That night, Grace slips into her double-sized bed, the covers light and cool against her skin. The window beside her is slightly ajar, letting in a soft summer breeze that carries the distant hum of cicadas and the occasional rustle of leaves. The moonlight casts a gentle glow on her walls, painting silver lines that move with the wind.
She looks down at the iPhone resting in her hands—the one Julian gave her. For a moment, she simply stares at the screen, then slowly presses it against her chest, holding it close as if it anchors her somehow.
"I'm seeing him tomorrow…" she whispers into the quiet.
Her heart flutters—just a little—but enough for her to notice. She can't quite explain the feeling, this strange mix of excitement and nervousness that's crept into her chest.
Why am I excited to see him…? Grace wonders as Julian's face flickers through her thoughts. That composed, almost aloof expression—yet beneath it, something unreadable, something enigmatic that seemed to draw her in without trying.
Now that I think about it... he really looked at me. Not just glanced, but really studied my face, like he was searching for something...
Grace closes her eyes quietly, surrendering to the darkness behind her eyelids, but Julian's gaze lingers there still. And slowly, without even realizing it, she falls asleep with the faintest trace of a smile on her lips, the night holding its breath for what tomorrow might bring.
What is this feeling? Grace thinks, turning the question over in her mind. Am I excited to reunite with the one who saved me from the gangsters, who helped me survive that foreign place with money? She pauses, trying to make sense of it. Well, if that's the reason, then I guess I can understand why.
But still, the flutter in her chest doesn't make complete sense. She shakes her head, frustrated.
And then, as if to shift her focus, Grace remembers something. She hasn't been having that same recurring dream lately—the one where a man who looks just like Julian saves her in the early 1900s. The dream that haunted her.
I haven't had that dream in ages… Not since I met Julian. Her mind races. Could there be some kind of connection?
The memories of the dream feel so clear, almost tangible. The backstreet from that dream was the same place where she'd first met Julian. But how could that be? It doesn't make sense.
Is this even possible? She wonders, her brow furrowing. Or am I misremembering the dream?
But then again… No. I wrote it all down in the novel I'm working on. I recorded every detail right after the dream, and the imagery is too vivid to be a coincidence.
Grace is left with more questions than answers. The pieces don't fit, and she can't make sense of the puzzle.
Well, she thinks, I was planning to finish writing this novel anyway. But now that the dream is gone, I guess I'll just have to use my imagination to finish it. Her mind drifts for a moment, a soft ache creeping in. Despite the terror that the dream had brought her—being chased by soldiers, escaping for her life—there had been something valuable about it. Something precious.
An old memory she wasn't ready to let go of.
With a sigh, Grace whispers into the quiet of the night, "Lord, my Father… What is this really? Please, tell me…"
And with those words, her eyes close, and she drifts into a deep, quiet sleep, as the questions swirl in her mind like a storm waiting to break.
That night, Julian sits alone in his newly constructed studio apartment in L. Bingo, near the university campus. The sleek, modern space is immaculately clean, its minimalist decor reflecting his precise nature. The soft, luxurious sound of a speaker fills the room, playing Canon by Johann Pachelbel. The gentle piano notes drift through the air, creating a calm, peaceful ambiance.
With a glass of non-alcoholic cocktail in hand, Julian relaxes into the deep cushions of his sofa, the glass raised slightly, his fingers lightly grazing the rim. He closes his eyes, allowing the music to wash over him, taking him to another time and place. The melody transports him back to the 1920s, to the dimly lit, antique cafe where he once sat—surrounded by the warm hum of voices, the soft clink of silverware, and the rich atmosphere of an era long gone. He can almost taste the air, thick with the scent of coffee and pastries.
At a small corner table, beneath the flickering light of an old-fashioned lamp, sat Hannah. Her big, round eyes, sparkling with innocence and curiosity, were fixed on him. She lifted a fork to her lips, her muffled smile brightening as she savored the cake.
"You like it?" Julian asked, his arms casually crossed over his chest as he watched her, his voice smooth and calm.
"Yeah, of course." Hannah responded, her mouth full as she took another bite. "This is literally the best cake I know."
Her genuine joy was contagious, and Julian couldn't help but smile. He watched her for a moment, content in her happiness, the corners of his lips turning upward.
"Once I'm done with mission B tomorrow, I'll buy you cakes here again."
