A Tangled Memory

The faint glow of the city skyline washed over the rooftop garden where Jennifer stood, nursing a glass of wine. She felt out of place, a lone figure among the clusters of conversations that buzzed around her. The party had long since lost its initial allure, but she stayed, tethered by a vague sense of obligation. The air carried a faint chill, mingling with the scent of lavender and the distant hum of traffic below.

“Have we met before?”

The voice came from behind her, soft and measured, but familiar in a way that made her heart skip. She turned to find a man standing just a few feet away, his silhouette blurred by the dim ambient light. He was tall, with a mess of dark hair and eyes that flickered with something just out of reach — like the spark of a memory she couldn't quite grasp.

“I’m not sure,” Jennifer replied cautiously, eyeing him with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. She wasn’t used to people approaching her like this. "Maybe?”

The man stepped closer, coming into clearer view. He had a sort of rugged elegance about him, with a jawline sharp enough to chisel stone and the kind of quiet confidence that suggested he was rarely caught off guard. He smiled — a slow, deliberate movement, as if testing the waters.

“Your name is Jennifer, right?”

A cold shiver ran down her spine. Her name. The way he said it was so... familiar. It was as if he knew her — really knew her — but no matching face swam to the surface of her memory. There was only a vague flicker of recognition, like a word on the tip of her tongue that she couldn't quite place.

“Yes, but…” She hesitated. “I don’t think we’ve met. How do you know my name?”

The man paused for a moment, his gaze searching hers. He took a sip from his glass before speaking, as if the liquid courage would ease the tension building between them.

“Maybe I’m wrong," he said slowly, "but I swear I know you from somewhere. Something about your face, your eyes... it’s like a dream I’ve half-forgotten.”

Jennifer tilted her head, studying him more closely. There was something achingly familiar about him too — the way his brow furrowed slightly as he spoke, or how his fingers absentmindedly brushed the rim of his glass. But it wasn’t the kind of familiarity that came from meeting at a party or seeing each other in passing. It was something deeper, older, but maddeningly elusive.

“Maybe we crossed paths a long time ago,” she offered. “Where are you from?”

He smiled again, a little wistful this time. “All over, really. But originally from a small town near the coast. Spent most of my childhood near the water.”

Jennifer's heart stuttered. The coast. The water. It triggered something — an image of a wide, sandy beach with craggy rocks jutting out of the ocean. She blinked, the image flickering in and out like an old film reel. But it didn’t feel like a memory. It felt like a dream.

“I used to visit a beach like that when I was a kid,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “It was near a lighthouse. I remember playing in the tide pools and collecting shells with my brother. But that was years ago.”

His eyes darkened, as if something unspoken passed between them. “There was a lighthouse near my town too. Maybe we crossed paths there.”

“Maybe.” But she didn’t believe it, not really. This was more than a coincidence. Her instincts told her that much.

They stood in silence for a while, the noise of the party fading into the background as if the world had shrunk to just the two of them. Jennifer glanced down at her glass, realizing she’d been gripping it too tightly. She loosened her hold, taking a long, deliberate sip to calm her nerves.

“So,” she said finally, trying to break the tension, “what brings you to a rooftop party like this? Not exactly the usual spot for someone who seems... more introspective.”

He laughed, a low, warm sound that made her feel oddly at ease. “You’re not wrong. I don’t usually do parties, but a friend dragged me here. Said it’d be good for me.”

“And is it?”

“Too soon to tell,” he replied, his eyes meeting hers with a glint of humor. “But I’m glad I stayed long enough to meet you.”

Jennifer couldn’t help but smile. There was something about the way he spoke — so genuine, so direct — that it disarmed her usual defenses. For reasons she couldn’t explain, she wanted to know more about him. She wanted to understand why this stranger felt so familiar, why her chest tightened every time their eyes met.

“Maybe we did know each other in another life,” she joked, though her voice carried an edge of seriousness. “Maybe that’s why this feels... strange.”

He didn’t laugh this time. Instead, his expression grew more thoughtful, more intense. He stepped closer again, so close she could see the flecks of green in his hazel eyes.

“Do you believe in that?” he asked, his voice softer now, like a secret they were both sharing. “In past lives? In fate?”

Jennifer hesitated. She wasn’t one for mysticism or grand ideas about destiny, but something about this moment felt charged with meaning. The way her heart raced, the way her skin tingled with the weight of the question — it was as if her body knew something her mind couldn’t grasp.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve known you before. It’s... unsettling.”

The man reached out, as if to touch her arm, but stopped just short. His hand hovered in the space between them, a breath away from her skin.

“Maybe we have,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Or maybe we were always meant to meet, and this is just the first time it’s happening. Either way... I feel it too.”

Her heart pounded in her chest, and for a moment, Jennifer couldn’t speak. Her mind screamed at her to leave, but something — maybe that faint flicker of recognition — held her in place, anchored to the spot as if time itself demanded it. She wasn’t sure anymore.

“I should go,” she blurted out suddenly, the weight of the moment becoming too much. “It’s getting late.”

The man’s face flickered with something like disappointment, but he didn’t try to stop her. He just nodded, stepping back to give her space.

“I understand. But before you go...” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small card, handing it to her. “If you ever want to figure this out — whatever this is — call me.”

Jennifer took the card, her fingers brushing against his for the briefest moment. It felt like a spark — small but undeniable.

“I will,” she said, though she wasn’t sure if she meant it.

With that, she turned and walked away, her heart racing as she descended the stairs back into the night. But as she reached the bottom, she glanced down at the card in her hand.

Her breath caught in her throat.

There was no name on the card. No phone number. No contact information at all.

Just a single word, written in neat, looping handwriting.

Remember.

Jennifer stared at the word, her mind spinning. She turned the card over, but the back was blank.

And then, like a wave crashing over her, the memory hit her — sharp and clear, as if it had been waiting just beneath the surface.

A beach. A lighthouse. The sound of waves crashing against the rocks.

And him.

Standing there, waiting for her.

“Have we met before?”

The words echoed in her mind, but now she knew the answer.

Yes.

They had.

But it hadn’t been in this lifetime.

Not yet.