Sleep didn't save me!

Just as I was sobbing into Peter's chest, unable to let go, I heard the door burst open.

"Emma!"

It was Mom. She rushed toward the bed like a hurricane of worry and love. Her eyes widened the second she saw me awake and crying—and clinging to Peter.

Peter let go gently, stepping back respectfully, brushing his eyes quickly so Mom wouldn't notice he was on the edge too.

"Mom..." I whispered, voice still shaky.

She knelt beside the bed, her hands cupping my cheeks, her face soaked in tears. "You're awake. Oh God, my baby—you're okay. You're okay now."

I gave her a faint nod and tried to smile. "Just... just weak, Mom. That's all."

She didn't seem to fully believe it, but she didn't push. She wrapped me in a careful hug and kissed my forehead. "You scared me, Emma. I thought... I thought I was going to lose you."

Chloe came in behind her, teary too. Her voice was a mix of relief and classic Chloe sarcasm. "Girl, you better never do that to me again. I cried actual mascara tears. That's betrayal."

I gave her a wobbly smile. "Sorry. No promises though."

Peter stepped out quietly, his face pale. Chloe noticed. She followed him with her eyes, and the moment he was outside the room, she slipped out too.

She found him standing by the hallway wall, fists clenched. His face was turned away, but she saw it—the shimmer in his eyes. A tear slid down his cheek.

Chloe's heart twisted. The last time she saw Peter cry was when they were ten and Amanda "accidentally" broke his limited edition remote-control race cars.

"Hey..." she said softly.

He sniffled, quickly wiping his face. "I just... I thought something really bad happened to her. I felt like I couldn't breathe."

Chloe leaned on the wall next to him. "She's okay. And she needed you."

Peter nodded slowly. "I know. But I still feel like I couldn't protect her."

Chloe looked at him, her voice low. "You did more than you know."

Next day — at school

I walked through the school corridors like I was in a dream. Or a nightmare. Students stared. Some whispered. Some pretended they weren't looking, but I could feel their eyes.

Mrs. Grace had been absent ever since that day. No one talked about her. It was like she vanished into thin air. No calls. No word. No explanation. Just... gone.

I was at my locker, just trying to survive the morning, when Amanda and her pack of plastic clones passed by.

"Oh look," Amanda smirked, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Sleeping Beauty's back."

A few girls giggled.

"It was kind of peaceful without the drama queen around," she added, flipping her hair.

I didn't reply. I didn't even blink. I just closed my locker calmly like a freaking Jedi.

But before I could turn, someone stepped in front of me.

Peter.

"We need to talk," he said, voice low and serious. "We can't avoid yesterday forever."

My heart started racing. I didn't know if it was from the PTSD or... from him.

"Now?" I whispered.

He nodded. "Now."

Before I could say anything, Edward jogged over.

"Hey! Emma, are you okay?" he asked, genuinely concerned. "I heard everything. You freaked us all out."

I gave him a tired smile. "Thanks, Edward. I'm better now. Just... processing."

He nodded and then glared over at Amanda. "Ignore them. They're just jealous you have actual depth."

I chuckled.

But as Peter gently took my wrist to guide me somewhere quieter, I caught Chloe across the hallway—smiling faintly. Like she saw something blooming before we did.

And for the first time since I woke up...

I didn't feel so alone.

Peter led me to the back of the school building—near the old sports shed no one really used anymore. It was quiet, just the rustle of leaves and the distant noise of laughter echoing from the basketball court.

He stopped, turned around, and rubbed the back of his neck like he was rewinding every sentence in his head.

"I—uh... I don't really know how to start this," he said.

I leaned against the wall, arms folded. "Try 'hey Emma, are you okay?' That one usually works."

He gave me a soft smile. "Okay. Hey Emma, are you okay?"

I looked at him, really looked at him. His eyes were still a little red from crying earlier. I nodded, slowly. "Getting there."

Peter looked down at the ground. "I was scared. Like, properly scared. I thought I lost you. When Edward called... I—I just froze. Then I ran all the way to the medical room and... I've never seen you like that."

I swallowed, biting my lower lip. "I've never been like that."

He stepped a little closer. "And yesterday... when you were crying, I didn't know what to do. I just knew I had to hold you. Be there. And you let me. You... held me back."

I blushed, heat rising in my cheeks. "I didn't want to let go."

We looked at each other for a moment. Too long. The air felt heavy and soft all at once.

That's when Chloe peeked around the corner like a raccoon with a secret.

Her eyes lit up when she saw us just standing there, close, talking in low voices. She mouthed "Ooooohh my God," giggled, and tiptoed backwards dramatically like some 2000s rom-com bestie, disappearing without a trace.

Peter noticed and shook his head with a soft chuckle. "She's so obvious."

