© 2025 Kaela Seraphine. All Rights Reserved
It starts with a book. A cold hand. And the feeling that nothing in your life has been random.
You were just trying to return a library book.
Third floor. Old wing. The air smelled like dust and secrets. You didn’t mean to walk in on her. But there she was.
Haerin.
Sitting by the window, bathed in pale light, surrounded by books that looked like they belonged in a cathedral. Her uniform blazer lay folded beside her. Her long black gloves stayed on, fingers delicately turning the brittle pages of a leather-bound tome.
You cleared your throat.
She didn’t look up.
So you said, “That book’s not from the school library.”
Her voice came, soft and steady. “Neither am I.”
You blinked. “What does that mean?”
She finally looked at you—and something in her gaze unraveled you. Eyes like still water, like moonlight. Like she’d already seen how this conversation ends. “You dreamt about me,” she said.
You paused. “Excuse me?”
“You dreamt of a white corridor. The one with the endless mirrors.”
Your breath caught. Because you had. Just last night. “How did you know that?”
“I’ve been there too,” she said. “In another life. Maybe.”
You took a step closer. “Are you messing with me?”
She shut the book. The title shimmered in gold—“The Mirror of Memory”—written in a language you didn’t recognize.
“I don’t mess,” she said quietly. “I remember.”
Later that week...
She sat alone every lunch. You started sitting near her. Close enough to feel the strange calm she carried like perfume.
You asked her once, “Why the gloves?”
She didn’t even blink. “Protection.”
“From what?”
“Not what,” she said. “Who.”
You didn’t push. But it stayed with you. Like everything she said did.
One day, during a thunderstorm, you found her again—this time in the music room, tracing the keys of the piano with gloved fingers, never playing.
“You don’t play?” you asked.
She whispered, “I do. But only for the dead.”
You laughed nervously. “That’s… cool?”
She turned to you then. Serious. Soft. And said, “This storm... It’s the same as the one when we first met. Don’t you remember?”
“We just met.”
Her head tilted. “Are you sure?”