The Road Back to You

The streets buzzed with life as Violet, Jade, Liam, and Kathy stepped out of the bar, the cool night air wrapping around them. The scent of rain lingered in the atmosphere, mixing with the distant aroma of street food.

Violet tugged her coat tighter around her frame, her heels clicking against the pavement. She barely registered the chatter around her, too caught up in the strange sensation creeping up her spine. It was the feeling of being watched, a lingering presence that sent a shiver through her bones.

She slowed her steps, eyes scanning the street. A shadow flickered near the corner, just beyond the glow of a streetlamp. Her breath hitched. The figure stood still for a fraction of a second, and though she couldn't make out his face, something about his posture, the tilt of his head, felt… familiar.

"Violet?" Jade's voice snapped her out of her daze.

She blinked and turned to her friend, forcing a smile. "Yeah?"

"Come on, let's get you home," Jade studied her for a moment before shaking his head. 

Violet nodded, but as she turned back toward the street, the shadow was gone.

The next morning at the gallery, Violet sifted through the final details of the upcoming exhibition, trying to push away the unease from the night before. Kathy approached her, a clipboard in hand.

"We got the confirmed guest list," she said, handing it over.

Violet took it absentmindedly and began skimming through the names. Halfway down the list, her breath caught in her throat.

Sinclair.

A rush of cold ran through her veins. Her grip tightened on the paper. It had to be a coincidence. There were many Sinclairs in the world, after all. But the familiar twist in her stomach told her otherwise.

"Something wrong?" Kathy tilted her head. 

"No, it's nothing," Violet hesitated before shaking her head. 

But even as she handed the clipboard back, her mind wouldn't stop racing.

Later that night, long after everyone had gone home, Violet wandered the dimly lit gallery alone. The space was eerily quiet, the only sound her own footsteps echoing against the floor. Her eyes drifted toward a section of the gallery she rarely visited, her private collection.

Her heart pounded as she stepped toward a covered canvas at the far end of the room. She hadn't looked at this painting in years. Slowly, with trembling fingers, she pulled the cloth away.

There he was.

Ethan.

His face was shrouded in shadows, but the emotion was raw, undeniable. The longing, the heartbreak, the love that had once consumed her. She had poured every ounce of pain into this painting, and now it stared back at her like an open wound she never let heal.

A sound shattered the silence...footsteps.

Violet spun around, her breath lodged in her throat. Her eyes darted across the empty gallery. No one was there.

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Slowly, she backed away from the painting, her pulse hammering. She grabbed her bag, ready to leave, when something on the front desk caught her eye.

A small envelope.

Her name was written on it in precise, familiar handwriting.

Her hands trembled as she reached for it, her mind screaming at her to leave it alone. But she couldn't. She picked it up, feeling the weight of it, her heart pounding in her chest.

A sudden wave of déjà vu crashed over her. She had been here before; holding a letter from Ethan, waiting for her world to fall apart.

Violet inhaled sharply, snapping back to reality. Her grip on the letter in her hands tightened. The past was a ghost she had fought hard to bury. She had a choice now.

With a sudden surge of determination, she walked to the nearest trash bin and threw the envelope inside, untouched.

She didn't need to read it. She refused to relive that heartbreak.

Some memories were better left unopened.

As she turned to leave, her eyes drifted back to the discarded letter. Was it really over? Or had the past just found a new way to reach her…