Julian hesitates. He's not sure if he's ready to talk about the strange encounter with Grace—the woman who looks exactly like Hannah from a century ago. Eugene has never seen Hannah, but he knows all about her, as Julian used to talk about her a lot in the past. And though Julian has never stopped loving Hannah, there's something about Grace that feels like a new twist on an old story.
"Come on. You can share anything with me," Eugene says, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips, urging Julian to open up.
Julian lets out a faint laugh—dry, like he's already surrendered to something he doesn't fully understand. Inside, his heart pounds with the weight of something unsaid. He aches to tell someone. To talk about her. Grace. And Hannah. Even as his mind warns him to stay quiet, his heart won't.
"Well…" he begins, a hesitant smile tugging at his lips.
He turns the bottle in his hands, staring into the clarity of the glass as if it might reveal something.
"I actually met a girl…"
Eugene leans forward, eyes widening.
"A girl?"
Julian chuckles, a little more alive now.
"Yeah. She was in danger—some drunk gangster was harassing her. I was just on my way back from the mission."
"Okay…"
Eugene nods slowly, fully present.
"So I knocked the guy out, obviously. And that's when I saw her face."
Eugene blinks, waiting.
"And then…?"
Julian hesitates.
His voice drops a bit. "She looked…" he exhales. "So much like Hannah. Almost identical, to my eyes."
"…What?"
Eugene squints, confusion washing over his face.
"Are you sure? Maybe it was just… I mean, you've missed her for so long. Maybe your mind's just…" He trails off, studying Julian. "Maybe your heart's still holding on. Maybe you just saw what you wanted to see."
Julian lets out another laugh—this one quieter, more hollow. He shakes his head.
"I thought so too. But then I met her again. She's enrolled in my class. The one that just started today."
Eugene blinks.
"Wait. She's at your school?"
Julian nods.
"Yeah. A master's student. Different major, but she signed up for my elective."
"Wow…"
Eugene rubs the back of his neck, clearly rattled.
"I mean, can I see her? A photo, maybe?"
Julian chuckles under his breath.
Eugene pushes. "You must have her picture in the student profile or something, right? I mean, I know Hannah's face from the photos. Maybe I could tell…" But then he pauses, shoulders sagging. "Never mind. What would I know? I never saw Hannah in real life anyway. I wasn't even born back then. You'd know better than anyone."
Julian says nothing, just gazes into the glass again—eyes distant, heavy with thought.
"There's something else," he says at last. "In Mellany, the street where I first met Grace…" He pauses, searching for words. "It's the same place. The same street where I first met Hannah."
Eugene's jaw falls slightly. He looks stunned.
"That's… that's impossible."
Julian gives a low laugh, as if the absurdity of it all is somehow comforting.
"I know. The street looks completely different now—new buildings, new signs. It's been a century. But still…"
Eugene just shakes his head, caught somewhere between disbelief and awe.
"How is this even possible?"
Julian doesn't answer.
Eugene leans forward, his voice sharper now. "Well, what are you going to do about this then?"
Julian looks up, eyes dim but sincere, and offers a powerless smile.
"What can I do…? It's probably just a—"
"No, it's not a coincidence," Eugene interrupts, firm. "Come on. You know that. There's no such thing as coincidence in this world."
Julian opens his mouth, then closes it again.
"I mean, look at me," Eugene presses on, passion rising in his voice. "Me working at the Society as a secret agent and meeting you—that wasn't random. Even now, I've retired from that life, and what am I doing? I'm a photographer. Still capturing truth. Still drawn to moments that matter. Even this conversation—it's not by chance. This is… this is divine, June."
Julian nods with a soft smile, almost as if humoring him.
"Right. You're right," he says, but it's more out of politeness than belief.
Because in his mind, none of this makes sense. None of it sits right. He doesn't want it to.
He wants Hannah to stay Hannah.
Untouched. Unduplicated. Unmixed.
He doesn't want some new girl—no matter how much she looks like her—to blur the lines. He doesn't want Grace to confuse what he still holds so sacred. Because Hannah wasn't just someone he loved in the past. She is still love, even now. Even after a hundred years. Time may have shifted the world, but not what he feels.
