Johan opened his eyes and found himself standing in front of the London Eye of Kortrijk, a big bell tower. He got up and started heading towards the library of letterzetters. As he stood in front of the library, a sense of mystery and connection was pulling him inside.

From the outside the library was hard concrete, but inside it was lined with warm wooden panels. Dust and the scent of rust drifted from the old pipes that ran through the walls, heating the place unevenly, with a scorching peeping sound of water flowing “sheeeeeeeeeeeeeeh”.

At the back of the library, he noticed a red neon light, an emulating green color and the sign of an arrow. Filled with enthusiasm, he walked towards it, floors creaking beneath his feet, old ladies coughing softly while reading their novels, and books sliding unevenly back into their shelves.

He opened the door and walked downstairs to find a room warmed by burning wood. And then she appeared, like a ghost revealing itself. She walked toward him like she already knew him.

“You look kinda pale. Did you see a ghost around here?” she asked.

Johan, completely flabbergasted, didn’t know who she was and froze for a moment. He seemed nervous, but felt a strange comfort in her presence like he had met her before.

“I don’t think we’ve ever met before… hi,” he began.

She stopped him.
“I’ve been waiting for you.”

“That can’t be,” he said. “Impossible. I’ve never seen you before.”

She smiled. “Of course you haven’t. That’s why it’s true.”

She gently took his left arm with her right hand, and in that instant, he felt a surge of emotions. Flashbacks burst through his mind, adventures under Moroccan stars, swimming in the summer breeze, freezing beneath a green winter sky in Norway. All of them are vivid. All of them felt warm.

“Why did I forget?” he whispered.

“You didn’t,” she said softly. “You traded the memory of me for something you thought you needed more.”

“What was it?” he asked.

“Courage,” she replied. “The courage to meet me again.”

The light from the firewood began to dim, signaling the end of their meeting. In the distance, the bell of the London Eye rang, perhaps marking the end of whatever pocket of time they had borrowed.

She held his hands firmly. “Will you remember me?”

Johan reached out to touch her soft, warm face but his fingers passed through her like fog.