[Perspective Shift: Aryan Spencer]
Oh god, oh god, oh god.
She's staring. I can feel her staring. Is she staring? Or is she just looking at the milk which is technically behind me?
Audience: She was definitely staring at you.
Why is she staring? Is there something on my face? Did I accidentally manifest a third eye? I quickly checked my reflection in the glass door of the yogurt fridge. Two eyes. Nose. Mouth. Okay, we're good.
Maybe it's the t-shirt. It was a simple navy blue t-shirt. Does navy blue offend Vara Vane? Is it a trigger color? Should I change it? I can change it right now. I can turn it green. No, that's her eyes. Too presumptuous. White? Too surrender-y.
Help me out here! I screamed internally. Give me a script! What do you say to the woman you loved in your previous world, the one whose loss cost you everything, when she's standing five feet away and thinks you're a total stranger? How do you even start a conversation with someone who is currently drowning in that much grief and trying to disappear from the world, especially when you know exactly what she's been through but can't show it?
Option A: "Hey, nice cart." (Stupid).
Option B: "I also enjoy dairy products." (Creepy).
Option C: Play dead.
She was getting closer. I could hear the squeak of her cart. It sounded like the countdown timer on a bomb.
Okay, Aryan. Be cool. Be the charming doctor. Be the friendly neighbor.
I turned my head. Just a casual, 'oh, someone is there' turn.
Our eyes locked.
Her eyes were deep green and sad, but there was a flicker of something else there. Curiosity? Recognition? No, that's impossible. My disguise is perfect.
I felt my heart skip a beat. God, she was beautiful. Even in a baggy hoodie with dark circles under her eyes, she was the most stunning thing I'd ever seen.
I swallowed hard. My throat felt like sandpaper.
"Hi," I said.
Nailed it. Pulitzer prize for dialogue right there.
Vara stopped her cart. She looked at me for a second too long, her gaze sweeping over my face as if memorizing it.
Then, the corner of her mouth quirked up. A small smile. It didn't reach her eyes, but it was there.
"Hi," she replied. Her voice was melodic.
My brain short circuited. She spoke to me.
"I..." I cleared my throat, trying to lower my voice an octave so I didn't sound like a choir boy. "I haven't seen you around before. Are you new to Yellow Springs?"
Good. Safe topic.
Vara nodded slowly. "Just visiting. For now."
She paused, tilting her head slightly. "You live here?"
"Yeah," I said, leaning casually against the fridge door (and praying I didn't accidentally freeze my arm). "I actually live just behind... well, near the new construction site. Number 2804."
Wait. Why did I say the number? That's definitely too much information for a first meeting. Who gives their house number to a stranger in a grocery store?
Abort.
Abort.
Abort.
Vara's eyes widened slightly. "Oh. That is... close."
"Yeah," I laughed nervously, rubbing the back of my neck. "It's a nice neighborhood. Good for... recovering."
She looked at me intently. "Recovering?"
"Yeah, you know," I gestured vaguely with the yogurt tub. "I was in... an accident. A bad one. I was in a coma for a long time, then rehab. I lost a few years. Just came back to the world a few weeks ago. Still trying to figure out why everything is so different."
It was the perfect excuse. It explained the lack of history, the awkwardness and the solitude. It aligned with my fabricated medical records.
Vara's expression softened. The wariness melted away, replaced by a understanding.
"I see," she whispered. "So you lost... time."
"I lost a lot of things," I said and for a moment, I wasn't acting. The grief in my voice was real. I was thinking of my Vara. The one buried under the rubble of a dead universe. "But... we move forward, right? That's what we're supposed to do."
Vara looked down at her hands on the cart handle. Her knuckles were white.
"Ideally," she murmured.
She looked back up at me. The intensity of her gaze was unnerving. It felt like she was looking right through the 'recovering patient' mask and seeing the soul underneath.
"I am Vara," she said suddenly.
I blinked. "I'm Aryan. Aryan Spencer."
"Aryan," she tested the name on her tongue. It sounded like a prayer. Or a spell.
"Well, Aryan," she said and there was a strange weight to her words. "It is nice to meet a neighbor."
"Likewise," I managed to say.
She hesitated, as if she wanted to say something else. She took a half step toward me, her hand lifting slightly from the cart, then she stopped herself.
"I should... finish shopping," she said, gesturing to the aisle.
"Right. Yeah. Me too. Tandoori night," I blurted out. "Need lemons."
She smiled again, a little more genuine this time. "Enjoy your Tandoori."
"Enjoy your... whatever you're getting," I said, mentally slapping myself.
She nodded and pushed her cart past me. As she passed, I swear I could smell it again… that familiar floral scent.
I stood there, frozen, holding my yogurt like a lifeline. I didn't turn around to watch her go.
Holy shit, I thought, staring at a shelf of butter. What are the chances?
Holy shit, I thought again. I just lied to Vara Vane.
Holy shit, I thought a third time, a wave of bittersweet warmth washing over me. That smile was genuine.
I waited until I heard the squeak of her cart fade into the next aisle before I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.
"Okay," I whispered to the butter. "Act normal. You're just a guy. You're just a doctor. You definitely don't have the power to turn this grocery store into a field of cornflowers."
I pushed off the fridge and headed for the produce section.
But seriously, I thought, casting a glance at the ceiling, was the shirt okay? You guys have to tell me next time.
[Vara's POV: Checkout Line]
Vara placed the milk and a box of cereal on the conveyor belt. Her hands were trembling slightly.
She looked toward the back of the store, where the dairy aisle was.
Aryan Spencer.
The name echoed in her mind, layering over the memories from the vision. She saw him laughing in the rain. She saw him crying over her body.
He used the accident as an excuse. A lie. She knew it was a lie because she had seen the truth. He was a refugee from a dead universe.
But she didn't mind the lie. It meant he was trying to fit in. He was trying to be safe.
She felt a fierce protectiveness surge in her chest. The Witch Hunters had taken everything from her.
But the universe had thrown this man… into her path.
He lived behind the plot of land she had bought.
It's a sign, she told herself, clutching her receipt. We are meant to be neighbors.
She walked out of the store into the cool evening air.