When the Clock Strikes Us

A Name That Doesn't Fade

The warm sunlight of Siargao bathed the pristine coastline as Theo and Gretah arrived at the island once more. The palm trees swayed gently in the breeze, casting long shadows across the golden sand. It had been a while since they'd walked the same beach, the waves crashing rhythmically, but their journeys were now pulling them in different directions.

Theo, with his sharp mind and the weight of centuries-old mysteries to uncover, was here to lead a seminar on Philippine history at the Siargao Island Institute of Technology. The topics were familiar, a mix of colonial histories, indigenous cultures, and the stories that shaped the Philippines—a subject he had become increasingly passionate about since beginning his research on the enigmatic past of Amara and Cael.

Gretah, on the other hand, had her own mission. As a travel documentarian, she was here to capture Siargao's untouched beauty for her latest project. She had spent months collecting stories from the locals, painting a picture of a place where time seemed to slow down, where the sea whispered secrets to those who listened. But the stories she sought felt incomplete, as if she was missing something—someone.

After checking into their shared hotel, their paths diverged. Theo went to prepare for his seminar while Gretah headed to a quiet corner of the island to film. They were both immersed in their work, but the quiet presence of the other lingered like an unspoken connection, the kind that would draw them back together later—when the clock struck midnight.

Later That Night:

The world outside had darkened, the stars slowly emerging, twinkling in the sky like distant, forgotten dreams. At exactly 12:00 AM, Gretah found herself sitting alone at a small café near the beach. The soft sound of waves breaking against the shore mixed with the distant hum of night life. Her camera was resting beside her, forgotten as she sipped from her half-empty cup.

She felt the distinct, inexplicable pull, as if something—or someone—was drawing her toward the quiet, shadowed corner of the café. She wasn't sure how long she had been there before she looked up, her gaze locking with Theo's. His presence was like a ripple in the still water, calm yet impossible to ignore.

"Couldn't sleep?" she asked, the words slipping out without thought.

Theo shook his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I suppose not."

They sat together, the conversation flowing easily, though neither of them could quite explain the sense of déjà vu that washed over them with each passing moment. The night seemed to stretch and stretch, the minutes turning into hours as they spoke of places they'd been, of stories they'd uncovered, and of the strange connection that seemed to tie them together.

There was a comfort in being with Theo, a strange sense of familiarity, as if they had known each other far longer than the few weeks they'd spent together. His words—his very presence—felt like something she'd been waiting for without realizing it.

But as the clock ticked, Gretah couldn't shake the feeling that she was dreaming, that this was all too surreal.

Before she could voice the thought, Theo's expression grew distant, as though his mind were somewhere else. "It feels like... we've been here before, doesn't it?" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Gretah nodded slowly, her heart fluttering in her chest. "Yeah... it does. It feels... right."

But just as quickly as the conversation had begun, it seemed to slip away into the ether.

Midnight: Somewhere Between Time

The clock struck 12:00 MN, and the soft waves of Siargao faded into something older—quieter, yet heavier. In place of the present-day café, Theo and Gretah found themselves standing on a moonlit shore near Magpupungko, but the landscape had changed: no tourists, no modern homes, only dense foliage and the hush of untouched sands.

Gretah's clothes had shifted—she now wore a delicate baro't saya, her long hair braided with woven beads. She looked down at her hands, a basket of freshly dyed abaca fibers in them.

Theo stood beside her in the crisp linen of a mestizo rebel, his boots sinking slightly into the damp sand. A leather-bound journal peeked from his coat pocket.

They weren't themselves—not entirely. But they weren't strangers to this moment either. It was as if their souls had been here before.

Suddenly, a voice echoed faintly from the rocks:
"Promise me, Cael... we run tomorrow. No matter what they say."

Gretah turned toward it instinctively, and in that moment, she was Amara, and she was speaking to a man she loved more than her own breath.

Theo—now Cael—reached out, brushing her cheek gently.

"We'll run. At sunrise. Past the mangroves. We leave the watches with Lucien, so no one can trace us."

Then came the sound of hurried footsteps and rustling leaves. From the shadows, Lucien emerged—heart in his eyes, but silence on his lips. He had heard everything.

And though he had once vowed to protect Amara, the love he bore her had turned bitter. He knew that if they left together, he'd lose them both forever.

He clenched the two pocket watches in his hand—Amara's and Cael's. One belonged to his father, the other given by Amara's mother as a token of gratitude.

His whisper barely cut through the wind:
"You promised me we'd always be together, Amara."

But neither of them heard him.

The soft chime of a distant bell pulled them both from their thoughts. The clock—Theo glanced at it with a frown. 1:00 AM.

Without warning, everything changed. The soft glow of the café lights flickered, and before Gretah could ask what was happening, the world around her seemed to fade into nothingness.

Back to the Present: 1:00 AM

Gretah awoke with the same weight in her chest. A name hovered at the edge of her consciousness—Cael—but it faded like smoke before she could grasp it.

She blinked against the early light streaming into her hotel room. The only thing she remembered was the sea, the rocks... and the faintest sense that someone had once whispered her name like a vow.

Across town, Theo sat on his bed, wide awake, the image of Lucien's tear-streaked face and clenched fists haunting him. For the first time, he wasn't just reliving memories—he was watching the tragedy unfold.

And this time, he feared, it wasn't just history repeating. It was fate reclaiming its due

END OF CHAPTER

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Another puzzle piece just dropped—and the heartbreak runs deep. What would you do if you remembered a love from another lifetime... but they forgot you every time? 💔 Leave your thoughts below and don't forget to tap that ⭐ and comment your theory! Let's unravel this mystery together!