Myra started visiting the bookstore more often. At first, she would casually browse the shelves, flipping through books she didn't seem interested in. Then, she started asking Vihaan for recommendations—sometimes for books she barely read, just to keep the conversation going.
Vihaan noticed it, but he didn't mind. In fact, he looked forward to it.
Their conversations grew longer, shifting from books to life, from surface-level talks to deeper musings. They spoke about the city, about their dreams, about things that didn't make sense but somehow felt familiar.
And then the dreams started.
Memories That Felt Real
At first, Vihaan thought it was just exhaustion messing with his mind. He saw glimpses of a life that wasn't his—tall palace walls, candlelit corridors, a girl in an old-fashioned dress laughing softly under the moonlight.
A girl who looked exactly like Myra.
He would wake up breathless, the echo of emotions that weren't his own lingering in his chest.
But it wasn't just him.
One evening, as Myra leaned against the bookstore counter, flipping through a book absentmindedly, she hesitated before saying, "Vihaan, do you ever get dreams that… don't feel like dreams?"
His fingers froze over the book he was stacking. He looked at her carefully. "What do you mean?"
She exhaled, setting the book down. "I keep seeing things. Places I've never been, people I don't know. But it doesn't feel random. It feels like I should know them."
A chill ran down Vihaan's spine.
"Like what?" he asked, voice quieter now.
She hesitated. "Like a palace. A courtyard filled with paintings. And… someone. Someone important, but I can't ever see his face clearly."
Vihaan's pulse quickened.
He saw those things too.
Before he could respond, the bookstore door swung open, and the moment shattered. But the weight of what they had just shared hung in the air.
They weren't just dreams.
And they weren't coincidences.