Strings of Fate: The First Loop

CHAPTER 4

I didn’t wake all at once.

It was like rising slowly through water, the kind where the light above is soft and golden, and for a moment, I couldn’t tell if I was still dreaming or already awake. My body felt weightless, like I was floating, and the world around me was wrapped in a thick, honeyed quiet. Not silence exactly, but stillness.

Gentle.

Careful.

The dream was still clinging to me, and I let it.

I was standing in an open field, barefoot, the earth beneath my feet warm and alive. The grass brushed against my ankles: soft, dewy, like the edge of a memory I didn’t know I had. The sky above was the color of apricots and violet, stretched endlessly, painted with clouds that moved like they were breathing. Somewhere in the distance, there was birdsong, soft and slow, the kind that doesn’t interrupt the moment, but sinks deeper into it. I could taste the air, it was warm, a little sweet, like the scent of sun-dried linen or wildflowers caught in the breeze. Even the dust, golden and suspended, shimmered like magic, catching the fading light.

And then there he was.

The boy.

He wasn’t far away, just a few steps ahead, standing under the long shadow of a tree I don’t remember walking toward. I couldn’t see his face fully, not yet, but something about him felt… familiar. Not in the way you recognize someone you’ve met, but deeper, quieter, like when you hear the first few notes of a song you’ve forgotten you loved. Like nostalgia for something that hadn’t happened yet.

He turned slowly, and my breath caught.

His hand was already reaching out to me.

I didn’t hesitate.

When our fingers touched, it felt electric, but not in a startling way. It was warm, grounding. Real. I could feel the callouses on his palm, the slight tremble in his fingertips, and something in my chest tightened, not in pain, but in awe. I looked up at him, and for the first time, our eyes met.

His were deep. Not just in color, but in meaning. Like they held stories I hadn’t lived yet. Like they saw through all the noise I carried in me. My walls didn’t go up. They didn’t need to. There was no judgment in his gaze. Only quiet understanding and something else I didn’t have words for yet.

I smiled, without thinking.

And he smiled back. Just a small one. Just enough.

Then he spoke.

I remember the sound of his voice more than the words. It was soft, the kind of voice you’d want to hear in the dark when you’re afraid. Calming. He said something, I think it was “I’ll see you on the outside,” or maybe it was “you’re not alone on the other side.” I wish I could have held onto the words, captured them in my palms like water. But they slipped through, leaving only warmth and the weight of something unfinished.

I wanted to ask him who he was. Why I felt like I already knew him. Why it felt like I belonged in that moment, in that place, in that dream.

But before I could, the world around us began to shift.

The golden light flickered. The colors drained from the sky like spilled paint down a canvas. The warmth on my skin began to fade, replaced by the cool bite of waking reality. Even the grass beneath my feet began to dissolve, and the air, once sweet, turned thin.

I didn’t want to leave.

Not yet.

But I was being pulled, slowly, gently, like the tide pulling a shell back into the sea.