"She's giving us privacy," I laughed.

"Then let's not waste it," he said, suddenly serious again. "Emma... what happened that day? I know you didn't want to talk about it in front of your mom but... what's going on with you?"

I hesitated. "I still don't understand it fully. But it felt real. That pain. Those images. Being drowned, tortured, the dress... it was like I was someone else. But not really. It felt like... like I was me in another time."

He blinked. "Time? Like a past life or something?"

"I don't know." I looked up at the sky. "But every night now... I keep seeing his eyes. The boy with the mole near his right eye. Just his eyes. Crying. Like he was forced to watch everything happening to me and couldn't stop it."

Peter went quiet. "That's the guy you mentioned before, right? The one who didn't look like he wanted to hurt you."

"Yeah," I whispered. "I don't know who he is. But I feel like I'm supposed to remember him."

Just then, the school bell rang. The spell broke. Peter didn't move.

"I'm not gonna let you go through this alone, Emma. Whatever it is. Dreams, memories, ghosts—whatever. I'm in it."

I smiled. "Thanks, Peter."

He hesitated, then said, "Can I... can I walk you to class?"

"Yeah," I nodded. "I'd like that."

---

Two weeks later

The whispers had just started to fade. Amanda had found new gossip. Life was returning to its usual mess. But I still had those dreams. Not the pain anymore—just the eyes. Those sad, broken, endlessly crying eyes.

And then...

Mrs. Grace returned.

No warning. No announcement. One second she wasn't there, and the next, she was walking into homeroom like she hadn't disappeared after sending me into a total psychological horror show.

She smiled gently when our eyes met.

But something had changed in her eyes too.

Something... deeper.

Colder.

Like she had gone somewhere dark, and come back with secrets stitched into her smile.

And just like that, the quiet ended.

Because the storm was far from over.

I splashed cold water on my face in the washroom, trying to calm the storm inside my chest. My eyes were still red from crying last night, but at least my breathing was normal now. That's when I saw her.

Mrs. Grace.

Standing by the doorway, expression unreadable.

"Emma," she said softly. "I need to talk to you."

Before I could say anything, she gently grabbed my arm—not hard, not aggressive, just firm enough—and guided me down the hallway. We weren't heading to class. No, we were going toward the old dance room. The one that hadn't been used in years.

She unlocked the door with a key I didn't even know existed, pulled me inside, and locked it again behind us.

"Seriously? What is this?" I snapped.

"I'm not trying to hurt you, Emma. I'm trying to help you remember," she said, her voice low, like she was afraid of being overheard. "It will hurt. But you need to know the truth. It's the only way."

I exploded. "You call this helping? I've been screaming in my sleep. I see myself being tortured. Fishes biting me. I can't breathe. And you say you're helping? What the hell are you even talking about?!"

Mrs. Grace didn't flinch. "I told you... you were never supposed to remember this soon. The memories are from your past. But they belong to you."

I stood there, my hands shaking. "Is it even me in those dreams? Or her? The girl in the photo? Why do I feel her pain? Why do I feel everything?"

"She is you. Or… she was. That's all I can say," Mrs. Grace whispered.

"That's not good enough," I snapped. "Why didn't you warn me? Why didn't you protect me from this?"

She sighed. "Some things… you must find out on your own. I cannot give you every answer."

I looked her dead in the eye. "Then why even bother pretending you care?"

That hit her. Her lips twitched like she wanted to say something else, but instead, she leaned in and said, "It always starts with pain. But it ends with power."

Something about the way she said it made my skin crawl. I pushed past her and ran out of the room, ignoring her calling after me.

---

I found Peter and Chloe near the lockers.

"You're not gonna believe what just happened," I said, trying to catch my breath. "Mrs. Grace just dragged me into that creepy old dance room and locked the door and—"

Before I could finish, Amanda's voice sliced through the hallway.

"Ugh, move aside, freak," she snapped and shoved me.

I stumbled, tripped, and fell—

—right into Peter's chest.

His arms instinctively caught me, holding me steady. I looked up at him, embarrassed—

—and froze.

His hazel eyes. The way they widened in concern. The exact shade. The shape.

And that mole. Right beside his right eye.

No. No no no.

It couldn't be.

My dream. The crying boy.

He had the same eyes. The same mole.

I stared at Peter. Really stared. Like I was trying to see through him, trying to match him to the broken boy who watched me get hurt.

He blinked, confused. "Emma…? Are you okay?"

I couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe.

I stood up slowly. My hands were shaking again. "I—I have to go."

"Emma, wait—"

But I was already running. My thoughts a blur.

