The morning light seeped through the heavy curtains, casting faint golden streaks across the room. Janet stirred in bed, her senses slowly sharpening as she became aware of the soft rustle of fabric and the distant hum of a city just waking up. The sheets were unfamiliar—crisp, cool, with a faint scent of cedarwood and aftershave.

She opened her eyes, staring at the ceiling fan that turned lazily above her. Not again, she thought, her lips curling into a wry smile. This wasn't her bed. And this wasn't the first time she had woken up in a stranger's home.

Rolling onto her side, she glanced at the man still asleep next to her. His broad shoulders were half-covered by the duvet, his breathing steady, his face calm, almost boyish in its repose. Last night's memory flickered in fragments—wine glasses clinking at the bar, the faint click of her heels on marble, a charming smile, and a confidence that had drawn her in like a moth to a flame.

But now, in the daylight, she felt none of the exhilaration from the night before. Janet sat up slowly, careful not to disturb him. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet touching the cool hardwood floor. A wave of déjà vu washed over her—this scene was all too familiar. The strangers changed, the settings changed, but the morning after always felt the same. Hollow.

As she reached for her scattered clothes, she caught sight of herself in the mirror across the room. Her reflection stared back—disheveled hair, smudged eyeliner, and eyes that seemed older than her thirty-something face. Much older. They held the weight of centuries, and no amount of makeup or charm could disguise it.

She sighed, pulling on her blouse and buttoning it absently. This wasn't the life she'd imagined for herself. But what else could she expect? A soul that had wandered the earth for over a thousand years wasn't exactly built for settling down.

Janet picked up her phone from the bedside table and checked the time. 6:42 a.m. Early enough to slip out unnoticed. She hesitated for a moment, glancing back at the man in the bed. His name was Mike, wasn't it? Or maybe Matt. It didn't matter. What mattered was that she leave before he woke up, before he started asking questions she didn't want to answer.

She slipped on her shoes and grabbed her bag. As she made her way to the door, she caught sight of a photograph on the dresser. It was a picture of him—Mike, she remembered now—with a group of colleagues, all smiles and suits against the backdrop of a sleek city skyline. Wall Street, she guessed. His world was as clean-cut and grounded as hers was chaotic and unmoored.

For a brief moment, she considered what it might be like to stay, to explain herself, to see if someone like him could ever understand someone like her. But before the thought could settle, a sudden vision overtook her.

In an instant, she saw herself sitting in a dimly lit bar, the air thick with conversation and clinking glasses. Mike was there, walking in with hurried steps, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on her. He looked tense, almost desperate, as though he'd come looking for her with something urgent to say. But surrounding her were several unfamiliar faces—strangers seated close by, their expressions unreadable, their presence unsettling. She didn't know them, but somehow, she knew they were important.

Her chest tightened as the vision faded. It wasn't a memory. It was the future. A future where she and this man would meet again under circumstances she couldn't yet understand.

Janet shook her head, trying to steady her thoughts. The pull of fate was undeniable, yet she couldn't help but feel a pang of dread. This wasn't just a fleeting encounter. Mike wasn't just another name to be forgotten.

She gripped the strap of her bag tighter and glanced at him one last time, still asleep and blissfully unaware of what lay ahead. Whatever was coming, she knew it wouldn't be simple—and she wasn't sure she was ready for it.

Janet stepped out onto the street, her heels clicking against the pavement as the city buzzed to life around her. The vision lingered in her mind, sharp and intrusive, like a fragment of a dream she couldn't shake off. The strangers' faces. The tension in Mike's expression. The way his presence had seemed urgent, like he had come to find her for something more than words.

But why? Why him, and why now?

She pulled her coat tighter, her breath visible in the crisp morning air. Visions had always come to her in flashes—glimpses of moments out of time, their meaning often unclear until it was too late. Sometimes they brought warnings; other times, they led to choices she couldn't avoid. But one thing was certain: they were never random.

As she turned the corner toward her apartment, the familiar weight of exhaustion settled over her. For most people, a vision like this would have been extraordinary, even terrifying. For Janet, it was just another thread in the tangled fabric of her existence.

She entered her building, the chipped paint on the lobby walls a comforting reminder of normalcy. The old elevator groaned as she stepped inside, pressing the button for her floor. As the doors closed, her mind wandered back to Mike. Something about him unsettled her—not in a bad way, but in a way that felt dangerous.

He wasn't like the others. She knew that now. The vision had made that clear. Whatever was between them wasn't going to be a fleeting encounter she could leave behind without consequence. And that scared her more than she wanted to admit.