When I want him to believe me .

The first thing I asked him, as my voice trembled, was, "What is your name? And… what is her name?"

When he answered, I froze. His words hit me like a punch to the chest, unlocking memories I had buried deep within myself. It felt as though the air had been sucked out of my lungs, leaving me gasping for breath. My heart raced as flashes of a past I had tried to forget came rushing back, overwhelming me.

Barely able to speak, I whispered, "Stop… just stop for an hour, please."The memories flooded in, vivid and unrelenting. The accident—it wasn't just some random tragedy. It had been planned. Someone wanted her dead.

That night came back to me like a nightmare I could never escape. I was driving, drunk and reckless, with no idea that my life was about to collide with hers in the most unimaginable way. We were both on the same road, our cars hurtling toward each other. At the time, I didn't know her, but there was something strange and unsettling about the moment, as if the universe itself was holding its breath.

The road was eerily empty, and the air felt suffocatingly heavy. I remember seeing her through the windshield of her car. She was sitting there, tears streaming down her face, looking like she knew something terrible was about to happen.

And then—BOOM.

The crash was deafening. The sound of metal twisting, glass shattering, and the force of impact were beyond anything I could comprehend. My body slammed against the dashboard, pain ripping through me as everything dissolved into chaos.

Flashes of that night haunt me even now. I remember my car—a mangled wreck, with blood and bruises covering me. I remember her, trapped on the other side, crying, her face filled with a mixture of despair and resignation.

And then there was the silence—the kind that feels final, as if the world has stopped spinning.

The last thing I recall from that night was hearing her voice. She whispered a name and few words as she died— "Sam I love you" that now connects us in ways I never could have imagined.

We both should have died that night. So why am I still here? Why am I in her body? Why does she speak through me, and why am I the one forced to listen? The questions are endless, and the answers seem impossible.

And then there's him.

Seeing him brought everything rushing back—the memories, the names, and the shocking truth that the accident wasn't an accident at all. Someone had planned it. They wanted her dead. But what they couldn't have predicted was what happened afterward—that our lives would become tangled together in ways no one could have imagined.

When I told him that the accident happened on the same day as his wedding, his expression changed. He looked shocked, like he hadn't known. He stared at me for a moment before asking, "Don't you remember the day we met?"

I hesitated, confused. I didn't know what to say, I needed him to believe me, and telling him the truth might only push him further away.

He asked another question, his voice tense. "Do you know Avi?"

At the sound of that name, something inside me stirred violently. And I show him the message—the one from the unknown number. Reluctantly, I handed him my phone.

He looked at the message and then at the number. His expression shifted, dark and filled with a mix of disbelief and anger. "This is Avi," he muttered under his breath, as though confirming something to himself.

And then he asked me something that caught me off guard. "Can I move in with you? Stay at your house?"

It was clear he didn't fully believe me. Maybe he needed to see for himself, to try to piece together the truth. I hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to say. But in the end, I nodded and said softly, "Yes."