CHAPTER 10 – EVERYTHING, AGAIN

“Want to meet up? Just… be around each other?”

Xander stared at it for a full minute before replying.

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

They met near the lake by the museum. The sun was setting, painting the water gold. Everything around them felt like a memory pretending to be present.

Lana wore a denim jacket over a faded tee, hair in a loose braid. She carried the same bag she always had, now heavier with all the things she couldn’t say.

Xander had his camera, but didn’t raise it once.

They sat by the edge of the water, legs hanging over the concrete, their shoulders close but not touching.

“I’ve been here before,” she said.

He nodded. “I think I took a photo of you here once. From far away. Before I knew you.”

She glanced at him, a small smile tugging her lips. “Creepy.”

He chuckled softly. “Unintentionally romantic.”

“Hmm.” She looked back at the lake. “Sounds like most of our lives.”

The day unraveled gently. No drama. Just being.

They strolled through the museum, pretending to care about the exhibits.

Lana lingered at an oil painting of a red tree, mid-shed. The caption read: "Cycle."

She whispered, “That one’s ours.”

Xander stared at it for a long time. He didn’t say a word.

Later, they sat in a nearly empty diner.

The lights buzzed. The coffee was bad. It was perfect.

They talked about nothing and everything.

First songs they loved. Stupid dreams. That one time Lana thought of running away to Iceland to start a punk band called “Ghosts With Jobs.”

Xander laughed — really laughed — and she watched him like she was memorizing it.

He noticed. “What?”

“Nothing,” she said. “I just... want to remember this part.”

Back at his apartment, the lights were low.

The red flower sat in a glass near the window, trying to stay alive.

Lana walked slowly through the room, her fingers grazing the shelves. The space smelled like old books and dust and sleep deprivation. And him.

She stopped at his desk.

“Is this new?” she asked, picking up a charcoal sketch.

A red tree. Just the branches. No leaves.

Xander stood behind her.

“I started it the night we met,” he said.

She turned.

The air shifted.

For a second, neither of them breathed.

She stepped closer.

He didn’t move.

Their hands found each other — not all at once, but like they were afraid it might hurt. Their fingers locked. Foreheads touched.

They didn’t kiss.

Not yet.

They just stood there.

Listening to their own hearts race like thunder.

Later, lying side by side on his couch, she spoke first.

“I keep thinking we’ll ruin this.”

He didn’t open his eyes. “Why?”

“Because every time we get close... we burn.”

He was quiet for a long time.

Then:

“Maybe we don’t have to burn this time.”

But she could feel it already — the weight.

The gravity of all their past lives pressing between them like ghosts.

Xander could feel it too.

And neither of them knew how to say:

“I love you. But I don’t know if it’s this life… or the thousand before it.”

So they didn’t say anything at all.

The next morning, she left before the sun fully rose.

She kissed his shoulder lightly. Whispered goodbye. Took the red flower with her.

And stood at the curb with her eyes closed, wondering if this was the moment it would all fall apart again.

It didn’t.

But something was starting to shift.

[END OF CHAPTER 10]