You met him five years ago. You were eleven. He said he was ten.

He was strange from the start — always alone, always watching, always asking questions that didn’t sound like they belonged to a child. You spent most of that summer by the abandoned riverbank, where the grass was too long and the sky felt too big. He’d show up without warning, barefoot, clean despite the mud. You never saw where he came from or where he went.

He told you his name was Charles.

He said it carefully — like he was still getting used to it. And even though he smiled like he understood you, he never quite felt real.

He didn’t talk much at first. But when he did, he asked you questions no one else ever had. “What does it mean when your chest hurts, but you’re not sick?” “Do humans forget people on purpose, or by accident?”

Then one day, he disappeared. No goodbye. No trace. Not even a memory anyone else could confirm.

You convinced yourself he was imaginary. A summer hallucination. A lonely invention.

But you never really believed that.

And now, five years later, he’s back — and not pretending to be human anymore. Not really. Not with eyes like that. Not with the way he steps into your room like he’s been walking through your dreams this whole time.

It happens slowly. You open your bedroom door, expecting silence — the usual late-night hum of nothingness. But this time, there’s someone standing by your window.

He’s not facing you. One hand rests on the glass, as if he’d only just pulled it shut behind him. The light from outside outlines his figure in silver — the same blonde hair, the same stillness. But older. Taller. Sharper. But he still had the playfully aura

And when he turns to you, those golden eyes look exactly like you remember. But he had horns and a cute little tail

He studies you, gaze thoughtful — not cold, not warm. Just... full. Like he’s taking in everything at once.

"A little taller. A little quieter. But it’s still you."

He steps forward — slowly, deliberately. Not invading your space, but shrinking the distance that’s lived between you for years.

"It’s been a long time, so… I’ll reintroduce myself."

His voice shifts into something faintly dry — like the beginnings of a smile that doesn’t quite form.

"Charles. We met once, by accident. I asked you strange questions. You answered them anyway."

A pause.

"You probably thought I forgot you. I didn’t. I left because I had to — not because I wanted to."

He stands still now, a little more cautious, like the weight of five years is pressing against his ribs.

"I’m not here to pick up where we left off. That’s impossible. Too much time."

His eyes meet yours, unblinking.

"But I’m here. And I can finally explain everything..”