Echoes of the Past

We kept walking, the sun a sucker-punch orange on the horizon. Her hand stayed locked with mine. My adult brain screamed bullshit, but my heart? All in.

The girl—this stranger who knew me better than my therapist—marched forward like she owned the street. I stole glances, memorizing her: the smirk, the hair dancing in the wind, the calm that clung to her like perfume. She smelled like nostalgia, like the ghost of a memory I couldn't claw back.

Then—boom—the thought hit. Ice pick to the ribs.

If I mess with the past here… does my present just… poof?

A flash: high school. Her. The messy, laugh-so-you-cry love that shaped me. The fights. The silences. The way she left without looking back. Not just a person—a era.

If I tweak one thread… do we never happen?

My gut twisted. No. Can't be that easy. Just a dream, right? A hyper-vivid brain glitch. Nothing more.

But deep down, a voice hissed it wasn't that simple.

— You okay? — she asked, stopping dead to face me.

I blinked, snapping back into the dream. Her face was calm, but her eyes? Sharp. Like she could smell fear.

— Yeah. Just… thinking, — I lied, smile tighter than a guitar string.

She stared me down—seconds stretched into years—then shrugged and kept walking.

Minutes later, we hit a park. Not just any park—mine. The one from kid summers. Cleaner, greener, no rusty slides or graffiti. But the same bones. Same dirt I'd scraped my knees on.

She flopped onto a swing, kicking off slow. Back and forth, back and forth.

— This is our spot, — she said, voice soaked in nostalgia.

Our spot. The words punched air from my lungs.

My heart drummed. I clawed through memories—nothing. Just static. A feeling buried so deep it hurt to dig.

— We always come here, — she said, kicking the swing higher. — Even when you forget…— she shot me a smirk sharp enough to draw blood — …but it's fine. I'll always remind you.

A chill spider-walked down my spine. Forget? Who even was she? How'd she know me better than my own shadow?

I dropped onto the swing next to hers. The night breeze carried a smell I almost recognized—like burnt sugar and old library books. It wrapped around my lungs, warm and suffocating.

— Maybe… I just need help remembering, — I mumbled, words slipping out before I could cage them.

Her grin went nuclear. She grabbed my hand. The touch buzzed under my skin—not just skin-on-skin. Like our hands were puzzle pieces finally clicked into place.

— Then let's start from the beginning, — she said, eyes glittering with secrets.

And just like that—I knew. Game over. No going back.

I didn't answer. Something in her stare… in the way she said it like it was fact… made my gut twist. How much had I buried? And how much was about to claw its way back?