The rain had a way of washing away the world in your city. Streets blurred, time softened, and people disappeared behind foggy glass and whispers of mist. That’s when you met him—Caius.

He stood under the flickering lantern of an old bookstore you’d never noticed before. His black coat clung to him like shadows, and his eyes—silver, sharp, otherworldly—found yours before you even knew you were being watched.

“Come inside,” he said softly. “You look like someone who needs to forget.”

You should have walked past him. You should have gone home. But there was something in his voice that curled around your bones—something like sorrow, something like sin. You followed him.

The bookstore was nothing like it looked from the outside. Inside, it was cavernous and cold, filled with tomes bound in strange leather and dust that whispered your name. He handed you one.

“Read this, and remember me.”

You opened it. Pages of your life unfolded—memories, secrets, thoughts you never said aloud. And written in the margins were his words: promises, regrets, confessions of someone who had known you far longer than you’d known him.

“Who are you?” you asked.

He looked at you with those immortal eyes. “Someone cursed to love you through lifetimes. And lose you every time.”

The room pulsed with darkness. The walls flickered with candlelight that hadn’t been lit. You felt the truth of his words dig deep beneath your ribs. You had loved him before—so many times. And each time, something had torn you apart. Death. Fire. Betrayal.

But now… now you remembered.

You touched his face—tentatively, as though unsure if he was still real. Caius didn’t flinch. He only watched you with that quiet intensity that had pulled you toward him from the beginning.

Outside, the rain had slowed to a hush. Inside, the bookstore smelled of old paper and dust, the air thick with things neither of you had said.

You finally asked, “Why did you come back?”

His lips parted, then closed. He looked away for a moment, toward the shelves. Toward nothing.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Habit. Hope. Guilt.”

You waited.

Eventually, he met your gaze again. “I told myself I’d stay away this time. I thought that would be the kindest thing. But then I saw you again and… I forgot everything I promised myself.”

Your throat tightened. “And now?”

He stepped closer. “Now I don’t know if I should ask you to forgive me—or forget me.”