He didn't remember walking into the garden, but he was already sitting on a stone bench when he noticed her.
The girl was swaying back and forth on a rusted swing, its chains groaning gently as though they too were trying to speak. Her white dress fluttered softly at the edges, untouched by any wind. She wore no coat, no scarf—just those bright red shoes that looked too new for this place.
She seemed content to swing without looking at him.
He watched her for a while. The garden felt old. Like it had grown over something forgotten.
Eventually, he spoke. "Do I know you?"
The swing slowed. The creaking stopped.
"You always ask that," she said, without turning.
"I do?"
She nodded once, as if that was answer enough. Her voice was young, but it carried a calmness he couldn't place. Like she'd done this more times than he had.
"What is this place?" he asked.
"The in-between."
"In between what?"
She finally turned to face him. "Do you want the truth or the version you can live with?"
He frowned. "Is there a difference?"
She stood from the swing. The chains rattled like something pulling away underground.
She walked slowly toward him, her red shoes silent on the mossy stone path. When she stood close enough to touch, she tilted her head.
"You've been here a long time. But you always forget."
"I'm trying to remember," he said quietly.
"I know."
They sat in silence for a moment.
A bird chirped once, then didn't again.
She glanced down at the book in his lap. "You're only on the third page."
"It keeps changing."
She smiled faintly. "Not really. It just remembers differently every time."
He stared at her. "Why do I feel like I left someone behind?"
"You did," she said, without hesitation.
"Who?"
"You."
She rose again. "You'll ask me this again tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" he repeated.
She didn't answer. She was already walking back toward the swing.
He didn't remember closing his eyes, but when he opened them, the garden was empty.
The swing swayed gently.
The sky overhead had dimmed.
He looked down at his hands, thinking of her voice, of her face—something about her eyes.
And then he saw it.
Dark soil under his fingernails.
He hadn't touched the ground.
Had he?