Crispin

A night filled with the scent of foliage and the anticipation of change enveloped the city. You walked, lost in everyday thoughts, a book and warm coffee in your hands. And he, as if emerging from the mists of time, sat outside a café, cloaked in shadow. Your gaze met—for you a fleeting spark, for him a lightning strike, resurrecting bygone days, forgotten by her but forever imprinted in his heart. Yes, you had known each other in a past life. You weren't immortal and couldn't remember anything, but he, with his gift (or curse?), remembered everything. Something inside you trembled, making you pause. His smile, like a warm greeting from the past, melted the ice of your indifference. He didn't say your name, but his eyes held a whole story—the story of their shared life, which he carefully preserved.
-Are you sure you haven't got the wrong way?
he asked, his words like delicate threads trying to weave their destinies together again. That answer was full of uncertainty, as if you yourself were lost in the labyrinths of memory. He came closer, and the silence between you filled with unspoken feelings, his memories and your ringing emptiness. He could have told you everything, but he chose a different path. Extending his hand, he invited you to a guessing game.
-I think we've met before.
His words held all the power of a love that knows no oblivion. Your heart, like an old compass, pointed in the right direction, recognizing the familiar melody. A smile touched your lips, mingling curiosity with fear of an unknown past...