Strings of Fate: The First Loop

CHAPTER 21

So I’ll stay.

Even if she disappears version by version, I’ll stay.

And maybe that won’t fix her.
Maybe love doesn’t fix people.
But maybe love is just what you leave the light on for, in case they ever want to come home.

I let my lamp stay illuminating my room.

The fan kept humming.

And I kept praying silently, not for a miracle.

Just for strength to stay.

I must’ve drifted off somewhere between the fan's hum and the silence of unanswered prayers.

And then the dream came again.

Her.

The girl I still don’t know, but feel like I’ve always known. The one who lives in a place my mind forgets but my soul keeps reaching for. This time, she wasn’t beside me. We weren’t almost touching like before.

She was far now.

Standing in the middle of the ocean, alone, like how Jesus stood in the water when Peter doubted. But this wasn’t a story of faith. This was something else. Her arms were outstretched, not for glory, not in miracle, but in desperation.

I called to her. Tried to move. My legs fought the waves, arms slicing through the water.

I swam hard.

But every inch I gained, something unseen pulled me back to the shore.

Again.
Again.
Again.

Until I was gasping, stranded, kneeling beside a rock planted deep into the sand. My name carved into it like a gravestone.

James Andrew Gray.

She screamed then.

My name.

And I tried, God, I tried to answer. To swim. To break whatever held me back.

But before I could move again, a wave taller than any I’ve ever seen swallowed her whole. Like she never existed at all.

I woke up with a startle.
Sweaty.
Breathless.
Mouth dry like I’d swallowed sand and saltwater.

I sat up and buried my face in my palms. The dream still clung to my skin like seaweed.

I reached for my phone.

Typed out something simple.

“Good morning sunshine.”

I stared at it. Hit send.

Because maybe she needed a lifeline too.

---

A few minutes passed. The screen lit up.

A picture.

Betty. In the kitchen, spatula in hand, eggs still runny in the pan. Her hair was down, slightly messy. Her smile, not quite there.

“Breakfast?”
She added a fried egg emoji.

I stared at her picture longer than I should’ve. Not because she looked perfect, but because she didn’t. And that felt like a pang of pain on my restless heart.

I smiled. Not the kind you show in public. The kind that happens when you see someone praying through their actions, cooking breakfast, sending a photo, answering your message.

A smile that knows someone is losing faith… but still kneels in the church anyway.

I set the phone down.