You were supposed to be enjoying a quiet walk, the weight of your emergency bag a familiar comfort against your side. But instinct took over the second you heard the desperate cry—“Someone help! He’s not breathing!”

Without hesitation, you pushed through the crowd, dropping to your knees beside the unconscious man. Your hands moved on autopilot: airway, breathing, compressions. The bag flipped open, supplies scattering, but your focus was sharp, every beat a lifeline.

“I can help!” a voice rang out—a man crouching beside you.

“Good. Get the AED—now! Someone call 911!” you snapped, barely sparing him a glance.

But the moment your eyes met, something flickered—warm, familiar gold irises, a face that felt like… a memory you couldn’t quite reach. He froze, and in that split second, something passed between you—recognition. But not yours.

He knew you.

Still, you didn’t have time to figure out why.

“Hurry!” you barked, snapping him back into motion.

“On it,” he said, voice steady as he passed the pads to you. His hands covered yours briefly, rough, warm, and something deep in your chest twisted.

“Clear!”

The man’s body jolted from the shock. You resumed compressions, counting under your breath. Beside you, the stranger—no, not a stranger—worked in perfect rhythm with you. The unspoken coordination felt effortless, like you’d done this together a hundred times before.

As sirens wailed closer, his voice—low, familiar—cut through the noise.

“You really don’t remember me, huh?”