Prologue
DEIANNE
It’s funny how places stay the same, even when people change. The air inside the Arts and Sciences building smells just as I remembered it—a mix of old wood, floor polish, and that faint, inexplicable scent of paper that’s been left to age. But the faces I once knew here have all changed, grown, moved on.
Or maybe it’s just me.
“It’s truly an honor to have you back, Ms. Fabregas,” says Professor Gene Marzo, the dean of Arts and Sciences, his warm smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. He extends his hand, the weight of his words catching me off guard. “We’re thrilled that you’ve chosen our university and its students to be part of your first professional project.”
I return his smile, taking his hand in a brief shake as we rise from our seats. “Thank you, Dean Marzo, and thanks again for meeting me today. This is where I first fell in love with theatre, so it feels only fitting to make it the home of my debut project. The university and the theatre have always held a special place in my heart.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” he replies warmly. “Please know that everyone in the Communication Arts department is ready to support you, and Alvin here will make sure you have all the assistance you need from the guild.” He gestures toward the student standing beside me. “Alvin, as guild president, I’m entrusting you to ensure everything runs smoothly for Dei’s project. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Alvin responds without hesitation. He glances my way, offering a polite smile.
“Good. Well, Dei, I won’t keep you any longer. Are you heading home?”
“Not just yet, sir,” I reply. “I thought I’d walk around the campus for a bit, visit some of the places I used to frequent as a student…”
“Ah, a walk down memory lane,” he says, a thoughtful smile softening his expression. “I trust you had nothing but fond memories here?”
I mirror his smile but keep my response to myself, a polite silence stretching between us. He seems to sense the weight of my unspoken words and nods.
“Well, off you go,” he says. “And don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything.”
With a small nod, I head toward the door, and Alvin falls into step beside me. Outside in the corridor, he meets my gaze with an easy, unhurried smile that matches his relaxed demeanor.
“Are you gonna be okay going around on your own, Miss Fabregas?” he asks, his voice sweet with a hint of playful concern.
“Yes, thank you. And please, call me Dei. I think I’m only a few years older than you,” I reply, suppressing a grin.
He chuckles, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, Dei it is. I’d ask you to call me Ava, but you might think that’s too weird.”
I laugh. “I’ll call you Ava if that’s what you want.”
His laughter mirrors mine as he ducks his head shyly. “Well, I must go. I have another class in ten minutes,” he says, glancing at his watch. “So, the guild will see you for the meeting at 10:30 tomorrow?”
“Yes, I’ll be here by 10.”
“Great, see you then,” he says, turning to sashay his way through the corridor.
I watch him disappear into the crowd. Then I draw a deep breath, mentally bracing myself for the flood of memories and emotions waiting to ambush me on this walk down memory lane. I shrug my bag closer to my side and start down the familiar halls.
Students sit in clusters on the floor, chatting or scrolling through their phones, and the sight fills me with a bittersweet nostalgia. The classrooms hum with lessons, their glimpses through the glass panes on the doors are like snapshots from a time I can still feel but can no longer touch—moments of a life that I used to know.
I step out of the Arts Building and the February wind greets me. It’s strong and insistent, tangling my hair into a chaotic mess. I duck my head, shielding my face from the gust, and when it dies down, I carefully tuck the wayward strands of hair behind my ear.
That’s when I see him.
He’s standing several feet away, camera in hand, its lens trained in my direction. The world seems to tilt for a moment, the wind silencing in my ears as I take him in.
I recognize him instantly. Even after all these years, there’s no mistaking him. He looks… the same. Not entirely, of course. His chest and shoulders are broader, his arms more defined, as if the past seven years have subtly refined him. But his face and stance remain the same, untouched by time, as though the years between us never happened.
His recognition follows and panic balls up in my chest. His camera lowers slightly, and for a split second, the noise of the park fades into nothing as our eyes meet. I feel like I’m caught in a spotlight, and my body tenses, every instinct screaming for me to leave before the past consumes me all over again.
So I turn. Without a word, without looking back, I walk away. My steps are quick and deliberate, as though putting distance between us could somehow calm the chaos he’s set loose within me.
AIDEN
I hadn’t planned to leave the faculty room so soon. My next class isn’t for two hours, and I’d been hoping for some quiet. But the students in the photography club I handle had other plans.
“Come on, Sir Aiden, you promised,” Leila pleads, her arms folded across her chest as she blocks the doorway.
“That’s right, sir,” Carlo adds with a grin. “We’ve been waiting weeks for good weather, and it’s finally here.”
Their chatter blends into a symphony of persistence, and even Mrs. Andrada, from her desk, chimes in with an exasperated glare. “Just go, Aiden. Let me finish my lesson plan in peace.”
With a sigh, I grab my camera and wave them out the door. “Fine. Let’s head to the park.”
The group disperses the moment we arrive, each of them diving into their personal photography projects. I linger near the Arts Building, the strong February wind turning everything into a living portrait. The gusts send leaves dancing, the students’ laughter mixing with the sound of shutters clicking.
I’m lining up a shot of a group playing guitar when I notice her. The wind catches her hair, whipping it into wild waves as she steps out of the building. She ducks her head and raises a hand to shield her face, and I instinctively turn my lens toward her, drawn to the candid beauty of the moment.
Then something shifts as I watch her through the viewfinder. She lowers her hand, moving it to tuck some strands of windblown hair behind her ear, and my breath catches. The gesture feels achingly familiar. Her features come into focus and a jolt of recognition hit me like a tidal wave.
Deianne.
What are you doing here? My mind whispers as I lower the camera, my heart pounding in my ears. For a moment, the park and its noise disappear. She stands there, impossibly real, as if the years between us never existed.
She sees me, too. Her expression shifts—a flicker of recognition passing over her face before her body tensed, as though she was caught in a spotlight. And then, like a thread snapping, she turns and starts walking away with a quiet urgency.
My throat tightens, the pain of the past resurfacing, and before I can second guess myself, I start chasing after her.
I catch up to her near the pavilion. ““Dei…” I call, grabbing her elbow gently to stop her.
She whips around and for a moment, I forget how to breathe. She’s still as beautiful as I remember, unchanged in so many ways… And yet, there’s something different about her. There’s something new, something subtle that I can’t place, and it tugs painfully at my chest.
I exhale a shaky breath, my emotions threatening to spill over as I lock eyes with her. “Dei, it’s been seven years,” I say, my voice unwavering despite the storm raging inside me. “Are you not done running away from me?”
