Ava couldn't sleep.
Again.
She sat cross-legged on her bedroom floor, surrounded by sketches she didn't remember drawing.
Eyes. Hands. A skyline.
And at the center of the chaos a letter with no words.
She had woken up with the pen still in her hand, charcoal staining her fingers, the paper smudged and restless like her thoughts.
Her dreams were getting stronger.
More vivid.
More hers.
And always… him.
At the café the next day, the door opened, and Ava didn't need to look up to know who it was. She felt his presence like a flicker in her chest before the chime of the bell even rang.
He stood at the counter again, dark eyes searching hers.
"Hey," he said, quieter this time. Like he wasn't sure why he kept coming back.
"Hi," she replied, already pouring his black coffee.
He hesitated before adding, "Do you believe in déjà vu?"
Ava froze. Her heart skipped.
"Why?"
He gave a small, embarrassed laugh. "I've been having these… weird dreams. And every time I see you, they get stronger."
Ava's grip tightened on the coffee cup.
"What kind of dreams?"
He paused.
"A woman. Falling."
Ava dropped the cup.
It shattered on the floor, coffee bleeding out like ink.
She didn't speak. Couldn't.
Because she knew.
Not just the fall the push.
And the letter.
And the name that now haunted them both.
That night, she returned to the art gallery. The lights were off, but she stood outside anyway, staring at a painting in the window.
It was new. Bold. Chaotic strokes of black and gold.
In the center a woman falling through a sky full of city lights.
Ava stumbled back.
How could he have painted her dream.