I wasn't planning to go out that night.
I just… didn't stay in.
The house had gone quiet the way it always does, not suddenly, but gradually. Lights turned off one by one, voices faded, and the space settled into that familiar silence that wasn't empty, just still. I lay there for a while, not sleeping, not thinking clearly either, just existing somewhere in between.
Something felt off.
Not wrong.
Just different.
I sat up and checked the time. It was too late to go anywhere and too early to sleep. I didn't think much after that. I just stepped out.
The corridor was quiet, the kind that makes your footsteps sound louder than they actually are. I moved slowly, down the stairs, past the entrance, and out. The night air felt cooler, clearer, like it expected nothing from me.
I walked without deciding where I was going.
But I already knew.
Nash's building.
Same as always.
I didn't go to the door. I went to the side, to the window, and knocked lightly. Then again.
After a pause, I saw movement.
"What are you doing?" Nash's face appeared, half confused, half awake.
"Open the door," I said.
"Why are you here?"
"Just open it."
A few seconds later, I heard the main door. By the time I walked around, he was already there.
"You do realize it's late, right?" he said.
"You were awake."
"I am now."
He looked at me for a moment longer than usual, then stepped aside. "Come."
We didn't go inside. We didn't need to. We just started walking.
Same path.
Different time.
For a while, neither of us spoke. The night made everything quieter.
"You're not here for nothing," he said.
"I don't know."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have."
He nodded, not pushing.
"I just… feel different," I said.
"Since when?"
"Today."
"Morning?"
"Yeah."
"You've changed," he said.
"You too."
"No," he replied. "You're the one who did."
We walked in silence.
"You remember that day we got locked outside?" he said.
"That was your fault."
"You forgot the keys."
"You told me to leave them."
"I didn't think you'd actually listen."
"I always listen."
"That's your problem."
We both smiled.
"We sat there for two hours," I said.
"More than that."
"It wasn't."
"It felt like it."
"That's because you kept complaining."
"I was hungry."
"You're always hungry."
He laughed softly.
"And you said something," he added.
"What?"
"That we'd remember it forever."
I looked ahead.
"…we did."
We turned back after that.
Same path.
Same silence.
Nothing had changed.
And somehow…
everything had.
The wind shifted.
Then the rain came.
Not slowly.
Not gently.
Heavy.
Lightning tore across the sky, bright and sharp, followed by thunder that felt too close. We moved under the shelter near the garden as water crashed around us.
I looked up.
The sky wasn't just dark. It carried something deeper, a strange shade that almost looked purple when the lightning flashed.
And then—
I wasn't there anymore.
I was five.
In a different house.
My grandfather's home.
Everyone was asleep.
I knew that.
But I wasn't.
The thunder was louder there. Closer. I remember sitting up, looking toward the window as lightning lit up the room for a second before everything fell back into darkness.
I didn't move.
I didn't call anyone.
I remember thinking that someone would come.
Maybe they said it.
Maybe I imagined it.
"If you're scared, I'll come."
I don't remember who said it.
But I waited.
For footsteps.
For a voice.
For anything.
Nothing came.
The rain kept falling.
The thunder kept coming.
And I just sat there.
I think I was waiting for someone.
I don't remember who.
The memory faded.
But I didn't.
I was still looking up.
I didn't notice when the tears started. They just came, slow at first, then steady, running down my cheeks without me knowing.
"Soren."
I didn't respond.
Hands gripped my shoulders.
"Soren."
Everything felt distant. I looked down at the ground, wet and blurred, not knowing what was real and what wasn't.
"Soren," he said again.
Closer.
I blinked.
Looked up.
Nash stood right in front of me, his face different—worried.
I exhaled slowly. "I'm fine."
It didn't sound convincing.
I looked up again.
The window—
empty.
For a second, I thought I had imagined it.
Then, from the side, I noticed movement.
Grace.
She stood in her corridor near the railing, not looking directly at us, just in this direction. Then she tilted her head upward slightly, closed her eyes for a moment, and let out a breath like she had been holding something in.
I didn't understand it.
To me, she was just looking at the sky.
Nash glanced up once, gave a small nod, and she stepped back.
The moment passed.
Or at least, it felt like it did.
He didn't ask anything.
Didn't question.
He just placed a hand on my shoulder and guided me to the bench.
I sat down.
The rain softened, the thunder moved further away, and slowly the night began to settle again.
But I didn't.
I sat there for a while, not moving much, not thinking clearly either. It wasn't that I was trying to understand—it was more like I couldn't. I was just there, breathing, letting everything fall into place on its own.
Nash leaned back slightly against the bench, close enough, but not too close. Like he always did.
After a while, he handed me a bottle. "Drink."
I took it, opened it slowly, and took a sip. The water felt colder than it should have.
"You sure you're fine?" he asked.
I nodded. "Yeah."
It still didn't sound right.
He didn't question it.
Didn't push.
"Good," he said.
The rain turned lighter.
The thunder moved further away.
The night started feeling normal again.
But I didn't.
I leaned forward slightly, resting my elbows on my knees. "What just happened?" I asked quietly.
It wasn't really directed at him.
He thought for a second, then shrugged. "Nothing big."
I looked at him. "That didn't feel like nothing."
He didn't argue.
"You just spaced out," he said. "Like you weren't here."
That stayed.
"I was," I said.
He looked at me, not seriously, not casually either. "Not fully."
I didn't respond.
Because I didn't know if he was wrong.
A drop of water fell from my hair and landed on my hand. I watched it for a moment.
"I remembered something," I said.
He didn't interrupt.
"From when I was five."
Still nothing.
"I don't even remember it properly," I added.
He nodded once. "Doesn't matter."
I looked at him. "What?"
"If you felt it, it matters."
Simple.
Too simple.
But it made sense.
We sat in silence again.
Not the empty kind.
The kind that lets things settle.
Somewhere behind us, there was a faint sound—a door, soft enough to almost disappear into the rain.
Nash glanced past me for just a second.
Then back.
I didn't turn.
After a while, I leaned back and looked up.
The sky had cleared a little.
Clouds still there.
But lighter.
"You still think things are changing?" I asked.
He didn't answer immediately.
"Yeah," he said after a moment.
"How?"
He exhaled slightly. "Don't know."
Then he looked at me.
"But you felt it too."
I didn't deny it.
That was enough.
We stood up after a while.
The ground was still wet.
The air colder now.
We didn't rush.
We just walked back.
Same path.
But slower.
As we passed the corridor line, I felt something.
Not clearly.
Just… a presence.
I glanced slightly to the side.
Grace.
Standing near the edge of her corridor.
She didn't say anything.
Didn't move.
Just there.
For a second, I thought she was looking at the sky again.
So I didn't stop.
I didn't think much of it.
Nash slowed just slightly.
Then continued walking beside me.
Nothing was said.
Nothing needed to be.
When we reached the split, we stopped.
Like always.
"Go sleep," he said.
"You too."
He nodded, then added, "You're not coming like this again, right?"
I almost smiled. "Don't know."
He shook his head slightly. "Idiot."
"Yeah."
That felt normal.
I turned and walked back.
The building looked the same.
The corridor too.
Nothing had changed.
I reached my door.
Paused.
Not because something felt heavy.
But because something felt…
clear.
Not fully.
Not completely.
Just enough.
I stepped inside.
The house was quiet.
Same as before.
But I wasn't.
I lay down.
Closed my eyes.
The rain was still faintly audible.
And for a moment—
I thought about nothing.
But somewhere outside—
in that quiet space between corridors and fading rain—
something had stayed.
Even if I didn't notice it.
Not yet.