Dinner had been simple, yet intimate, the kind of warmth that seeped into your chest without asking permission.
Ken had cooked, and we had shared stories and laughter, though mine had been cautious, tentative, as if savoring a dream I wasn't sure I was allowed to touch.
After cleaning up, we wandered toward the nearby park, the soft glow of streetlamps casting long shadows across the pathway.
I held the kitten in my arms, purring softly, while Ken walked beside me.
Every step felt surreal, like the world had shifted slightly but carried the echoes of a life I could almost remember.
We sat on a familiar bench, the same one that had been etched in the fragile corners of my dreams.
Silence settled between us, comfortable yet heavy.
Then he turned toward me, his eyes deeper than I remembered, more knowing than ever.
He watched me quietly, his eyes glimmering with something unspoken.
His hand rested near mine, close enough to touch, close enough to feel the warmth of his skin.
"Ysabelle," he said softly, breaking the silence. "Can I ask you something?"
I turned to him. "Of course."
"Do you… believe in parallel universes?"
The question hit me like a shiver down my spine.
It was strange, familiar, even.
My heart skipped. "Why are you asking me that?"
He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his gaze lost somewhere ahead. "Because there's something I've been meaning to tell you. Something I don't even know how to explain."
The seriousness in his voice made me sit still.
My fingers curled around the edge of the bench, the kitten asleep in its carrier beside us.
He took a deep breath. "At first, I didn't know who you were. I didn't even know your name. I was just… there. At this concert my cousin dragged me to. You were performing. You collapsed on stage."
My pulse quickened.
I didn't breathe.
He turned to me now, his eyes searching mine. "And after that day… I couldn't stop dreaming about you. Every night. It was like watching someone's life, but I was part of it. You and I, we lived somewhere quiet, away from all this. I don't even know how it started, but it felt real. Too real."
My vision blurred as his words sank in.
I pressed my hand against my chest, the weight of recognition flooding me all at once.
"I… I dreamed of you too," I whispered.
Ken froze. "What?"
I looked down, tears pooling in my eyes. "When I was in a coma, they told me later, I was unconscious for three months, but I wasn't just gone. I was somewhere. With you. In that same town. You had this small apartment… near the park… and we used to make breakfast together."
My voice broke. "I thought it was real, Ken. I thought you were real. And then one day… you disappeared. I woke up, and they told me it was all in my head. That you never existed."
Ken's face softened, and he reached out slowly, brushing his thumb against my cheek, catching a tear that had already fallen.
"But I did exist," he said, his voice trembling now. "At least, I think I did. Because when you were gone from my dreams, everything changed. I'd wake up every morning looking for you. I'd check the news, the internet, I found out about you, about the coma. And every night since then… I've seen you."
The world blurred at the edges.
The park lights flickered in my tears. "You're saying… all this time… we were both dreaming the same thing?"
He nodded slowly, his gaze steady. "Maybe we weren't just dreaming, Ysabelle. Maybe we crossed something. Maybe when you fell into a coma, and I started dreaming of you, we… met somewhere in between. Somewhere the universe lets two versions of people collide."
"Two versions?" I echoed.
"Maybe," he whispered, "in one universe, you're still asleep. And I'm still there, waiting for you in that old apartment. But in another… we're both here, in this one, starting over. Maybe the world balanced itself by pulling us together again."
I stared at him, trying to breathe through the storm in my chest. "You think… we migrated?"
Ken let out a faint, almost disbelieving laugh, his eyes glistening. "I don't know. But every time I look at you, it feels like remembering something I've already lived. Like we've done all of this before, laughed here, held hands here, loved here. Maybe that's what it means… Maybe that's what parallel universes are. Not places apart, but pieces of us trying to find their way back."
The air felt charged, almost sacred.
I didn't speak; I couldn't. My hand found his, trembling, but steady when his fingers closed around mine.
For the longest moment, neither of us moved.
The night hummed quietly, the city beyond dim and distant.
Then I whispered, "I thought I lost you."
Ken smiled faintly, his eyes soft but heavy with something deeper. "Maybe you did. Maybe I lost you too. But if the universe is kind enough to let us meet again… then I'm not letting go this time."
The kitten stirred between us, and we both looked down.
Its small heartbeat pulsed beneath the quiet, like a thread connecting two worlds, fragile, alive, real.
When I looked up again,
Ken was watching me, the stars reflecting in his eyes. "Maybe this is our second chance," he said softly. "Not a dream. Not a coma. Just us. Here."
I didn't question it.
I simply nodded, letting the tears fall freely.
Because maybe love, like the universe itself, doesn't always make sense, it just finds its way back, again and again, through worlds, through dreams, through impossible distance.
And maybe, this time, it found its way home.
–
The park was quiet, almost reverent.
The rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze, the distant glow of the city lights, the soft purr of the kitten in my arms, it all felt suspended in time.
I couldn't breathe fast enough; my chest ached with a kind of exhilaration I hadn't felt since… I couldn't even remember.
Ken's hand remained intertwined with mine, warm and real.
His presence anchored me, and yet the revelation he'd just shared spun the world on its axis.
Parallel universes.
Migration.
Versions of ourselves colliding across impossible distances.
My head was a storm, but my heart… my heart recognized him.
"I never thought… I'd see you again," I whispered, voice breaking, the words almost drowned by the pounding of my own pulse.
He looked at me, eyes glistening in the dim light, a mixture of awe and tenderness. "And I never thought… I'd be here with you like this. Not in this world, not in any of them… but here. With you."
The kitten stirred again in my arms, stretching tiny paws, unaware of the gravity of our conversation.
I set it gently on the bench, watching it stumble toward the soft grass, and suddenly everything felt more real.
More tangible.
I swallowed hard, letting the meaning sink in.
We found each other again.
The impossible truth of it wrapped around me like fire and light.
My heart, which had been bruised, broken, uncertain, began to feel something new. Hope.
And something stronger than hope.
Love.