The cafeteria roared with noise—an ocean of voices crashing together in endless waves. Trays clattered against counters, chairs screeched across the floor, shoes squeaked against linoleum. The smell of soy sauce, fried oil, and steamed rice clung thick in the air.
Leo sat at the far edge of a table pressed against the wall, his tray in front of him like a shield. Rice gone cold. Soup untouched. Chopsticks idle in his hand. He lowered his head and picked at the grains, pretending to eat, though his throat refused every bite.
It didn't matter how carefully he pretended. Everyone noticed anyway.
A new student, sitting alone. Easy bait for whispers.
He felt them ripple at his back—murmurs just loud enough to reach him. His name, or maybe not his name, hissing from corners of the room.
The scrape of chairs dragged louder than the rest. Heavy footsteps cut through the din, each one purposeful. They stopped across from him.
"Alright." The voice was deep, steady, almost a growl. "Who the hell are you?"
Leo froze, chopsticks halfway to his lips. He looked up slowly.
The tall boy from class towered over him, broad shoulders blocking out the overhead light. His arms were crossed, his jaw set hard, suspicion carved into every line of his face.
Beside him stood the girl. Her stance wasn't as sharp, but her eyes were. They searched his face with a quiet, piercing intent that made Leo's chest tighten.
His mouth went dry. "I… I'm Leo. Leo Silva."
The boy snorted, shaking his head like he'd heard a bad joke. "Don't mess with me."
"I'm not joking." Leo hated how small his voice sounded, how much it trembled.
The girl tilted her head, her gaze softening but not letting go. "Leo Silva disappeared seven years ago. Everyone knows that. He just… vanished. No one's seen him since."
"That's me," Leo blurted. "I didn't vanish, I—" He cut himself off. How could he explain? A coma? Seven years of silence? It sounded like a fairy tale even to him. "I'm telling the truth."
The boy leaned forward, palms pressing against the table, his presence looming. "You think you can just walk in here, use that name, and what? Pretend to be him?"
Leo flinched, his pulse spiking. "Why would I lie?"
"Because he's gone," the boy snapped. "And you're not him."
The girl touched the boy's arm, steadying him. Her eyes never left Leo. "If you are him… prove it."
The words landed like a stone in Leo's stomach.
Prove it.
His fingers curled against the tray. His mind scrambled through fog, chasing memories that slipped away whenever he reached for them. What could he possibly say?
Then something flickered—like sunlight through leaves. A river. The smell of wet mud. Cold water swallowing him whole.
His breath hitched.
"The river," he whispered before he could stop himself.
The boy's brows furrowed. "What?"
"The day we went fishing," Leo said, louder this time. His voice trembled, but the memory burned clear. "We didn't have real rods. We used plastic bottles with strings tied around them. You said we'd catch more that way."
The girl's lips parted. She leaned closer, her eyes shining with sudden urgency. "Go on."
Leo swallowed hard, the cafeteria fading around him. "I slipped on the rocks. Fell straight into the water." The chill of it flooded back, raising goosebumps on his arms. "I couldn't get out. I was shouting, and you both panicked. You—" He looked at the boy. "—you jumped in after me, even though you couldn't swim right. You nearly drowned too."
The boy's jaw tightened. His fists clenched at his sides.
"And you," Leo said, turning to the girl, "you didn't jump. You grabbed a branch and dragged us both to shore. You were crying so hard you couldn't breathe, but you didn't let go until we were safe."
Her hand flew to her mouth. Tears welled, spilling over before she could blink them back.
Leo pressed on, desperate, the memory carrying him. "The mud was stuck all over my clothes. We swore not to tell our parents because we didn't want to get scolded. And then—" His voice cracked, but he forced it out. "And then you both said I looked like a drowned rat. We laughed. We couldn't stop laughing."
Silence swallowed their corner of the cafeteria. The rest of the room buzzed on—spoons clattering, laughter spiking—but here, the air stood still.
