The Man Behind the Door

The past calls louder than ever, but when Ava opens the door to the man in her dreams, the answers waiting on the other side might unravel everything she thought she knew.

Ava stood still, her fingers tightening around the bedsheet. Her breath came in slow, uneven pulls as Eleanor's words sank in.

"He's here."

Her heart stuttered. Not because she was afraid but because some part of her had been waiting.

The door remained closed now, as if time paused just for her to decide.

"What do you mean 'he hasn't forgotten'?" Ava finally asked, her voice hoarse. "You talk like all this is real. Like I'm not losing my mind."

Eleanor gave a faint smile and walked toward the window. She drew the curtain back just a sliver, letting in a soft spill of sunlight.

"You are not losing your mind, Ava. You're simply… remembering it."

Ava scoffed, dragging her hand through her hair. "That makes zero sense."

Eleanor turned to face her, her eyes sharper now. "Do you remember the feeling of being watched? The black car? The ache in your back?"

Ava flinched. "How do you know about that?"

"Because it always begins the same way. When your soul starts waking up, it calls across time. And those who were part of your past… start circling back."

Ava sat down slowly, the weight of everything crashing over her.

"I need to see him."

Eleanor hesitated. "Once you open that door, things won't go back to the way they were. Are you sure you're ready to know?"

Ava stood up. "I've never been more sure."

The doorknob was cold in her hand.

She turned it. Slowly.

And there he was.

Liam.

Wearing a plain black coat, hands tucked into his pockets, but his eyes the same eyes from her dreams locked onto hers with a force that nearly knocked the breath from her lungs.

He looked just as shaken as she felt.

"Ava," he said. But it sounded like he was saying Isabella.

She didn't know what to say, so she stepped aside. "Come in."

He moved cautiously, as if stepping into a memory.

They stood in silence for a long moment. Then he whispered:

"I've painted you before I met you. I dreamed about you. I thought I was going insane. But when I saw you in that café… it was like someone dropped me into another life."

Ava's throat tightened.

"You… you were in my dreams too. But not like this. I saw you begging someone to run away. You were holding a letter."

His expression changed pain, deep and old, flickered across his face.

"That night. You remember it?"

"Pieces." She sat. "Why does it feel like we've lived this before?"

"Because we have."

He pulled a folded paper from his coat pocket. She recognized the handwriting immediately. Her handwriting.

Ava took it, hands trembling.

The letter was dated from over fifteen years ago yet the ink was fresh. Her fingers knew every curve of the letters.

It was the letter she had tried to give him the night she died.

Eleanor stood in the hallway, listening, her expression unreadable.

Something deeper was coming.

The memories were just the beginning.

And soon, Ava would remember everything including the enemy who had taken her life.