Too Much

The days after that painful argument were marked by a silence that felt almost unbearable. Jordan and I barely exchanged more than polite words. The easy comfort and connection we'd built had vanished, leaving a void that weighed heavily on me.

I tried to focus on other things—work, sketching, anything to distract myself from the gnawing ache that had settled in my chest. But the resurfaced memory of that past life haunted me constantly. I kept replaying the scene of us in that cobbled square, the feeling of betrayal lingering like a bitter aftertaste. Part of me knew it was irrational, but the memory was so vivid it felt like a warning, a premonition of something that was destined to happen again.

One evening, desperate to clear my head, I returned to the park where Jordan and I had often met. The bench where we'd last spoken felt charged with memories, a painful reminder of what I'd pushed away. I sat there, looking up at the stars, wishing for something to make sense.

"Fancy seeing you here," a familiar voice interrupted my thoughts.

My heart skipped a beat as I looked up to find Jordan standing a few feet away, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. His face was shadowed, but his posture was tense, his gaze unreadable.

I swallowed, not sure whether to feel relief or dread. "Jordan. I didn't expect to see you here."

He nodded, his eyes lingering on mine for a moment before he looked away. "I guess neither of us can let this place go."

Silence stretched between us, filled with words unsaid, things left to be resolved. Finally, he broke it, his voice edged with something sharper than I'd heard before. "I can't stop thinking about what you said, Avery. About how you believe I'm just going to hurt you. That I'm somehow destined to betray you because of some memory you can't let go."

I shifted uncomfortably, guilt pressing down on me. "Jordan, I—"

"No, let me finish." His tone was firm, but there was a vulnerability in his eyes that made my chest ache. "Do you think this is easy for me? That I don't feel haunted by memories too? I remember things, too, Avery. Versions of you and me that didn't end well. Painful endings, broken promises. But I don't want to let those memories control what we have now."

I felt my defenses crumbling, the weight of my own fears pressing down. "It's not that simple. You don't understand how real it felt… like I could feel every part of it, like it happened yesterday."

He scoffed, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. "And do you think I don't feel the same things? That I haven't felt those past lives bleeding into my thoughts, making me doubt myself? I remember standing in that square, too. I remember leaving, and I remember feeling like I didn't have a choice. But that was a different time. We're not those people anymore, Avery."

I searched his face, feeling torn between my own memories and the present reality. The urge to hold onto that hurt, to let it shield me from future pain, was strong. But seeing the look in Jordan's eyes—the raw sincerity, the desire for understanding—made my walls begin to crumble.

"I want to believe that," I whispered, feeling my voice catch. "But what if… what if we're just repeating the same mistakes?"

He took a step closer, his expression softening but still full of intensity. "That's the thing about past lives, Avery. They're *past.* We have the chance to change the ending, but only if we let go of the fears that keep dragging us back."

I felt a tear slip down my cheek before I could stop it, the words sticking in my throat. "I don't want to push you away, Jordan. But I don't know how to make these fears go away. Every time I feel close to you, it's like something pulls me back."

Jordan reached out, his hand brushing my cheek, wiping away the tear. His touch was gentle, almost hesitant. "Then stop fighting it," he murmured. "Stop letting the past control you. Let's write a new story, Avery. One that's just ours."

For a moment, his fingers lingered on my face, his eyes searching mine, and I felt the pull of that undeniable connection. The past, present, and future seemed to blur together, and I knew if I took a single step closer, we'd be on the edge of something new, something terrifying but full of promise.

But just as I leaned into the moment, another memory flared in my mind, fierce and vivid. I saw myself standing on the edge of a cliff, the wind whipping around me, feeling the weight of betrayal so heavy that I could barely breathe. I heard a voice, Jordan's voice from that life, speaking words that were all too familiar, promises that had shattered under the weight of circumstance.

I pulled back, breaking the connection, my heart pounding. "Jordan… I can't."

He looked at me, hurt flashing across his face before he masked it with a hardened expression. "So, that's it? You're going to let these memories dictate everything? Let them ruin what we could have?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but words failed me. The fear, the memories, the weight of past and present tangled together, leaving me stranded in indecision.

"Fine," he said, his voice low and resigned. "If you can't see past these ghosts, then maybe we're both wasting our time."

Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving me standing alone beneath the starlit sky, with nothing but the cold, unyielding ache of regret.