Ava sat at the small table in her cramped apartment, her hands wrapped around a mug of tea that had long since gone cold. The name clung to her like morning fog Isabella.
She didn't know anyone by that name. And yet, when she had whispered it into the silence of her bedroom just moments after waking, it had felt… right. Familiar.
She pressed her fingers to her temple, trying to summon the dream again. The office, the glittering skyline, the feel of silk brushing against her skin, and that voice.
His voice.
The same man who had walked into the café that morning.
"What the hell is happening to me?" she whispered.
A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. She opened it to see her best friend, Jasmine, arms crossed, expression skeptical.
"You've been weird all day," Jasmine said, barging in. "You barely spoke at work, and don't think I didn't see you staring at that guy like he was a ghost."
"I think I know him," Ava murmured, closing the door.
Jasmine raised an eyebrow. "From where?"
"I… don't know."
A pause. Jasmine dropped onto the couch. "So let me get this straight. You keep having dreams about some woman named Isabella, and now you're seeing her boyfriend in real life?"
Ava bit her lip. "I know how it sounds."
"It sounds like you need sleep. Or therapy. Or both."
They laughed, but it was thin. Ava didn't find it funny.
Later that night, Ava walked home from a late shift alone. The streets were slick with rain, and her jacket clung to her skin. She passed the glass-fronted art gallery on 4th Street and paused.
Inside, the man from the café Liam, or whatever his new name was stood among large canvases, his expression serious as he spoke to a client.
Ava pressed her hand to the glass, watching him.
As if he sensed her, he turned. Their eyes locked.
And for a second just a second she saw something flash in his expression. Recognition.
Not of Ava, but of someone else.
Of Isabella.