3.

I looked around the room, feeling the familiar weight of anxiety in my chest. The walls, painted in soft shades of lavender, did little to comfort me tonight. The moonlight streamed through the window, casting long shadows that seemed to creep up on me, whispering threats I couldn’t ignore. I felt trapped in the silence of the room, the air thick with an unspoken tension. It was as if every inch of this space was telling me I was about to do something I couldn’t take back.

The invitation lay on my study table, taunting me with its simple, elegant script. The address was written in bold, clean handwriting: Woodspl. A place I knew all too well. The thought of stepping foot there again made my stomach twist, but tonight—tonight, I had no choice.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves, but the pit in my stomach only grew larger. I could feel the tension in every muscle as I approached my study table. The paper with the invitation crinkled slightly beneath my fingers as I picked it up, holding it as if it might disintegrate at any moment.

I needed to go. I had to. I didn’t want to, but I didn’t have any other option. Not anymore.

I gulped down the fear that lodged in my throat, feeling it rise and choke me. Tightening my fingers into a fist, I forced myself to move. My hands were shaking, but I pretended I didn’t notice. Every second felt like an eternity. I stared at the invitation again, as if looking at it could somehow make the decision easier. But it didn’t.

I had to meet him.

I turned away from the table, moving toward my closet with a mix of dread and anticipation clawing at my insides. My legs felt like they were moving through thick mud as I grabbed a pair of tights from the drawer and a loose shirt from the hanger. I didn’t care about what I was wearing. I just needed to leave.

The shirt hung off me awkwardly, the fabric slipping from my shoulders as I struggled to pull it on. I barely had time to care. I was running out of time.

Just as I turned around, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. It felt odd at first sight to see a future me in this past world. I had stood in front of this mirror checking myself over countless times when I was still a teenager. When I looked at this mirror again, I was expecting a younger face, but the person in the mirror was more curvy and mature.

I couldn't help but wonder If my physical existence had been transferred to the past, doesn't that mean I might have a chance to meet the younger me? Would she be disappointed when she knew I was her future self?

Shaking off these disrupting thoughts, I quickly finished getting dressed, the urge to flee gnawing at me. Once I was ready, I grabbed a mask to cover my face and rushed out the door. I didn't want him to recognize me, so I thought it might help with a mask. My heart pounded with every step I took, as though it could sense the weight of the night.

The house was eerily quiet as I slipped past the hallway, my footsteps muted on the hardwood floors. My hand grazed the door handle, my fingers brushing the cold metal. I could already feel the cool night air calling to me, urging me to step outside, away from the safety of these walls.

But just as I was about to pull the door open, I froze.

There, standing in the driveway, was a figure I hadn’t seen in years. My younger self, a mirror image of who I used to be. She was walking away from the house, laughing under the moonlight as if there was nothing to fear, nothing to lose.

“Fuck,” I cursed under my breath, my body tensing in horror. I quickly stepped back, pulling myself into the shadows. My younger self—my naive, carefree version—was outside. I couldn’t let her see me, not like this. Not with what I was about to do.

I pressed myself against the wall, my heart hammering in my chest, hoping she wouldn’t turn around. The fear of being discovered, of being caught in this moment, gnawed at me. I could feel the cold touch of the mask against my skin, the sweat trickling down the back of my neck, my breath shallow as I waited for her to pass.

My younger self continued to walk, oblivious to the danger lurking just a few feet away. I held my breath, praying she wouldn’t turn, that she wouldn’t catch a glimpse of me hiding in the shadows.

As she finally disappeared around the corner of the house, I let out a slow, shaky breath. That was too close.

I couldn’t afford to stay here any longer. I couldn’t risk it. I needed to get out, to move faster than my younger self could catch up.

I slowly stepped out from the shadows, my feet moving quietly as I made my way toward the street. I kept my pace steady, but I knew I needed to be faster. My younger self might have been carefree, but I couldn’t afford that innocence anymore. She was long gone, and now, it was just me.

With every step, I could feel my heart pounding harder, my pulse rising. The cool night air bit at my skin, sending shivers up my spine, but it wasn’t the cold that made me tremble. It was the thought of what awaited me—the meeting. I had no idea what I was walking into, but I had no choice.

I forced my legs to move faster, my mind racing with possibilities. Every street I passed, every corner I turned, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was running toward something I wasn’t prepared for. The city streets blurred around me as I quickened my pace, the fear in my chest threatening to consume me.

I had to get there before she caught up.

The thought consumed me, pushed me forward, fueled my steps. I focused only on that. The path ahead. The destination.

As I neared the woods, the feeling of dread didn’t lessen. It only grew. The place loomed ahead of me, dark and quiet under the night sky. The sound of the river flowing gently in the distance only added to the eerie atmosphere, as if the world itself was holding its breath in anticipation of what would happen next.

I could hear my own breath, shallow and fast, matching the pounding of my heart. The closer I got to the place, the harder it was to ignore the swirling mass of anxiety in my gut. My mind screamed at me to turn around, to walk away from this whole situation.

But I couldn’t.

I had already come too far.

The riverside bed was just ahead now, the lights from the building faint against the darkened landscape. I hesitated for only a moment, my hand resting on the stone wall that led to the entrance. My mind raced back to the invitation, the cryptic words, the fear I had been trying to suppress for days.

The invitation didn’t tell me much, but I knew exactly what it meant. I knew who awaited me inside.

With a deep breath, I took the final steps toward the huge iron gates. Every part of me screamed to stop, but I ignored it, forcing myself forward. The iron gates creaked open in front of me, and the soft light from the pole lights spilled out, revealing a quiet footpath towards the big garden.

I stepped inside, my footsteps echoing off the stone ground as I looked around. My eyes flitted from one corner to the next, searching for something, anything, to ground myself.

I had made it.

Now all I had to do was face him.

And the thought of that made my entire body tighten in anticipation.

But as the gates closed behind me, and I stood in the silence of the winds, I realized that it wasn’t just him I was facing tonight.

It was everything.

It was my past, my fear, my mistakes. Everything I had tried to outrun, everything I had tried to bury, was waiting for me in this moment.

And I had no choice but to meet it head-on.