'Til Theft Do Us Part: Part II

(The scenes of this story are in a curated order, not a chronological one.)

IV. ON FUTURE MEMORY DISCOVERY

Researchers may encounter dream material suggesting:

Unlived relationships

Unmet individuals

Unchosen life paths

Such material is classified as Prospective Memory.

Prospective Memory is not predictive.

It is structural.

Researchers are reminded:

Discovery does not imply obligation.

Observation does not imply interference.

#

“Thank you for coming in, Astrid,” says a woman in a neutral pantsuit. “I’m Nina, and this is an informational interview only. No decisions today.”

Astrid nods. “That’s what the email said.”

“Good.” The woman smiles. “We like to be precise.”

The door opens softly behind Astrid.

“Sorry,” a man says. “I’m late.”

Astrid turns in her chair.

He’s already smiling; his silver wire frames high on his cheek bones, hasty anticipation in his stride.

“Astrid, this is Damien. He oversees our dream compatibility research.”

Damien extends a hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

His grip is warm. Familiar in a way that makes Astrid uncomfortable. His ring-finger has a bruised impression. Something's missing.

“Likewise,” she says. “Have we met before?”

Damien's response is fast. “Not officially.”

She laughs. “That’s a very specific answer.”

“I work in probabilities,” he says lightly. “I’m careful with absolutes.”

Nina clears her throat. “Damien will sit in today. If that’s alright.”

“Sure,” Astrid says, though she’s still studying him. “You just look… familiar.”

Damien tilts his head. “I get that a lot.”

“Did you cut me off in traffic once?” she asks. “Or steal my coffee order?”

He smiles wider, genuinely amused. “If I did, I apologize retroactively.”

Nina taps her tablet. “Astrid, you applied for a Guided Encounter. Can you tell us why?”

Astrid turns back to her, but she feels Damien’s attention stay with her.

“I’m not unhappy,” Astrid says. “I just feel… unfinished. Like there’s a version of my life that’s waiting for me to choose it.”

Damien’s fingers go still on his knee.

“That’s a common articulation,” Nina says. “Do you experience this feeling in dreams?”

“Yes,” Astrid says immediately. “Especially there.”

Damien exhales through his nose, quiet. Almost fond.

Nina notices. “You have something to add?”

“No,” Damien says. “Just… agreement.”

Astrid glances at him. “Agreement with what?”

“With the idea that dreams aren’t random,” he says. “They’re archival.”

“Archival,” she repeats. “That’s a strong word.”

“It has to be,” Damien says. “Otherwise people start calling them warnings.”

Nina shifts. “We prefer ‘structures.’”

Astrid looks between them. “Structures of what?”

Damien answers before Nina can. “Of meaning.”

Their eyes hold.

Astrid feels it again — that strange sense of recognition, like spotting a landmark from a car but not being able to place where you’ve seen it before.

She laughs, breaking it. “Okay, now I’m officially unsettled.”

Damien smiles. “That’s normal.”

“Is it?”

“For people who are about to embark on a journey that’s life altering,” he says.

Nina gives him a look. “Damien.”

He nods. “Sorry.”

“Should I be worried?”

“No,” Damien says, quickly. “Just… curious.”

Nina resumes. “Astrid, part of our process involves baseline dream mapping. Passive observation only.”

“And who observes?” Astrid asks.

Damien meets her gaze. “We do.”

Something in his voice makes her skin prickle.

She looks at him again, really looks. “You’re very confident about what I’ll see.”

He doesn’t deny it. “I’m confident about what you bring.”

Nina closes her tablet. “That’s enough for today.”

Astrid stands. Unsettled. Drawn.

As she reaches the door, she turns back once more.

“Seriously,” she says to Damien. “If we’ve met before—”

“We haven’t,” he says gently.

She studies his face. “Then why does it feel like you already know me?”

Damien’s smile bends into something, mischievous.

“Chemistry is unpredictable. It doesn’t always announce itself.”

Astrid leaves with a polite nod and a strange warmth in her chest.

Behind her, the door closes.

Damien doesn’t move for a long moment.

Nina looks at him sharply. “Damien.”

“I know,” he says. “I know.”

But his eyes are still on the empty chair.

Dream Entry

The controlled observation or immersion into another participant’s dream environment for the purposes of mapping, compatibility assessment, or therapeutic intervention.

#

Damien walks the outer floor area of the dinning section. Where shadows dwell.

In his pocket, his fingers bother the edge of a folded photograph.

It’s old by now. Creased. Softened. Astrid is laughing in it, head tilted back, adorned by a white Chapel Veil. Beside her, with his arms wrapping her waist, is the man he’s currently watching.

Damien doesn’t look at the man’s face anymore. He doesn’t need to.

The room is already vibrating. Much attention gathered around a single table. Astrid is standing; her breath sharp, her hand bleeding. The man from the photo walks toward her.

Damien watches it happen with the calm of repetition. The man’s concern is immediate, uncalculated. Genuine. A napkin appears. A question offered, prompt and with care.

Are you alright?

The image in Damien’s pocket feels heavier.

The man leaves to retrieve assistance. The dream destabilizes.

Damien counts. He knows this moment. His fingerprints are all over it.

By the time Astrid starts looking for the kind stranger, he’s already gone. Overwritten.

She scans the room, frowns, searches the wrong places.

Damien recognizes the sequence. He’s studied it frame by frame.

That’s when he moves.

“Astrid.”

She turns, surprised. Then quickly disguises desperate relief as confident irritation.

“I didn’t think you were going to show,” she says.

There it is.

Expectation. Confirmed.

“I almost didn’t,” Damien replies. He keeps his tone light, his posture clumsy; apologetic in a way she accepts without thinking. He taps his wrist. “It got away from me.”

She looks past him, still half-elsewhere. “I was just—” She stops. Shakes her head. “Never mind.”

Damien follows her gaze to the empty space beside her. He feels the old, familiar ache. Not jealousy. Something colder. More jagged around the edge.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

She nods. “Yeah. I think I just… embarrassed myself.”

He looks at the broken glass and smiles.

“It happens,” he says, taking her by the wrist and applying gentle pressure to the napkin. “I can break one too, so they’ll look at us both like we’ve lost it."

Astrid laughs. "You'd be surprised how many times I've been stood-up on the first date," she says, only now able to joke about it. “I’m glad you’re here."

Damien feels the photograph press against his thigh, as if reminding him what here cost.

“So am I,” he says.