Serendipitous Encounters

(Sensitive content: Suggestion of molestation)

As Sarah slipped into her business suit, she had an odd thought—what if she saw the woman again today? 

For the past few weeks, the stranger had appeared as she went about her business. The woman had stood on the subway during her commute, sat in the corner of her favorite café, and attended the same concert as Sarah. The woman, about Sarah’s age, who always dressed in professional clothes, had become a fixture in her thoughts. Her black hair was neatly tied back, her glasses framing sharp, observant eyes that studied her surroundings with intensity. Sarah couldn’t explain it, but every time she saw her, she felt a jolt of recognition.

At first, Sarah disregarded the sightings as coincidences. She worked in a large city, and it wasn’t unusual to see familiar faces now and then. But as the sightings continued, that initial shrug of indifference shifted to something unsettling. She had a nagging sense that she knew this woman and had a bond with her.

As the subway car rattled toward her office, Sarah scanned passengers’ faces, half-expecting the woman to be there, watching her. When she finally reached her desk, her colleague Emma greeted her with a friendly wave.

“Sarah, you seem distracted,” Emma remarked as Sarah removed her coat and put her purse away in a drawer.

Unsure if she should bring it up, Sarah said, “I keep seeing this woman around. Strange . . . It’s like we’ve crossed paths too many times for it to be an accident.”

Emma’s eyebrows rose. “Déjà vu? Maybe you knew her in a past life.”

Sarah chuckled. “Come on, Emma, you know I don’t believe in that stuff.”

But even as she said it, her mind drifted back to the woman. The rest of the business day passed in a blur, Sarah's thoughts anchored to the mystery that had become rooted in her life.

That afternoon, she spotted her again. The woman sat in a corner of her usual café, a book in hand, but her eyes flicked up every few minutes, as if she expected someone to arrive. Sarah’s pulse quickened. She fought the urge to approach her. And then, again at church on Sunday morning—there she was. The woman stood in the back, her head bowed in prayer.

By now, the feeling was undeniable. It wasn’t coincidence. It was something deeper. Something she didn’t fully understand.

That evening, the pier stretched out into the twilight as Sarah walked along the wooden planks, the soft rustling of the waves against the shore mingling with the quiet hum of the city. She came here often, to think and escape the hectic demands of her career. But tonight, her thoughts were occupied by the woman—Lily, as Sarah had finally learned from overheard snippets of conversation at church. The breeze picked up, carrying with it the scent of saltwater, as the horizon darkened to a deep indigo.

And then she saw her.

Lily stood at the edge of the pier, her back to Sarah, her silhouette illuminated by the last remnants of daylight. Sarah’s breath caught in her throat, but this time, she wasn’t going to walk away. Something told her that if she didn’t face this now, she never would.

She approached, her footsteps soft against the worn wood. “I’m Sarah,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. “I’ve seen you around. I feel like . . . I should know you.”

Lily turned, and for a moment, they stood in silence, eyes locked. “I’m Lily,” she replied, her voice quiet. “And I’ve noticed you too. More than that—I’ve seen you in my dreams.”

Sarah’s heart skipped. Dreams? Her pulse raced, a chill creeping up her spine.

Lily hesitated, then spoke again, her voice low. “It sounds crazy, I know. But it’s true. In my dreams, I see you . . . and a forest. A storm rages, and we’re running from something. Something terrible.”

Sarah’s mind reeled. “I’ve had dreams like that too. A forest, a storm . . . being chased.” Her voice shook as the words tumbled out. She had thought they were only nightmares, but now the images that had haunted her sleep took on a terrifying new significance.

The next morning, Sarah and Lily sat in the cramped office of a local historian. Dusty bookshelves lined the walls, and a musty smell hung in the air. The historian, a woman in her late sixties with gray hair pulled into a bun, peered at them over her thick glasses as they recounted their strange connection and the unsettling dreams that bound them together.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve heard of such things,” the historian said, her fingers running over a leather-bound book. She paused on a page, her eyes scanning the faded text. “Years ago, there was a summer camp outside the city. It was abruptly shut down after a series of . . . troubling incidents. No official records remain, but there have been rumors for years.”

Lily leaned forward, her knuckles white. “What kind of rumors?”

“Stories of children disappearing. Strange occurrences, people seeing figures in the woods. Some say it was haunted. But the truth—well, it was buried along with the camp. A factory occupies the land today.”

Sarah’s chest tightened. As the historian spoke, memories Sarah had long suppressed began to surface, flashes of sunlight filtering through dense trees, the sound of wind howling through the branches, and a figure—tall, imposing—sliding with stealth in the shadows toward her and her friend on sleeping bags in a tent.

“We were there,” Lily whispered, her voice trembling. “I remember now. We were at that camp.”

The words hung in the air, accusing. Sarah realized with a sickening clarity that Lily was right. “Now I remember,” she said. “You were in the Chipmunk group, and I was in the Groundhogs We played volleyball against you. A camp counselor coached us” She knew now that the dreams were more than dreams—they were fragments of a forgotten past. A past they had shared. A past that held something terrible.

The following evening, Sarah and Lily stood at the entrance of a cemetery at the edge of the city. They had tracked down the camp counselor’s name—James Turner. He had died years ago, and his grave was here, among rows of weathered headstones. The air was cool and still, a thin mist curling between the stones as the sun dipped below the horizon.

Sarah’s hands trembled as they approached his grave, which was simple, unadorned—a name and a date. The man who had haunted their dreams and shaped their nightmares lay beneath the earth, his presence reduced to nothing more than a name carved in stone.

“I thought I’d feel something more,” Sarah whispered, her voice barely audible. “But I just feel . . . empty.”

Lily knelt beside the grave, her hands clasped in prayer. “We need to forgive him,” she said, though her voice shook with the effort of speaking the words.

Sarah’s chest tightened. “Forgive him? After what he did?”

“Not for him. For us.” Lily’s eyes were filled with tears. “If we don’t, he still controls us. We need to let go.”

They held hands and bowed their heads in prayer. Their words were soft and trembling as they prayed for a release, and for courage to release the pain they had carried for so long. They prayed for the strength and heart to forgive, even though it felt impossible. As the words left their lips, Sarah felt something shift inside her—a crack in the wall of anger and grief she had built around her heart.

It wasn’t a sudden release. The pain didn’t disappear all at once. But in that moment, standing together in the quiet cemetery, they began to heal.

As they left the graveyard, Sarah’s heart felt lighter, as if the weight she had carried for so long had finally begun to lift. And though the future still felt uncertain, she knew that together with her new-found friend, they could face whatever came next.