But he never expected her to bring it up now. Not like this. Not here, over water glasses and soft jazz in the background.
His mind races. He could pretend to know nothing… or tell her the truth. That he is June. That he's lived through a century carrying the memory of her. But how could he explain that now? How could he reveal something as unbelievable as immortality?
For now, he decides silence is safer. He leans back slightly, allowing her the space to go on.
Grace hesitates, eyes flickering between the table and his face. Her fingers tighten around the edge of her napkin.
Should I tell him everything? she wonders. That in the dream, I was Hannah, and I loved June… who looks just like Professor Julian?
But what if it makes things weird between them? What if he doesn't like it?
She takes a quiet breath and chooses the safer path.
"Well…" she begins, her voice softer now. "It's set in the 1920s. During a war. I was… captured by soldiers."
She pauses, her voice catching slightly as a dull ache pulses in her chest.
It's just a dream, she tells herself. Just a dream.
But it hurts.
Her brow furrows, and she flinches, ever so slightly, as the phantom memory presses against her heart.
Julian watches her, eyes narrowing with quiet concern. That pain on her face—it's real. Not imagined. Not casual.
It hurts her just to remember that time, he thinks, his own chest tightening in sympathy.
"You don't have to tell me, Grace," he says gently, leaning toward her. "You really don't need to—"
But she cuts him off, her voice steadier now. "And… this guy appeared. He looked just like you. He saved me."
She lifts her gaze to his, and this time, a light smile curls her lips. "Isn't that great?"
Julian smiles, but there's a faint twist to it—something gentle yet quietly heart-wrenching. He sees right through her.
Grace is pretending to be fine. Smiling as if the memories don't ache. Laughing like the pain isn't still echoing in her chest.
To her, it's just a dream. A vivid, curious fantasy from a distant time.
But he knows better.
To her, it feels like a dream.
But to him, it's memory.
It's their past life.
"That's…" Julian says softly, his voice warm, measured, almost careful. He lets a smile tug at the corners of his lips. "Great."
Grace nods and gives a little shrug, chuckling as she lifts her water glass again. "Right? Haha. This dream's just… way too vivid. It catches me off guard every time."
"You've been having it for a while?" he asks, casually, though he already knows the answer.
She nods.
"Yeah. For quite some time now. It's like I'm stuck in a series of an old drama. It plays out in parts, piece by piece. And every time… it just feels so real."
Julian watches her quietly, his heart tightening with concern. The way her voice drops when she says real, the way her eyes drift toward something unseen—he knows what's coming next.
And if she keeps dreaming it…
She'll hurt more and more.
"Grace," he says, lowering his voice. "Are you okay?"
The question stops her.
Her smile falters, just for a second. Her gaze locks onto his, searching his eyes like she's suddenly not sure where his question is coming from.
Why is he asking me that… like he already knows something? she wonders.
But then she blinks and shakes her head.
No. He can't know. It's just a dream. Just my imagination. Like a fantasy, nothing more.
"Yeah, of course I'm okay," she says, lifting her shoulders in a casual shrug. "Why wouldn't I be?"
Her voice is light, playful even, but Julian hears the small tremble she tries to bury beneath it.
Then, before the silence can stretch too long, she smiles again—this time, brighter, with a touch of genuine warmth.
"You know," she says, "I've been thinking a lot lately… about the first time we met."
The first time we met? Julian's heart stutters. Do you mean… when the soldiers dragged you through the mud and I found you in that cell?
But Grace keeps going.
"That time in Mellany," she says, eyes twinkling as she remembers, "when you saved me from that drunken gangster in the alley."
She laughs, and her hand brushes the air as if waving off the memory.
"Now that I say it out loud, you were so cool in that moment."
Julian chuckles softly. He remembers that night well. The sharp fear in her eyes. The way she stood frozen until he stepped in. And now, here she is, retelling it like a scene from a favorite film.
She doesn't know. She doesn't remember what came before. Not fully. If she ever did remember everything—what we were, what we lost—would she be able to bear it?
"Haha, right," Julian says with a light chuckle, scratching the back of his neck.
Grace smiles warmly, eyes crinkling at the corners.
"At that moment," she says, "I honestly felt like you were an angel sent from God to save me." Then, she adds, with a sparkle in her eyes, "And… not to mention, I was super shocked when I first saw you—because you looked exactly like the man from my dream."
Julian freezes, just slightly. Her words land with weight, even though her tone is casual. She's smiling as if it's nothing—just a coincidence, just a dream. But for Julian, it's not.
He swallows the tightness rising in his throat.
She can't know—not yet.
"Well, that's… a surprise," he says, keeping his voice easy as he shrugs and grins, hoping the topic drifts away with the next breeze.
Thankfully, just then, the waitress arrives, balancing their dishes on a large tray.
"Here we go," she says with a cheerful tone, placing steaming plates in front of them. "Pad thai, spicy noodle soup, and yellow curry."
"Thank you," Grace says, her eyes lighting up with genuine excitement.
The aroma hits instantly, and she leans forward slightly, almost childlike in her delight.
Julian watches her with quiet amusement.
Still the same. Just like back then. That joy—the sparkle in her eyes whenever food arrives—it's so familiar it almost aches.
He can't help but smile.
"You go first," Grace says, gesturing toward the dishes with a slight bow of her head, playing polite.
"No, you go first," Julian replies with a grin.
"All right then," she laughs, picking up her chopsticks and eagerly scooping a generous helping of pad thai onto her plate.
Julian's smile lingers as he watches her dive into the noodles with enthusiasm. There's something comforting about her presence—something that feels like home, even across lifetimes.
He finally gets his share of food and, after a few bites, speaks again—this time, with careful nonchalance.
"So… which elective course are you taking now?"
Grace nearly chokes on her noodles, caught completely off guard.
"What?" she asks, blinking.
Julian raises an eyebrow, playing it cool even though he's clearly easing his way into a topic that's been sitting in the back of his mind for a while.
He stabs a piece of tofu from the curry and adds, "You dropped out of my class. I was just wondering where you ended up."
He doesn't mention how much it surprised him when she left. How empty the classroom felt afterward. How curious he's been ever since, though he never brought it up—until now.
Grace hesitates. Her chopsticks hover mid-air before she lowers them slowly.
"Oh… that," she murmurs, her eyes flicking to the edge of the table. "I'm not taking any elective courses this term."
Julian gives a small nod, chewing quietly as he takes in her answer.
"I see," he says simply, popping the tofu into his mouth, keeping his expression unreadable.
A quiet weight settles over Julian's chest.
He can't help but feel it—that dull pang of guilt threading through him like an old song. A part of him believes he's the reason she dropped out of his class.
Before he can speak, Grace quickly adds, her tone light, "I just didn't really know much about the history of fashion. And honestly, I wasn't confident with the assignments coming up… so I dropped out."
She smiles after saying it—gentle, reassuring—as if trying to lift the blame off his shoulders, as if to tell him, "It's not your fault."
Julian returns her smile with a soft grin of his own.
"I see."
But inside, it stings.
Because he knows. He remembers. The way she reached out to him and he didn't respond back to her for weeks.
How he couldn't.
He sees now—behind her nonchalant tone and warm eyes—the echo of a girl who felt rejected. A girl who quietly walked away from something that hurt her.
"I'm sorry," Julian says quietly, setting his chopsticks down as he looks directly at her. "I'm sorry I didn't respond to you right away back then. I was…"
He hesitates, then finishes honestly, "Afraid."
Grace holds his gaze for a moment. Her eyes soften.
"I understand," she says gently. "And I'm all good now."
Julian lets out a small breath and grins, relief and admiration quietly mingling in his chest.