But to his surprise, Hannah shook her head, her eyes thoughtful. "No, it's fine," she said with a soft laugh. "You really don't need to. One time is enough. Next time, I'll buy it on my own."
Julian chuckled, his amusement clear, though there's a hint of fondness in his gaze. She's never predictable...
He watched her closely, his eyes as unreadable as ever, but anyone who knew him well would see the unspoken affection. The way he looked at her—like a man deeply in love—despite his outwardly cool demeanor.
Julian's phone suddenly rings, cutting his memory short, snapping him out of the nostalgic haze. He glances at the screen and sees it's Eugene—his best friend, and one of the few people who knows the secrets of his past. He swipes to accept the call.
"Eugene," Julian answers in his usual soft, calm voice.
"Hey, June. What's up? What are you doing right now?"
Julian smiles slightly, feeling the comfort of Eugene's easy-going vibe. "Just at home, listening to music. Doing nothing, really."
"Haha, doing nothing? Sounds like life. Hey, can I come by for dinner tomorrow after you're back from university?"
"Sure, tomorrow dinner works fine." Julian's smile deepens, and he adds, "Is there anything you want to talk about?"
From the other end, Eugene laughs softly. "Well, actually, yeah. I've been thinking about proposing to my girlfriend soon. I wanted to, you know, spend some 'bro time' with you before I take that step. Haha."
Julian chuckles at the sentiment. His heart swells with happiness for his friend. "All right, 'bro time.' Come over anytime tomorrow for dinner."
"Yup, thanks. I'll bring some takeout. Don't worry about cooking."
Julian pauses, his smile still in place. "I can make pasta if you'd rather have that?"
Eugene's voice is warm with appreciation. "I know you're busy with the new semester starting, and I love your pasta, but I don't want to take up too much of your time. I'll just grab some food for us."
"Okay, great. See you tomorrow."
"Good night, June," Eugene says before the call ends.
Julian lowers his phone and sets it aside on the sofa. His thoughts wander briefly. So, Eugene's getting married. Good for him...
A faint smile crosses his face, but the thought of his friend's happiness brings a strange pang to his heart. It's bittersweet, a sharp reminder of things that are no longer the way they once were—things with her.
The memory of Hannah flits into his mind again, but this time, instead of feeling warmth, there's an ache in his chest. He thinks about how easily joy and pain seem to come together. When he hears of Eugene's happy news of his upcoming marriage, Julian is of course happy for him. But the knowledge that he and Hannah are no longer together makes him ache in ways he can't fully articulate.
Shaking off the thought, Julian stands up from the sofa. He doesn't want to dwell on the past, on the things that can't be undone. He heads toward his bedroom, turning off the light and sinking into the cool sheets of his bed.
As he settles in, he sets the alarm on his phone for 6 a.m. tomorrow. The first class of History of Arts and Design starts then. Julian plugs the phone into the charger by his bedside table. He's taught this course before, last semester, in fact, and it has been extremely popular. He's made a few updates to the materials, but otherwise, everything's already in place.
He checks the class roster, noting that there's one vacant spot left—one student dropped out just yesterday. Maybe it's already filled by now, he thinks. I'll see tomorrow if all twenty spots are taken or if there's still one empty. But I should still print twenty copies of the syllabus, just in case.
His thoughts shift back to his meticulous planning. Julian is the kind of person who plans every detail in advance. It's become second nature to him—something he's honed over a century of carefully structured, high-stakes missions. Each task, each life he's saved, has required this level of precision. It's part of who he is now: a man who can't afford to leave anything to chance.
As he closes his eyes, his mind lingers on the preparation for tomorrow's class, the students who'll walk in, the discussions that will unfold.
I hope that girl, Grace, is doing well this semester now that she's back. Not that it's really my business.
Julian's thoughts drift as the gentle hum of his breathing fills the silence. For a moment, he allows the thought of Grace to linger, but just as quickly as it appeared, he pushes it aside. It's strange—this pull he feels, a curiosity he can't fully explain.
But it's not my concern. I'm not her guardian. She's just a student, and I'm just the professor.
With that thought, Julian closes his eyes, pushing any more wayward musings to the back of his mind. The familiar warmth of the blankets, the stillness of the night, and the weight of the long day ahead draw him into a deep, uninterrupted sleep.