Around Keanu, the airport continued its frantic dance. A group of teenagers rushed past, laughing loudly, their suitcases clattering against the floor. A robotic voice announced a delay for the Chicago flight. Two security guards walked slowly, eyes sweeping the crowd. Yet for Keanu, all of this dissolved into silence.

There she was.

At first, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him — the fluorescent lights, the fatigue of another sleepless night, the countless departures and arrivals that had blurred together. But no. The woman in front of him wasn’t just similar. She was identical. The same dark hair falling carelessly over her shoulders. The same fragile profile, like a secret only he had ever known. Even the way she adjusted the strap of her bag echoed gestures from years ago, gestures that belonged to someone who should not — could not — be here.

Keanu felt the ground slip away. His heart beat so violently that for a moment, he feared others could hear it. He wanted to look away, but couldn’t. His gaze was trapped, caught in the impossible.

The woman turned slightly, and a thin scar appeared just above her left eyebrow. His breath caught. That scar — he knew it. A memory shot through him: a summer afternoon, a clumsy fall, the sound of laughter as she brushed off the wound like it was nothing. His throat tightened.

He took a step forward. The crowd pressed around him, voices rising and falling like waves, but none of it reached him. He was back in another time, another life, one that had ended too soon.

The woman raised her hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. A small silver bracelet slipped down her wrist. His stomach dropped. The bracelet. His mind refused to believe, yet every detail tore at him: the ring of green tourmaline, the faint scratch near the clasp, the way it glimmered under the harsh airport light.

His lips trembled as he whispered, almost inaudibly:
“Jennifer…”

The woman paused. Slowly, she turned her head. Their eyes met.

And in that instant, the world stopped.