DAY

Flashes of the past come to me in such a quick succession that I blink to make sure I'm still at the train station. An underground tunnel, a stolen kiss, a ruby necklace. I struggle to place these memories, as if they belonged to an entirely different person – or an entirely different life.

The brief glimpses into a forgotten past fade into a haze just as quickly as they came. But one thing is certain: The same dark eyes dotted with flecks of gold in that haze stare back at me now. The same dark intensity that now seems impossible to forget.

"It's you," I whisper. For a moment, I think I see relief in her eyes but doubt takes over. Why can't I remember her name?

"Is it?" she says so softly I could barely hear the slight tremble in her voice. She cannot deny it now; She remembers me, too.

Encouraged, I step closer – so close that I see the light freckles across the bridge of her nose. Freckles that I am sure somehow were not there before. "I hope to get to know you again. If you are open to it. There is a fog around you that I would like to clear away." What is her name?

I read her so easily that I see the calculations she's doing in her head – weighing what she has to lose versus what she has to gain. She searches my face for the answer, but she can't seem to look directly at me for long. I wonder about what exactly happened, about how she can look both happy and troubled to see me. Arms crossed against her chest, she looks like she's holding herself back, afraid to make the wrong choice. Until her right hand reaches for her neck. She uncovers a red pendant underneath her dark sweater and fiddles with it absent-mindedly = as if out of habit. I peer closer and notice that small diamonds surrounds the red pendant, reflecting the lights from the streetlights and JumboTrons above. I gasp as I realize that the red pendant is, in fact, a beautiful tear-shaped ruby, wrapped in slender wires. She lets go of it immediately and snaps back into her soldier stance with hands at her sides, seemingly embarrassed to have been caught with the necklace.

Before she can make a decision, I make one of my own: Nothing will deter me from getting to know her. And the first step is to find out her name.

With a new sense of purpose, I reach for her hand. I do not know what surprises me more – that our hands seem to fit perfectly together or that, the moment I hold her hand in mine, a sense of relief washes over me. As if a long search finally comes to close.

"I'm Daniel," I offer unnecessarily, shaking her hand.

"Hi," she replies. "I'm..."

Perhaps there is such a thing as fate.

I can't help but smile as I finish for her, "June."