I couldn't stop staring at the screen. The photo Chloe had found — that mural — it was still haunting me. Painted on an old, crumbling wall of a theater that didn't even exist anymore. A girl, who looked exactly like me. A boy with hazel eyes and a mole near his right eye — like Peter.
"It's old," Chloe whispered. "The article said the building was from the 1940s. Got demolished last week. This photo was taken a few days before that."
Peter and I exchanged glances. Something about that place felt… familiar. Like our bones knew it before our minds did.
"But how is that even possible?" I asked, my voice cracking. "That girl—she is me. The dress, the face, even the damn expression."
Peter stepped closer, his hand brushing mine. "And the boy… looks like me. I mean, the resemblance—it's scary."
"I don't believe in coincidences," Chloe muttered. "Not anymore. That mural means something. Maybe it's us. Maybe... we lived before."
The room went silent.
"What if we're remembering things we've already lived?" I said, barely a whisper. "What if the dreams aren't dreams? What if they're memories?"
Peter gently squeezed my hand. "Then we find the truth. Together."
I looked at him, my heart doing a stupid little flip. For a second, it was just us. His eyes on mine, like he saw straight into my confusion and pain — and wasn't scared of it. It made my stomach swirl with warmth. Not the terrifying kind. The kind that made me feel safe.
Chloe cleared her throat, smirking. "God, if you two get any closer, I'm gonna need to put up a No Blushing Allowed sign in this garage."
Peter chuckled, scratching the back of his neck, cheeks red. "We're just… processing."
"Sure you are," Chloe said, rolling her eyes. "Anyway, that article mentioned an old woman who used to be a dancer there. Maybe she knows something?"
"Let's go see her," I said instantly. "We need answers. I'm tired of being scared."
"But what if it's dangerous?" Chloe said softly. "What if this is bigger than we think?"
Peter stepped in. "Then we be brave. For Emma. For all of us."
I looked at him. For once, I didn't feel alone in this madness.
And somewhere deep down, I hoped — maybe, just maybe — we were getting closer to the truth.
Great! Here's the extended version of the hotel scene with deeper conversations, more romance between Emma and Peter, and Chloe's teasing—plus how they convinced their moms and got there:
---
Chapter Title: "Hearts Unspoken, Nights Remembered"
"Please, Mom?" I asked for the hundredth time, giving her my best puppy eyes over the dinner table. "It's just a short summer research trip with Peter and Chloe. Educational. Very school project-y."
My mom folded her arms. "Emma, this doesn't sound like a school project at all."
I sighed dramatically. "It is! We're researching old history for our mystery assignment! You always tell me to be curious."
She raised an eyebrow. "And since when do school projects require hotel stays and cab rides?"
I tried not to look suspicious. "Since… research got real. Please, Mom? Chloe's mom said yes."
As if on cue, Chloe's voice echoed from the phone. "Mrs. Blanders, it's all under control. We'll be in a safe hotel, just two nights. And Emma really needs this. She's been through a lot lately, and… I think it's good for her."
There was a pause. My mom looked at me again, softer now. She reached out and held my hand. "Fine. But check in every evening. And you're not allowed to go ghost hunting."
I grinned and jumped up, hugging her. "Deal!"
Peter's mom, thankfully, was easy. "Just don't bring back bedbugs," she said as Peter packed. "And take care of Emma and Chloe."
The hotel was nice—warm lighting, cozy double beds, and a soft couch. "Okay, so me and Emma will take the bed. Peter gets the couch," Chloe said matter-of-factly.
Peter frowned. "That's not fair. I'm taller than both of you."
Chloe smirked. "You're a boy. You survive."
Peter grumbled under his breath but said nothing more. He grabbed his towel and went to shower.
Chloe left to grab snacks from the hotel vending machine, mumbling something about wanting cookies and chips. That's when it happened.
I was lying on the bed, my phone on my chest, half-asleep. Peter walked out from the bathroom, wearing a simple white shirt, damp hair clinging to his forehead, steam still trailing behind him.
And, God, I stared.
He looked so… soft and human. His collarbone, the way his sleeves hugged his arms. I was absolutely not okay.
I quickly shut my eyes. But I wasn't subtle. He noticed.
"You were staring at me," he said, sitting next to me.
"I was not," I muttered. "There was a housefly."
"Oh, sure." He smirked. "A housefly in my chest area?"
I turned away, face red.
He leaned closer. "You okay?"
I nodded, too embarrassed to breathe properly. He reached out slowly, like he was testing fate, and gently placed his hand on my waist.
Butterflies? No. Freaking fireworks.
I turned, almost trembling, and hugged him. I could feel the warmth of his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
"I just wanted to feel something that isn't fear," I whispered.
He didn't speak. He just held me tighter, his other hand brushing the hair away from my face.
I placed my hand on his shirt, feeling the hard edges of his abs through the fabric, my cheek resting on his arm. "Don't leave tonight," I mumbled.
"I won't."
And for the first time in what felt like forever, I slept peacefully.
---
The next morning, I woke up confused—because Chloe was sleeping next to me on the bed.
"What the—?"
Chloe stretched and yawned dramatically. "Oh yeah, I was just as shocked. You two were literally cuddled up like a honeymoon couple when I got back."
I sat up, face burning. "Oh my God—"
"Yup," she continued, "He woke up before me, saw me standing there, and basically turned into a tomato. He was like, 'I didn't mean to—I wasn't trying to—' and then he just gave up and left for a walk. I slept on the couch. You're welcome."
I covered my face. "Kill me."
