The Forgotten Promise

I first saw him standing under the flickering glow of a weathered lamppost, just outside the old university library.

He wasn’t particularly striking, but the word intriguing kept resurfacing in my thoughts. His dark hair was tousled, not by design but by the wind, and he wore a simple gray trench coat that seemed almost anachronistic in the busy, modern city. His gaze was fixed on something distant, something beyond the reality that the rest of us were moving through. I couldn't help but feel drawn to him, though I assumed he was just another lost soul in the city, perhaps a student or a late-night reader who had spent too long in the musty aisles of the library.

A familiar voice yanked me back into the moment. "Dude, where've you been? We're going to miss the train!" Kyle, my roommate and perpetual alarm clock, was already bounding down the steps of the station, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets.

I glanced back toward where the stranger had stood, but he was gone. It must have been a trick of the light, or maybe I was just tired. Finals week had that effect.

Kyle waved me over impatiently. “Come on, man! If we miss this, we’ll never make it to the gig in time.”

"Yeah, yeah. I'm coming." I shook off the eerie feeling that had settled over me and followed Kyle down into the subway, the rhythmic screech of the trains below drowning out any lingering unease.

We made it just in time, cramming ourselves onto the train with dozens of other students heading downtown. The air was thick with anticipation, and despite my strange encounter, I found myself relaxing. Kyle was already chattering about the setlist, the crowd, and the afterparty we were supposedly invited to.

"You think Steph’s gonna be there?" he asked, nudging me with his elbow.

I smirked. "She’s probably already front row, dude. Try not to trip over yourself when you see her."

The night passed in a blur of neon lights, pounding music, and far too much beer. By the time Kyle and I stumbled back onto the last train, the world felt like it was spinning faster than usual, and I was more than ready to pass out.

But the moment I stepped off the train and into the quiet, darkened street near campus, that feeling hit me again—the one I’d had earlier outside the library. The air felt heavier, like I was walking into something unseen, something waiting.

And then I saw him again.

Standing just beyond the station's steps, under the same lamppost as before, was the man. This time, he was looking directly at me.

“Hey—” I began, but Kyle interrupted with a drunken laugh. “Dude, you’re not gonna start seeing ghosts, are you? ‘Cause if you are, I’m out.”

I tore my eyes away from the figure and tried to shake off the feeling. “Nah, nothing like that. Just tired. Let’s get back to the dorm.”

But as we walked, I could feel the weight of eyes on my back. The night air seemed too still, too silent.

The next morning, I woke to find the memory of the stranger still clinging to my thoughts. His face seemed clearer now, though I couldn't place why. There was something familiar about him, as if I had seen him before—long before last night.

Days passed, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched. I’d catch glimpses of him in crowds, reflections in windows, standing at the edge of my vision, always just out of reach. Kyle, naturally, thought I was going nuts. “Man, you need to sleep,” he kept saying. “Or at least lay off the horror podcasts.”

But it wasn’t until I found myself back at the library, late one evening after an all-nighter studying, that things took a turn.

I was alone in the quiet reading room, books scattered across the table in front of me. The clock on the wall ticked in steady intervals, the only sound in the entire building. But then the air shifted. It grew colder, and that familiar sense of presence crept over me.

I looked up, and there he was—standing at the far end of the room, near the old grandfather clock that hadn’t worked in years.

“Who are you?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. The words echoed in the silence.

The stranger’s expression softened, and he took a step forward. “You don’t remember me, do you?” His voice was calm, but there was something ancient about it, something that seemed to belong to another era.

“Should I?” I stood up, heart pounding.

He nodded, his dark eyes meeting mine. “You’ve forgotten. But you will remember. Soon.”

Suddenly, the library seemed to warp around us, the walls fading into mist, the smell of old books replaced by the scent of damp earth and rain. I felt dizzy, my vision swimming.

When I blinked, I was no longer in the library.

I stood in a forest, the trees towering above, their branches tangled like reaching fingers. The stranger was there too, standing a few feet away, watching me.

“What is this?” I demanded, spinning around, trying to make sense of it.

“This is the place where it began,” he said softly, walking toward me. “Where you made the promise.”

“What promise?”

He reached into his coat and pulled out an old, tarnished locket. The moment I saw it, memories flooded back. Memories I didn’t know I had.

I was there, in the forest, years—no, lifetimes—ago. I had made a promise to him, a vow that transcended time. We had been more than friends, more than brothers. He had saved me, and I had sworn to help him find his way back.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” the man said, his voice filled with both hope and sorrow. “You promised you would return.”

I took a step back, the weight of the locket suddenly heavy in my hand. “I... I don’t understand.”

“You will.” He smiled, and for the first time, I saw the warmth in his eyes. “It’s time to fulfill the promise.”

In that moment, the world shifted once more, and I was back in the library, the locket clutched tightly in my hand. The stranger was gone, but I knew this was only the beginning.

The past had found me, and now, there was no turning back.