Three knocks echoed through her apartment.

  Yara froze, her pulse quickening in her chest as she stood frozen by the door.

  A man stood on the other side, his figure tall, soaked by the rain, face hidden by a scarf.

  "Yara?"

  Her heart stumbled, recognition clawing at her throat.

  The voice was aged, deeper, but undeniably familiar.

  “It’s me.”

  The world tilted. Her knees gave way, and she collapsed against the wall, her breath catching in a painful gasp.

  The letter hadn’t lied. The whispers weren’t madness.

  The man before her was real. He was here.

  “But how are you real?” she whispered, her voice breaking.

  He stepped inside, trembling, soaked through but somehow still standing.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  “I never died,” he said softly, his voice hoarse. “I was institutionalized after… everything.”

  “Your rejection broke me,” he continued, his eyes locking onto hers with a mix of longing and pain. “But it also woke me.”

  Yara reached out, touching his hand as though she couldn’t believe he was truly there.

  His hand was warm, real, scarred — just like her.

  They stood in the middle of her apartment, neither one knowing where to begin.

  The years stretched out between them, each one heavy with unspoken words, with a silence that had taken on its own life.

  But here he was, standing before her, alive and whole in a way she had never imagined possible.

  "How do you even begin to heal something so broken?" Yara thought, her heart swelling and cracking all at once.