Why didn't he save me? Why was I even thinking that? This is ridiculous. But those eyes. That mole. It was him. Or it looked like him. I don't know. I don't want it to be him. I can't—

I didn't even know where I was running until I ended up in Mr. Jimmy's classroom. He wasn't teaching at the moment. I sat curled in a chair behind his desk, biting my nails, breathing hard, like I had just run a marathon.

He came in a minute later. "Emma? You alright?"

I nodded too fast. "Yeah. Just… dizzy."

He looked unconvinced but gave me water anyway.

Peter and Chloe appeared seconds later. I guess Mr. Jimmy called them.

Peter rushed toward me. "Emma! What's going on? You just ran off. Talk to me."

I couldn't look at him. I stared down at the water in my hands. "Nothing. Just felt sick. You know... stress and stuff."

Peter frowned. "Why won't you tell me the truth?"

I forced a laugh. "Because there's nothing to say."

"Right," he muttered, clearly not believing me.

Chloe stood silently, watching me carefully. She knew something was up. But she didn't push. Not yet.

And I couldn't tell them. Not now. Not when my heart was this messed up.

After leaving Mr. Jimmy's room, everything felt like a blur.

I didn't talk much on the way home. Chloe tried her best to make small talk, but even she knew I wasn't really hearing any of it. My brain was too loud.

Peter didn't say anything. He walked behind us for a bit, but after a while, I think he took a different turn. Maybe he knew I needed space. Maybe… maybe he needed space too.

When I reached home, I didn't even change. I just threw myself on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

His eyes. That mole.

That same exact look—like the one from the boy in my dreams. Crying. Watching me drown. Watching me suffer. Not moving. Not saving me.

But… why? Why would Peter have those eyes?

"Stop it, Emma," I whispered to myself. "It doesn't make sense. He wouldn't—he can't—"

But the doubt was already in. Growing. Twisting. Planting questions like thorns.

I buried my face into the pillow, trying to calm the storm in my head. I told myself I was being irrational. That maybe lots of people have a mole on their face and hazel eyes and a heart-melting stare when they're sad.

But deep down… I knew. Something was wrong. Something was connected.

And that night, when I finally fell asleep, the dream came back. Not the torture. Not the drowning. Just those eyes.

So close.

Crying again.

Sorrow bursting out of them like waterfalls of guilt. Like they were sorry for something unforgivable. Like they knew me.

I wanted to reach out. To ask who he was. To shake him and scream, "Why didn't you help me?"

But I couldn't move. Just like every other time.

I woke up at 3:27 a.m., sweating, clutching my blanket like it was a lifeline. My throat was dry, my heart was racing, and my mind was spiraling.

Those weren't just dreams.

And I was starting to believe they were memories.

But memories of what?

Of who?

And most terrifying of all—why Peter?

That night, sleep didn't come easy. I twisted under the sheets, flipping sides like that would somehow throw off the weight inside my chest.

I finally drifted off… or maybe I didn't. I couldn't tell anymore.

It felt like I was floating—no, sinking. My feet weren't on solid ground. I was somewhere… in between.

The room around me wasn't mine. It looked like a mix of a ballroom and a hospital—ornate walls cracked and peeling, chandeliers dimming like dying stars, and a smell of burnt candles and rust. Everything flickered, like reality couldn't decide if it wanted to exist.

In front of me was a mirror.

A tall one. Framed with gold that looked too old to shine anymore.

I stepped toward it—and stopped.

Because the reflection wasn't me.

It was the girl again.

Same birthmark. Same eyes. Same everything.

But she looked… older. Not in age. In pain. In knowledge. In things I haven't lived but somehow felt.

She raised a hand. So did I. We were connected like puppets.

She opened her mouth to speak—but no sound came. Instead, her eyes started bleeding.

Not blood. Ink. Thick, black ink pouring down her cheeks, as if her memories were leaking.

Behind her… the boy. The one with the mole near his right eye. He stood in shadows, just his eyes visible. Crying again.

But this time—he looked terrified.

Of me.

The girl—me-but-not-me—started convulsing. Her head twitching, eyes wide, mouth gasping like she was drowning in air.

I screamed. I didn't know why, but I screamed and screamed and the mirror shattered—

And I was back. In my bed.

But I wasn't alone.

My window was open. Curtains fluttering like soft whispers. The moon outside felt too close.

And something—someone—was standing across the room.

I couldn't see the face. Just a figure. A presence. Watching.

The hairs on my arm stood up, and my breath froze in my throat.

Then… the figure took one step back—and vanished.

No sound. No footsteps. Just… gone.

I sat up, shaking, whispering to myself.

"What's happening to me…?"

I walked to the mirror in my room.

Looked at myself.

Still me.

But for a second—just a split second—my reflection smirked.

And then it didn't.

And I realized with a sinking heart:

This is far from over.

!