That night, rain fell softly over Vaughn Manor's roof. A gentle spring shower, yet enough to create a soothing patter against the windows.
In their bedroom, Celeste stood before the vanity, wearing a silk nightgown the color of pale blue. Her hair cascaded loosely, slightly disheveled after a day of unexpected revelations.
Alistair sat on the edge of the bed, still in his unbuttoned white shirt. He watched his wife silently before murmuring, "You're still unsettled."
Celeste studied her reflection. "I feel like… two parts of me are quietly at war."
"The part you know now… and the part slowly resurfacing from the past?" Alistair guessed.
She nodded.
With quiet steps, Alistair approached and embraced her from behind. His face rested against her shoulder, his hands gently clasping her waist.
"Whatever happened between you and that man… I don't care. All I know is you chose *me*. That's enough."
Celeste covered his hands with hers. "Do you know what frightens me most?"
"What?"
"Not the lost memories. But… discovering I once loved someone else before knowing you."
Alistair went still.
Celeste met their intertwined gazes in the mirror. "What if my feelings for him were as deep as what I feel for you now?"
Alistair didn't answer. Instead, he pressed a long, warm kiss to her neck before whispering, "Then I'd fall in love with you twice. Because you loved with your whole heart before… and chose to love me again now."
Celeste closed her eyes, her chest full. Yet something gnawed deep within her mind… something she couldn't ignore.
---
That night, she fell asleep in Alistair's arms.
And there, the dream came.
She stood in a mist-laced forest. Towering trees surrounded her, rain dripping softly from their leaves. In the distance, a small wooden house glowed faintly through its window.
She stepped inside.
A cup of tea steamed on the table… and the bespectacled man sat with his back to her, reading.
"Salvius…?" she murmured.
He turned slowly. His eyes were the same as the man who'd visited the shop earlier.
"You've returned," he said with a soft smile. "I kept time for you."
Celeste approached, her pulse unsteady.
On the table, she saw sketches—drawings of herself smiling, sitting by the fireplace, drowning in an oversized sweater.
"This is… me?"
"The you from before," dream-Salvius answered. "Who danced in the rain and recited poetry over instant soup."
"Why don't I remember any of it?"
Salvius didn't reply.
Suddenly, the cabin's ceiling collapsed. Darkness swallowed everything.
Celeste woke with a gasp.
Her breath came ragged. Her fingers clawed the sheets. Her heart pounded wildly.
Alistair still slept soundly beside her.
Celeste sat up slowly, then walked to the desk where the journal lay. She opened it. Reread each line she'd written years ago.
One passage stood out:
*"I'm afraid of someday choosing between love… and survival."*
Celeste shut her eyes.
She knew these dream fragments… weren't just figments.
They were calls from a past beginning to unfold—and perhaps, it wouldn't stop until every truth was laid bare.
---
Morning arrived with a thin mist veiling Vaughn Manor's gardens. Birds sang softly, as if reluctant to disturb the tranquility lingering between the dew and pale sky.
Celeste sat by the window, a light blanket draped over her shoulders. Steam curled from the teacup in her hands. The old journal lay open in her lap, her fingers tracing each sentence carefully, as if piecing together a shattered self.
Part of her wanted to forget it all—the dreams, Salvius, the letters from the past. But another part… thirsted for answers. For wholeness.
Footsteps approached.
"I knew you never slept again after three," Alistair's voice was quiet. He stood in the doorway, hair still tousled, wearing a thin black sweater and lounge pants.
Celeste glanced over. "Sorry if I woke you."
"Not you. A man's heart has its own alarm when it loves someone this madly," Alistair murmured, joining her.
He took the half-finished tea and sipped.
"Did you dream again?"
Celeste nodded faintly. "There was a forest. A wooden house. Hot tea. And… him."
Alistair exhaled deeply, bowing his head briefly.
"I know this isn't easy," Celeste continued. "I don't want you to feel sidelined. But something inside me trembles… as if I'll shatter if I don't uncover it all."
"Celeste," Alistair said softly, meeting her gaze directly, "I love you not because you're perfect or without a past. I love you because I want to be part of every version of you—even the one searching for answers."
Celeste stared. Her eyes glistened.
"I'll never tell you to stop searching," Alistair went on. "But let me walk beside you as you do. Even if the answers hurt me."
Celeste reached out. Alistair clasped her hand tightly.
"I'm not going anywhere," Celeste vowed hoarsely. "But… I need to know who I was before the wounds. What made me run from my past. And why… Salvius remained alone all this time."
Alistair lowered his head, then smirked faintly. "If he's still alone, it's because he knew you were the only one he ever truly loved."
Celeste chuckled weakly. "You're not jealous?"
"Jealous," Alistair admitted. "But I'm not a child. I'm more afraid of losing you to the parts of yourself you don't know."
He stood, kissing her forehead gently before adding, "You can remember, as long as you still come home to me."
Celeste nodded, then rose and hugged him tightly.
And as their embrace warmed them, Celeste's gaze drifted to the window—where the morning sky was beginning to break through the clouds.
One thing was clear now: the answers couldn't be found in the journal's pages alone.
Celeste would have to face her past, not just through dreams… but in reality.
And she knew… that meant seeing Salvius again.