POV: Leon
He sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it held answers. It didn't.
Nothing did anymore.
The house had too many shadows. Too many memories tucked into the corners, bleeding into the walls. Especially hers. Ayla's.
He hadn't moved on.
Not really.
People thought he had — thought that bringing "Celeste" home was some miracle, a fairytale ending to a tragedy.
But they didn't know the truth.
They didn't know Ayla.
She was his storm, his calm, his chaos. The only girl who ever made his world feel full. She was the one he thought he'd grow old with, even when they were still just kids scribbling their initials into tree bark like it meant something permanent.
And she was gone.
But Celeste… the girl they found…
She was alive. Fragile. Confused.
And everyone wanted to believe it was her.
So he said nothing. He played along.
Because on the last night his father was alive, Leon had made a promise.
"If she's ever found… you stay by her side. Don't let her go again. You two were always meant to be."
He hadn't said no.
He hadn't explained that sometimes, even fate felt wrong.
Instead, he had nodded. Just a boy kneeling at the edge of a hospital bed, holding a cold hand that had given him everything — including a duty he didn't know how to carry.
Now every time he looked at her — this version of Celeste — he tried to feel what he was supposed to feel.
But it wasn't love.
It was weight.
It was memory.
It was loss dressed up like destiny.
He stood and walked to the window, heart tight in his chest. Outside, the night was still. He remembered Ayla running barefoot across that yard, hair flying, eyes bright with mischief. Her laugh still echoed sometimes when the wind was right.
"Even if we're forced apart, I'll always come back to you."
She hadn't.
Someone else had.
And now he was stuck between a girl he couldn't forget…
And a girl he could never love, no matter how much the world wanted him to.