Fossils of Memory

Chapter 9

Chris was waiting by her locker when she finally returned to school two days later. The hallway was already half empty—the lunch bell had rung minutes ago—but he hadn't moved. He stood with his hands in his pockets, his eyes locked on her with quiet concern.

"You disappeared," he said.

Rhiana didn't look at him. She spun the dial on her locker, pretending her fingers weren't trembling. "Wasn't feeling well."

"You've missed three days. And you don't answer your phone."

"I needed space."

Chris exhaled, stepping closer. "I get that. But I've been worried about you, Rhiana. Ever since that night at Angela's... you've been off. Distant. Scared."

Her locker door creaked open. She stared at the books inside but didn't reach for any.

"I don't know what's happening to me," she whispered.

He waited, not pressing.

She glanced sideways at him. "You ever feel like... you're living someone else's memories?"

Chris blinked. "What?"

Rhiana shut her locker. "Never mind."

But he stopped her. "No, wait. I'm listening. You just caught me off guard."

She hesitated. Then looked him in the eyes.

"I dream of things I've never lived. Places I've never seen. People I've never met. But I remember them. Like I've been there. Like I was them. And it's not just dreams anymore. It's bleeding into everything. I found something. Something important."

Chris's brow furrowed. "What kind of something?"

Rhiana swallowed. "A box."

And just like that, the air between them changed. Chris didn't speak, but something flickered across his face—something unreadable. Not disbelief. Not mockery.

Recognition.

They sat on a bench behind the school, away from the windows and the noise of lunch period. Rhiana told him everything. The dreams. The woman in red. The paintings. The box. Every strange moment she had buried inside her finally spilled out into the open.

Chris didn't interrupt once.

When she finished, she waited for him to laugh. Or call her crazy. Or walk away.

Instead, he asked, "Do you think this Monica is... you?"

"I don't know," she said. "But I feel like she's trying to get through to me. Like I'm supposed to remember something she couldn't finish."

He nodded slowly. "And the box?"

"It won't open," she said. "But it's exactly the one from my dreams. Same shape. Same markings. It's real. I'm not imagining it."

Chris looked down at his hands. "My grandmother used to believe in past lives. She'd talk about echoes—how sometimes, strong emotions could leave imprints. On places. On people. On objects."

Rhiana stared at him. "You believe in that?"

"I didn't. But lately... I'm not sure anymore."

His words hung in the air.

She studied him. "You're not surprised by any of this. Why?"

He hesitated. "Because you're not the only one who's been having strange dreams."

Rhiana's breath caught. "What do you mean?"

Chris looked up, his voice low. "I see a girl. In snow. Running. Someone's chasing her. She's carrying something small and red. And I feel... desperate. Like I'm trying to get to her before it's too late."

Rhiana's blood ran cold.

The box. The snow. Monica.

They were connected.

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" she asked.

"Same reason you didn't," he said softly. "I thought I was losing my mind."

They sat in silence, their worlds tilting slowly toward one another.

When the bell rang, neither of them moved.

That night, Rhiana opened her closet and pulled out the box. It still refused to open. She turned it over in her hands, examining the base, the edges, the circle on top. Her fingers traced the carved pattern, and for a moment, she thought she heard something click.

She held her breath.

Nothing happened.

But the whisper returned.

Low. Distant. Inside her head.

He buried the truth with me.

Her hands trembled.

She clutched the box to her chest.

If Chris had seen the same visions... then maybe he wasn't just a part of her life now.

Maybe he'd been part of her story all along.