Same micro-reactions.
Same way she watches everything before she responds.
It’s her.
It has to be.
“Did anything happen after high school?” I ask.
Her brows pull together. “Like what?”
“Anything that could’ve… changed things.”
“That’s vague.”
“Yeah. I know.”
She leans back slightly, crossing one leg over the other, studying me now.
“You’re not guessing,” she says. “You’re looking for something specific.”
“Yeah.”
“Then stop dancing around it.”
Her tone sharpens just a little.
“Tell me what you think happened.”
I lean forward slightly, lowering my voice.
Because this part?
This is where it stops sounding crazy and starts sounding impossible.
“Right now,” I say, watching her carefully, “it feels like you forgot me.”
Her breath catches.
Subtle.
But I see it.
“People don’t just forget someone like that,” she says.
Her voice is steady—but there’s something under it now.
Something unsettled.
I hold her gaze.
“Exactly.”
And that’s when it really hits me.
This isn’t just a mistake.
This isn’t just coincidence.
Something’s wrong.
And whatever it is—
She’s right in the middle of it.
Whether she knows it or not.