Alex tapped Yes.
Alex pressed play. And somewhere in the static between bits, a version of himself who had died in a different decade whispered, Told you we’d find our way back.
You find a ghost who knew your name before you did.
It was a song he’d never heard, yet every chord felt like a memory. A woman’s voice, slightly distorted, sang about a train station at 2 a.m. and a lost keychain shaped like a rabbit. Alex’s chest ached. He had dreamed that keychain once. Age seven. Lost it on a family trip to a city he’d never visited.