Peter walked in a minute later, holding coffee cups.
Chloe couldn't help herself. "Look who's back! The cuddler."
Peter stared at her, horrified. "You told her?"
"She saw us, genius," I muttered.
He sat down quietly, handing me my coffee. "Did you sleep okay?"
"Best night ever," I admitted.
And then he smiled. Not the usual smirk. A real smile.
---
We sipped coffee, feeling the weight of everything we'd been through and everything we were about to find.
Little did we know, the mural we were chasing… the dancer whose legacy lingered… was tied to Peter far more deeply than we imagined.
But that truth was still buried.
For now, it was just the three of us.
One summer.
One mystery.
And a thousand unspoken feelings.
The day after our cozy night at the hotel, things were... weirdly normal. Chloe wouldn't stop teasing me, and Peter wouldn't stop avoiding eye contact. Which made it worse. I wasn't even sure what we were anymore. I liked him. That much was obvious. But sometimes I'd catch him laughing with Chloe in that carefree way, and I'd wonder—does he like her too? I hated that thought. But I couldn't help it.
But today wasn't about feelings. It was about the dancer.
We had only one clue—the mural of the girl and the boy, and the caption of the demolished building that mentioned a legendary dancer who once inspired the mural.
We grabbed breakfast at a nearby café—Peter spilled syrup on his shirt, and Chloe stole both our pancakes while we weren't looking. "Fuel for the mission," she grinned, mouth full.
Clue 1: The Retired Photographer's House
Our first stop was the house of an old photographer who used to cover theater performances back in the 60s and 70s. The cab ride was quiet, tension lingering from the mural, and also... from last night.
When we reached, the house was half-sunk in vines. A bell that didn't ring. Chloe knocked loudly.
An old man, Mr. Davis, opened the door. "We're looking for a dancer," I said, showing him the photo from the article. His hands trembled slightly.
"I remember her," he whispered. "She used to dance in The Starling Theater. Went by the name 'Julie Laine'. She wasn't just a dancer, she was magic."
Peter froze.
"Do you know what happened to her?" Chloe asked.
He shook his head. "She vanished. One night, after a performance, she never came back. Some say she ran off. Others say..." He hesitated. "Others say she was taken."
"Taken by who?" I asked.
He looked at me. "The past has its own monsters, sweetheart."
He gave us a dusty old photo album. In one blurry photo, we could see her mid-twirl, long hair flying like wings. In the background—there was a shadowed figure. A boy, watching her from the audience. It was too dark to make out his face... but I stared at the outline, and something in me ached.
Clue 2: The Abandoned Theater
We visited what was left of The Starling Theater. Just cracked walls, a half-burnt stage, and broken chandeliers.
Peter stood in the middle, staring up at the empty balcony.
"What is it?" I asked.
"I don't know. I feel like I've been here before," he whispered.
"You sure it's not just déjà vu?" Chloe asked.
But I saw his hands—fists clenched. His breathing faster. No, this wasn't just déjà vu.
Behind the curtains, we found a wooden trunk. It creaked open to reveal a faded red scarf, dust-covered letters, and a photograph.
The dancer again. Julie. Smiling.
And next to her—a boy with hazel eyes.
Peter stiffened. "That's not me," he said immediately, way too quickly. "It just... looks like me."
I didn't say anything. But I saw the mole on the right eye. The same one.
A shiver crawled up my spine.
Clue 3: The House at the Hill
The last house of the day belonged to an old woman named Clara who once shared the stage with Julie. She let us in with a warm smile and lemon tea.
"Julie? She was a firefly," she said. "We used to share secrets behind the curtains. She told me once that she had fallen in love with a boy from the audience. Said she felt like she had known him for lifetimes."
My heart skipped.
"What happened to him?" I asked.
Clara looked out the window. "He disappeared just before she did. That night... both of them were gone."
"Do you have any idea where she could've gone?" Chloe asked.
Clara tapped her teacup. "She mentioned a small cabin by the lake once. She used to visit it when she was anxious. You might find something there."
Peter took the location. But he hadn't said a word since we got here.
That Night…
We returned to the hotel exhausted, mentally and emotionally. Chloe went down to get water and some snacks, and Peter and I were left alone again.
He sat on the couch, elbows on his knees, staring at the ground.
"Are you okay?" I asked softly.
He nodded. "Just... overwhelmed. Feels like there's this story unraveling and I'm in it but I don't know my part yet."
I looked at him. "I get it."
He finally looked at me. "You've been quiet all day."
"So have you."
We smiled at the same time.
Then he moved next to me. "Remember the mural?" he asked. "What if that really was us?"
I didn't answer. I was busy counting his eyelashes, memorizing his eyes.
"Would you be okay if it was?" he asked again.
"I don't know," I whispered. "Would you?"
He didn't respond. Instead, he tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "I would just want to make sure you never cry like that again."
My breath caught.
And before I knew it, I leaned against him, just barely. He leaned too.
We didn't kiss. Not yet.
But the air was thick with almost.
Chloe walked in at the exact wrong moment and screamed, "OH MY GOD are you guys gonna kiss or what!?"
Peter jumped back like I'd electrocuted him. I laughed so hard my stomach hurt. "You have the worst timing," I told her.
"I have the BEST timing," she said, wagging chips at us. "Also, Peter, you're blushing harder than the sun."
He grumbled and went to his corner of the couch, but I could see that little smile on his face. And I was pretty sure I had the same one.
That night, I slept with butterflies fluttering around my stomach. No nightmares. Just hazel eyes and mysterious smiles.