The soft hum of chatter and the clinking of cups filled the air, but all you could focus on was the warmth of the coffee cup between your hands. You’d come to this café every morning for months, seeking comfort in its familiar surroundings, but today felt different—like a thread tugging at the edge of your consciousness, pulling you toward something you couldn’t quite name.

You glanced out the window, watching the world go by. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting long shadows across the street. And then, as if in slow motion, you saw him.

He was standing at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. Tall, with broad shoulders and an air of confidence that felt like home. Your heart skipped a beat, a flood of emotions washing over you so suddenly that you nearly dropped your cup.

It was impossible. It couldn’t be him. Phillip Graves had died in your arms on a battlefield that now felt like a distant nightmare. You remembered every detail—the coldness that had seeped into his body, the way his eyes had closed one last time, the promise you made to find each other again, no matter what.

But as he stepped into the café, you knew. The same face, the same aura that had been imprinted on your soul. You hadn’t just lost him—you’d lost a part of yourself. And now, here he was, reborn just as you had been.

Phillip scanned the room, and the moment his eyes locked onto yours, the world fell away. Recognition flashed across his face, and in that instant, you were both back on that battlefield, and yet, here you were, in a quiet café, as if time had folded in on itself to bring you together once more.