these ridiculously detailed history flashcards with dumb jokes written on the back like "Napoleon had a short temper AND a short height."
Even Edward joined in once or twice. He'd randomly show up next to me with a packet of cookies and say things like, "Eat. Smart brains need snacks," before walking off like he hadn't just said the nerdiest thing ever.
Lunchtimes were the best.
We sat together, laughing about the dumbest stuff—like Chloe making bets on which teacher secretly hated their job the most (spoiler: it's Mr. Clarke), or Peter nearly choking on his juice because I said "ratio" unironically.
There was still something there though. Between me and Peter.
We'd talk and sometimes go quiet. And then I'd catch myself just... staring. At his hands. At his eyes. Especially his lips.
Every time he spoke, my gaze flickered there. I couldn't help it.
And sometimes, he noticed.
He'd blush and look away. Or scratch the back of his neck like he was trying to erase the awkward tension.
It was cute. It was painful. It was real.
One time, while we were walking home from school together, I said something stupid and tripped over nothing—literally air—and he caught me. Like cliché movie-style, arms around me, my face inches from his.
We froze.
His breath hitched.
I almost leaned in.
But then a car honked and I panicked and said, "I would rather fall on my face again than kiss this idiot," before pushing him away and running like an Olympic sprinter with no shame.
And Peter?
He just laughed and called out, "Noted!"
That night, I lay in bed with my phone on my chest and a dumb smile on my face.
Was it cheesy? Absolutely.
Was I in way too deep? 100%.
But I liked this version of life. Calm. Ordinary. Sweet.
No powers. No darkness. Just us.
Of course, I knew it wouldn't last forever.
And I knew I had to start again—get control of whatever was inside me. But for now? I was okay with this break.
Even if the storm was just catching its breath.