STILL YOU(PART 7): BEFORE WE MET

For the first time since meeting Elias, Lauretta woke up wishing he hadn't texted her. It wasn't because she didn't want to hear from him. That was the problem. She wanted to. Too much. Her phone sat beside her on the bed. Elias: Good morning. She stared at it. Normally, she would smile. Normally, she would answer with something sarcastic enough to make him laugh. This morning, she couldn't. Because she kept thinking about his apartment. The photograph. The woman. The way his entire expression had changed when she asked about her. And those words: I wasn't avoiding your question because I don't trust you. She believed him. That was what made it worse. Because if he wasn't lying about that, then there was something else. Something he was afraid to tell her. Her phone buzzed again. Elias: You're unusually quiet. She frowned. Lauretta: How do you know? His reply came almost immediately. Elias: Because you've been ignoring me for exactly eleven minutes. She looked at the time. Twelve minutes. She smiled despite herself. Lauretta: You're keeping count? Elias: Maybe. She stared at the screen. Then typed: Lauretta: I was thinking. A pause. Elias: That's dangerous. She smiled. Lauretta: About you. The typing bubble appeared. Then disappeared. Appeared again. Finally: Elias: Should I be worried? Lauretta's smile faded. She looked toward the window. Lauretta: Maybe. This time, he didn't reply immediately. And somehow, she knew. She had touched something. Something he had been hoping she wouldn't. They met that evening. Not at his apartment. Not at hers. A quiet café in the city. Somewhere neither of them had to pretend they were doing anything other than talking. Lauretta arrived first. She chose a table near the window. Five minutes later, Elias walked in. He spotted her immediately. His smile appeared. Then disappeared when he noticed her expression. He sat opposite her. "What's wrong?" "Nothing." He gave her a look. She sighed. "Fine." He waited. "I've been thinking about the photograph." His face changed slightly. "I figured." "You knew I would." "I hoped you wouldn't." "That's not reassuring." "I know." She looked at him. "Who was she?" He was quiet. "You've asked me that before." "And you still haven't answered." "I told you she was someone I knew." "That's not an answer." "I know." Lauretta leaned back. "Do you know what I find interesting?" "What?" "You always say you know." He smiled faintly. "You've noticed." "Unfortunately." The smile disappeared. She studied him. "Did you know her well?" Elias looked down at his coffee. "Not really." "Then why keep the photograph?" He didn't answer. "Why display it?" "I didn't." "You had it in your study." "I know." "And you've had it for years." "Yes." "Why?" He looked at her. "Because some things are difficult to throw away." The answer was quiet. Almost too quiet. Lauretta looked down. She didn't know why that sentence hurt. Maybe because she understood it. Maybe because there were things she kept too. Things she never spoke about. Things she couldn't explain. She reached for her cup. "Did you ever see her again?" Elias hesitated. "No." The answer came too quickly. Lauretta noticed. "You're lying." His eyes lifted to hers. "I'm not." "You paused." "I was thinking." "You don't pause when you're telling the truth." He smiled slightly. "You've been studying me." "Maybe." "That's dangerous." "I learned from you." For a moment, they simply looked at each other. Then Elias reached across the table. His fingers touched hers. "There's something I should tell you." Lauretta went still. "Okay." He looked at their hands. "When I first met you..." He stopped. Her heart beat faster. "What?" "I recognized something." "What?" "Your eyes." She frowned. "That's it?" "At first." "What does that mean?" "I didn't know." "Know what?" He looked at her. "Why you looked familiar." Lauretta stared. "Familiar?" "Very." She swallowed. "You said at the wedding that you'd seen me before." "I said I thought I had." "No." She shook her head. "You said you'd seen me before." Elias was quiet. Then: "You're right." Lauretta's heart sank. "So you knew." "Not exactly." "Then what did you know?" He looked away. "I knew I'd seen your face." "Where?" "I couldn't remember." "Until when?" He didn't answer. "Elias." He finally looked at her. "The photograph." Silence. Lauretta stared at him. "You saw the photograph and recognized me?" "Not immediately." "But eventually." "Yes." She pulled her hand away. "And you didn't tell me." "I wasn't sure." "You weren't sure?" "I didn't know if I was remembering correctly." She looked at him. "And now?" "Now I'm sure." Her stomach tightened. "Why?" Elias reached into his jacket. He pulled out his wallet. From inside it, he took a small, faded photograph. He placed it on the table. Lauretta looked down. A lake. Two children. She recognized Elias immediately. But the girl— She leaned closer. Something about her felt familiar. Not her face. Something else. The way she stood. The small white dress. The ribbon in her hair. Lauretta touched the photograph. "Where did you get this?" "My father." "When?" "Years ago." She looked at him. "Why didn't you show me?" "Because I didn't know what it meant." "And now you do?" He was quiet. "No." Lauretta frowned. "Then why show me?" "Because I think you might." She looked at the photograph again. The girl was holding something. A small silver object. Lauretta stared. Her breath caught. She knew that. She didn't know how. But she knew it. "That necklace." Elias looked at her. "You recognize it?" "I don't know." She touched her own neck unconsciously. "I've seen it before." "Where?" "I don't know." She closed her eyes. For a second, she saw