Eugene's voice cuts through again. "So what are you going to do about Grace?"
Julian shrugs, slow and hesitant. "...Nothing, I guess."
"No, no, June. You can't do nothing," Eugene says, urgency blooming in his tone.
At the sound of his real name—June—Julian flinches, just a little. It's soft, but enough. He feels exposed. Vulnerable. Real. Something in him cracks open at the sound of it, like an old door remembering how to creak.
"You have to catch this girl, Grace," Eugene says, leaning forward with conviction. "She might be linked to—"
He stops mid-sentence, eyes flicking to Julian's face.
And Julian doesn't say a word, but the message in his eyes is loud and clear.
Don't. Don't connect her to Hannah.
Eugene exhales, the realization sinking in. He knows how deeply Julian loved her—still loves her—and that some lines aren't his to cross.
"Okay…" Eugene says quietly. "I'm sorry. I think I just overstepped."
Julian shakes his head gently.
"No, no. I understand what you're trying to say. It's just that…"
He trails off, gaze dropping to the crystal-clear glass on the table. He stares into it like it might show him the answers he can't find in himself.
Eugene softens. "I guess I was just geeked out. I mean, you meet a girl who looks almost exactly like Hannah… I know how much she's still with you, even now. But hey, whatever choice you make, I respect it."
"Thanks," Julian murmurs, a small, tired smile forming. "So—enough of this talk. Shall we move on to your proposal plan?"
The mood lifts slightly as Julian shifts gears, pulling from his professional instincts. They spend the next couple hours sketching out Eugene's proposal—camera angles, lighting, locations with emotional weight. Julian offers artistic ideas Eugene hadn't considered, and together they weave something beautiful.
By the time the clock inches toward 11 p.m., Eugene stretches his arms and stands with a quiet yawn.
"I'm sorry. You must be sleepy," he says. "Unlike me, opening the studio at 10, you've got class by—what? Nine?"
Julian walks with him toward the door.
"No, it's all right. I've only got an afternoon lecture tomorrow, so I can sleep in a little."
Eugene opens the door, half-turned back. Julian leans in the doorway, watching.
"Well, I'll get going then."
"Good night, Eugene. And congratulations again," Julian says, his voice warm.
"Thanks, June."
Eugene looks at him for a moment longer, more serious now.
"You know… I genuinely want you to be happy. You know that, right?"
Julian meets his gaze, and for a moment, there's nothing between them but the long weight of friendship.
"I know. Thank you. Really."
He watches Eugene disappear down the hallway, then close the door gently behind him.
Back inside, the apartment feels quieter than before.
Julian sinks into the sofa and tilts his head back, staring at the ceiling—but it isn't long before the image of Grace's face drifts into his thoughts again. And this time, he can't tell if it's her… or Hannah.
"Lord…" he whispers, rubbing his face with both hands, long and thin fingers trembling slightly. "What should I do…"
He stays like that for a while, caught between two timelines. Two faces. One heart.
The next morning, Julian walks leisurely across the campus, the summer breeze threading softly through the trees, warm against his skin. The light hum of cicadas buzzes in the distance, and the world feels purple—slow, as if suspended in a gentle dream.
A few students notice him and call out as they pass.
"Hi! Good morning, Professor!"
Julian lifts a hand, offering a calm wave and a soft smile.
"Morning."
At his smile, a few of the girls break into shy, happy laughter, their energy light as they move on, whispering among themselves.
Julian walks on, nearing the faculty building. That's when he sees them.
Not far off—maybe across the quad—Grace and Harry stroll side by side, chatting as they cross the green.
Grace is wearing a striking red cardigan, effortlessly elegant and casual with her mini bag dangling from her wrist and a laptop clutched to her chest.
It's that girl, Grace, again.
Julian's chest tightens—subtle, but immediate. His pace slows, a reflexive shift that he doesn't quite control. His expression flattens, transforming into a mask of calm composure, honed through years of practice, trained and careful.