The boy stared, suspicion fracturing in his eyes. His arms slowly dropped to his sides.
The girl let out a sob and stepped back from the table. Her chair screeched against the floor as she rushed around it.
In two strides she was beside Leo, arms wrapping tight around him before he could brace himself.
Leo froze. His frail body, still weak from weeks of therapy, stiffened under the sudden weight. But then warmth seeped through—the press of her shoulders, the tremble of her breath, the wet heat of her tears soaking into his shirt.
"I thought you were dead," she whispered against his chest. "We thought you were gone forever."
Her voice broke on the word forever.
Across the table, the boy let out a long, shaky breath. He ran a hand through his hair, then gave a rough, stunned laugh. "Unbelievable. Seven years. And it's really you."
Leo blinked at him over the girl's shoulder, his throat tightening. He tried to smile, though it wobbled. "Yeah. It's… it's me."
The boy pushed his chair back and came around the table, crouching beside them. He didn't hug like the girl did. Instead, he gripped Leo's shoulder, firm and grounding. The pressure hurt, but it anchored him.
"You idiot," the boy muttered, his voice low, thick with emotion. "Vanishing like that. Making us wait."
Leo's laugh came out shaky, halfway breaking into a cough. "I didn't exactly plan it."
The girl pulled back, wiping her cheeks with her sleeve. Her eyes were swollen, her smile fragile but shining.
Leo hesitated, guilt tugging at him. "I… I'm sorry, but… what are your names again?"
The question hit like a slap. The girl's face faltered, just for a second. But she recovered quickly, nodding as if she'd expected it. "Betty. Well—Beatrice. But you always called me Betty."
The name stirred faintly inside him, like a bell ringing from far away.
"And I'm Liam," the boy said simply.
Leo repeated them softly, testing the sound. "Liam. Betty." He nodded, more to himself than them. "I remember… a little."
Betty smiled through her tears. Liam chuckled under his breath.
Seven years had stretched them into strangers, but here, at the corner of a crowded cafeteria, the thread between them tugged taut again.
They pushed their trays aside and leaned in, their words spilling faster than food could ever be eaten.
Betty fired questions through laughter and sniffles. "Where were you? Why didn't anyone tell us? Do you even know what year it is?"
Leo tried to answer, stumbling over his voice. "Hospital. Coma. Woke up…" He gestured helplessly, the weight of it too much for words.
Liam shook his head in disbelief. "Seven years. You missed everything. Middle school, tournaments, Betty breaking her ankle dancing on ice—"
"Liam!" Betty swatted his arm, laughing through her blush.
Leo laughed too, weak but real. Their voices wrapped around him like sunlight through glass. For a moment, it almost felt like he'd never left.
But then Betty asked, softly, "Do you remember the treehouse?"
The question landed heavy.
Leo searched his mind, but all he found was fog. He shook his head. "No. Sorry."
Her smile slipped. Liam cleared his throat and looked down.
The gap yawned wide again.
Leo forced a grin. "Maybe… maybe it'll come back. Like the river did."
Betty nodded too quickly. "Yeah. Of course it will."
Liam clapped his back, gentler this time. "We'll remind you. Don't worry."
Leo nodded, but inside, the hollow ache deepened. They had seven years of memories he would never touch. He would always be behind.
Then it came—a strange throb in his chest. Sharp, hot, like a second heartbeat out of rhythm with his own.
He pressed a hand against it under the table, wincing.
"Are you okay?" Betty asked, noticing.
"Yeah," Leo said quickly. "Just tired."
She frowned but didn't push. Liam launched into another story, his voice loud and easy. Betty laughed, her cheeks still pink from crying.
Leo laughed too, though quieter.
For the first time since he woke, he wasn't alone. But the throb in his chest pulsed again, insistent, a reminder that time hadn't only stolen something—it had changed something. Something waiting to break free.
And no reunion, no laughter, could keep it hidden forever.