water. Sunlight. A wooden dock. A boy laughing. Then— nothing. She opened her eyes. Elias was watching her. "What happened?" "Nothing." "You remembered something." "I don't know." He leaned closer. "Tell me." "I can't." "Why?" "Because I don't know if it's real." He looked at her. "That's exactly how I felt." Lauretta frowned. "What do you mean?" "I remembered pieces too." She stared. "Of that day?" "Yes." "What day?" He hesitated. "The day the photograph was taken." She looked down again. "Where was this?" "At a lake." "Which lake?" Elias was silent. Then he said: "Lake Aster." The name landed strangely. Lauretta's expression changed. She had never heard it before. At least— she didn't think she had. "Why does that sound familiar?" Elias didn't answer. She looked at him. "Have I been there?" "I don't know." "You don't know?" "I was fourteen." She frowned. "How old was the girl?" "About ten." Lauretta's heart skipped. Ten. She had been ten once. Of course. That meant nothing. She looked back at the photograph. "Did you know her?" "Yes." "Her name?" He looked away. "Laura." Lauretta froze. "What?" "Her name was Laura." She stared at him. The café suddenly felt too loud. Too bright. "That's close to mine." "I know." "How close?" "Close enough." She looked at the photograph again. The little girl was smiling. And suddenly— a voice. A child's voice. Her own voice. My name is Lauretta. Then another voice. A boy. Too long. A laugh. Call me Laurie. Lauretta's hand flew to her mouth. Elias stood immediately. "What's wrong?" She shook her head. "I heard something." "What?" "I don't know." He sat beside her. "Take your time." She looked at him. "Did you call her Laurie?" His face changed. "Yes." Her heart began beating faster. "Why?" "She asked me to." Lauretta stared at him. Something was happening. Something inside her memory. Not a full memory. Just pieces. Fragments. A boy. A lake. A silver necklace. A girl laughing. And the strange certainty that she had known him before. Long before the wedding. Long before the champagne. Long before the first time he'd said her name. They left the café an hour later. Neither of them spoke much. Elias drove her home. When they reached her apartment, he turned off the engine. Lauretta didn't immediately get out. "Elias?" "Yes?" "Did I know you?" He looked at her. "Yes." The answer was so quiet that she almost missed it. Her heart tightened. "How?" He took a breath. "We were children." She stared at him. "How long?" "Three days." "Three days?" He nodded. "That's all?" "That's all." She looked out the window. "Why don't I remember?" "I don't know." She turned back to him. "You do know something." He didn't deny it. "I know what I remember." "And?" "I remember you leaving." "Where did I go?" "Home." "With my family?" "Yes." "What happened after?" He looked at her. "I never saw you again." Lauretta swallowed. "Until the wedding." "Until the wedding." She nodded slowly. Then looked at him. "Did you know who I was that night?" He was silent. That was enough. Her eyes widened. "You did." "I wasn't completely sure." "But you suspected." "Yes." "And you still asked for my number." He looked at her. "Yes." "Why?" Elias smiled faintly. "Because I wanted to know if it was really you." "And?" His eyes stayed on hers. "It was." Lauretta looked away. For some reason, that answer made her chest ache. She opened the car door. Then stopped. "Elias?" "Yes?" "That photograph." He waited. "Don't hide it from me anymore." His expression softened. "I won't." She stepped out. Then turned back. "And if you remember anything else..." "I'll tell you." She nodded. "Promise?" He looked at her. "I promise." She closed the door. That night, Lauretta couldn't sleep. She stood in front of her bedroom mirror. Her fingers moved absentmindedly over her neck. The necklace. The photograph. Laura. Laurie. Elias. She opened the drawer beside her bed. She didn't know what she was looking for. She simply knew she had to look. Old receipts. Letters. A few pieces of jewellery. A childhood photograph album her mother had given her years ago. She pulled it out. She had never looked through it properly. Not in years. She opened the first page. Family. Birthdays. School. Christmas. Nothing. She turned another page. Then another. Her fingers stopped. There was a photograph tucked between two pages. It was old. Faded. She pulled it out. Her breath caught. A little girl stood beside a lake. A boy stood beside her. And around the girl's neck— the same silver necklace. Lauretta stared. She turned the photograph over. There was handwriting on the back. Her handwriting. Or at least— a child's handwriting. Only one sentence. Elias says we'll find each other again. Lauretta's hands began to shake. She read it again. Then again. And suddenly, she remembered something else. Not the lake. Not the photograph. Not even Elias. A woman. Her mother. Standing in front of her. Crying. And saying: "You must forget him." Lauretta dropped the photograph. She stared at it on the floor. Her breathing became shallow. Why? Why would her mother have asked her to forget a boy she had known for only three days? And why— twenty years later— had Elias found her? Her phone buzzed. She flinched. Elias. Elias: Are you awake? She stared at the message. Then another appeared. Elias: I remembered something. Lauretta's heart stopped. She typed immediately. Lauretta: What? The reply came. Elias: The night you left. She waited. Three dots. Then: Elias: You weren't alone. Lauretta stared at the screen. Before she could respond, another message appeared. Elias: And I think that's the part your mother never told you.

Other insights from Jhaymkay🖤

Contributor Points

Points-to-Coupons

Referral Earning