CHAPTER 2 — A Familiar Stranger

Ethan had faced terrifying things across twelve lifetimes.

Wars. Storms. Assassins.

A runaway cart in the 1800s that really shouldn’t have been that fast.

Yet nothing — nothing — had ever scared him as much as sitting next to Lia Carter in the school library, pretending he wasn’t having a full internal meltdown.

“Okay,” Lia said, flipping open her notebook, “so for this project, we need to choose a theme. Something like—science fiction, or history, or social issues.”

Ethan nodded.

Then kept nodding.

And continued nodding until she gave him a suspicious look.

“Um… you good?”

“Me?” He straightened so fast his pencil fell off the table. “Yeah. Totally fine. Perfectly fine. Very fine.”

She blinked. “That’s… a lot of fine.”

He coughed, cheeks warming. “Sorry. Just… thinking.”

The truth was he wasn’t thinking.

He was remembering.

Remembering her voice from a lifetime where she said his name by candle flame.

Remembering her laugh from a world where she wore a crown of flowers.

Remembering the way she used to poke his forehead whenever he overthought something.

And now here she was — the same soul in a new body — teasing him with the exact same expression she’d had centuries ago.

He couldn’t handle it.

“So…” Lia said, dragging her pencil across the page, “if you could choose anything — literally anything — for this project, what would you want to do?”

Ethan stared at her.

In his memories, she had asked him the same thing once.

But that time, it was about choosing a future together.

A future they never got.

His chest tightened.

“Ethan?”

“Anything except being partners with someone annoying.”

It slipped out before he could stop it.

Lia burst into a laugh — bright, soft, and completely unguarded. “Well, lucky you. I’m only annoying on weekends.”

He stared.

Then — for the first time in this lifetime — he laughed.

Really laughed.

It felt strange.

Warm.

Alive.

She smiled at him, a bit surprised. “You should laugh more often. You look less… uh… dead inside.”

His smile faltered. “Oh. Thanks?”

“No, no, I mean— it’s a compliment! I swear!” Lia flailed her hands. “It’s just — you have this whole mysterious, quiet aura. Like one of those tragic boys in books who’s hiding something deep and emotional.”

Ethan froze.

Lia noticed and panicked a little. “I didn’t mean you’re tragic! I mean — maybe you are — but like, in a cool way? Not like trauma-trauma! But like—”

He held up a hand. “It’s fine. Really.”

Her shoulders sagged in relief. “Thank God.”

He watched her scribble notes for a moment, the sunlight hitting her hair in the exact way he remembered from a past life — the one where she had lived the longest.

Just before fate took her anyway.

He forced his eyes down at his textbook.

Focus.

This lifetime would be different.

He would make sure of it.

“Okay,” Lia said happily, “I vote we do something mysterious for our project.”

Ethan snorted. “Why am I not surprised?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You just… seem like the type.”

Lia gasped dramatically. “The type? The type?! Wow, Ethan, you barely know me and already I have ‘a type’?”

He smirked. “You literally said you’re annoying on weekends.”

“That was a joke!”

He raised a brow.

“Okay, it was half a joke,” she admitted.

He shook his head, smiling. She was different in every life, but something always stayed the same — the spark, the energy, the softness.

“So what kind of mysterious?” Ethan asked.

“Like past lives. Reincarnation. Fate. Stuff like that.”

Ethan’s heart tripped.

Of course she chose that. Fate was cruel — but it was also comedic, apparently.

He swallowed. “Why that topic?”

“I dunno,” she shrugged. “I just always found it… interesting. Like, what if you meet someone and feel like you’ve known them forever? Or what if you’re living something you’ve already lived but don’t remember? Kinda cool, right?”

Ethan’s throat tightened.

He wanted to tell her.

Everything.

Every life.

Every attempt.

Every ending.

Every failure.

But in every lifetime, when he told her, things went wrong.

So this time…

He wouldn’t.

Not yet.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Kinda cool.”

Lia leaned forward, studying him carefully. She wasn’t supposed to be this observant. Not this early. Not in this life.

“You sure you’re okay?” she asked softly. “You keep spacing out.”

“Just tired.”

“You look tired.” She tilted her head. “Do you sleep at all?”

“Sometimes,” he muttered.

“Well, you should sleep more.” She poked his forehead — the exact same gesture she had done in another life. “Your brain is fried.”

Ethan froze.

That touch — that exact motion — hit him like a storm.

A memory surged forward:

Her giggling as she poked his forehead in a world lit by paper lanterns.

“I know you’re worried,” she’d said.

“But you don’t have to carry everything alone.”

He blinked hard, the memory dissolving painfully.

Lia didn’t notice his reaction. She was too busy rambling about project ideas.

“We could make it fun,” she said brightly. “Like interview students about déjà vu or dreams or mysterious feelings. I think it would be cool! And not too boring either!”

Ethan stared at her, wonder and fear tangled inside him.

She had no memory.

No past lives.

No tragic endings.

No pain.

And yet somehow, her instincts still aligned with the echoes of what they once were.

Maybe fate wasn’t trying to punish them this time.

Maybe it was nudging them closer.

He felt his chest loosen, just a little.

“Yeah,” he said. “Let’s do that.”

She looked thrilled. “Really?! You’re okay with it?”

“Yeah. It suits us.”

“Us?” She wiggled her brows. “Look at you sounding like a team player.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Ooh, mysterious boy with emotional walls. My favorite.”

He rubbed his forehead. “Please stop.”

“Nope,” she grinned.

He tried not to laugh. Failed miserably. Lia’s grin grew wider.

They worked for the next hour — well, she worked while he tried not to accidentally trigger five centuries’ worth of grief by staring at her too long.

But for the first time in any life, he didn’t feel dread creeping in.

He felt something lighter.

Hope.

When the bell rang, they packed up their things. Lia stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

“Hey,” she said softly, “this was fun.”

Fun?

They were doing homework.

But when she said it, he believed her.

“Yeah,” he said. “It was.”

She smiled — soft, almost shy. “See you tomorrow, partner.”

He watched her walk away, sunlight chasing her steps.

As she disappeared down the hallway, Ethan whispered under his breath: