William had lost count. He didn't know how long he had been lying there, staring at the simple design of the hotel ceiling. His eyes traced the symmetrical lines of the ceiling, plain and unremarkable, just like other hotels. He found himself wondering—why this design, though? Who decided it was the standard? Or there simply was no standard, and everyone just happened to like it?

He sighed, shifting slightly, his body half-sunk into the mattress he shared with no one. His eyes adjusted to the darkness. He could see the faintly visible cabinet, then wondered the same: why square? Why not something else?

The thoughts were mundane. However, they were invited to fill the void left by sleep that refused to come. William decided these utterly meaningless questions would serve better than the restless memories he couldn’t name.

At first, he tried to sleep. He would practice all the tips he once read about chasing insomnia away. Kept his phone far away, regulated his breathing, counted backward from a hundred, and kept his eyes shut amidst all of that. He had done them. None worked.

And so, here he was, lying awake. Fighting the memories.

They had faded with time, but even now they still lingered like shadows in his mind. They would be entering the crevices of his thoughts when his defenses were worn down.

William tossed to another side, looking for comfort. He turned to the side and saw the sleeping back of his younger brother. The sound of his brother's chest rhythmically rising and falling and the soft breathing made William realize how very badly he had failed to keep that peace. There would never be a chance, in that dream, that this would happen with Richard—not anymore.

In that reality, Richard had proved worthy of his dream-thought: doctor. Yet instead of supporting and celebrating it with Richard, William had taken it as another tool for the family.

"You can't be serious, Will," Richard snapped, his voice sounding sharp and unyielding.

William leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing in disdain, as he looked at his younger brother who sat across him. "I don't have time for explanations," came the cold and demanding tone. "Just do it, Richard."

"Do what?" Richard's hands were tight at his sides, knuckles going white as he moved closer to fill the space between them. "Forge the medical record?"

"Pretty much, yeah," he raised his voice, patience already thin. "You're good at it, Richard. It's a skill that comes together with your profession. Just fuckin' do it and move on."

"No. I can't do that," Richard said, steady voice, yet firm, "It's wrong."

"It's just a fucking piece of paper!"

"It's not just a piece of paper, William. It's a fraud. A damned crime!"

"Don't start this crap with me, Richard," William retorted, voice dripping scorn. "So high and mighty because you always thought you were better than everyone else. I am only asking for a favor, and this is how you act."

"A favor?" Richard's pitch rose again, "A favor?! You are just using me!"

"Using you?" William's hands slammed on the table. "Just don't get too much drama, Richard. It is only a piece of paper."

"Only a piece of paper?" Richard's voice was incredulous. "It's my name, William. My integrity is on the lines!"

In that life, he had never respected Richard or his self-esteem, his profession, his being. William had always asked of the impossible—no, the immoral—of Richard. Seeing how peaceful the sleeping one across from him was made the guilt gnaw at his heart relentlessly. He could feel the cold creeping down his spine. A warning of the possible outcome to come.

William sighed, maybe this is a second chance I don't deserve.

Those memories clung to him now that he found it impossible to rest. Therefore, William decided if sleep wasn’t coming, he might as well do something productive. Rising from the bed, he took his sweater off an adjacent chair, padded out of the room, and crept past his brother, who slept. Finally, pulled the door behind him.

He found himself in the living room. It was exactly as they'd left—cards and bricks scattered on the floor, empty glasses and empty plates had no attention, and a few crumpled napkins lying forgotten on the floor.

He began by collecting the cards and arranging them into decks for each of their types. To glance and seek a similar pattern was a welcome distraction from the storm inside his mind. He returned each box to one of the opened suitcases.

Next, William picked up the glasses, taking them to the mini-kitchen sink. The clinking of glass and plate echoed faintly in the quiet night. Before he turned the faucet on, he gazed at the bandaged finger. At first, he wondered whether they were waterproof or not, but Juliette came next.

She's too kind for someone like me, he thought bitterly, his lips pressing into a thin line.

He filled the sink with water and began washing them. His hands moved in slow, deliberate circles. The task should have been a mindless chore, but his thoughts wouldn't leave him alone. They returned, as they always did, to the choices he had made in his previous life. The harm he had caused, the bridges he had burned.

"You're up?"

The voice startled him, he almost dropped the glass into the sink. William turned sharply to see Juliette standing behind him. She was wearing soft pajamas and her hair was slightly tousled from sleep, but her eyes were bright, and gazing directly at him.

"How about you?" he replied, carefully.

Juliette stepped closer, her gaze was moving to the sink. "Couldn't sleep?" Instead of answering, she asked another question.

He hesitated, then nodded. "Figured I'd clean up instead. Didn't want to leave it all for tomorrow."

She studied him for a moment, but her expression was unreadable. Then without uttering anything, she walked beside him and started rolling up her sleeves.

"You don’t have to—"

"I know," she said softly, taking up a glass and dishcloth. "But I want to."

William fell silent, staring at her taking the glass from his hands. He knew it would be pointless to try to debate her when she had made up her mind. So he didn't.

The faint clinking of dishes and running water was the only sound in the quiet as they worked side by side. There were no hasty movements in their act, nor was there a need for words. It was that kind of silence that felt rather strange yet comfortable,

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Once she finished drying the last dish, Juliette put the cloth aside. She turned towards him. "Tea?" she asked.

"Tea sounds good," he said. Perhaps he had it in his face, the sign which informed Juliette that he wouldn't be able to sleep yet. He wished to debate her into letting him alone, but he knew it wouldn't work.

Juliette moved towards the small electric kettle sitting on the counter. Her steps were as soft as her voice. "We only have chamomile. Is it okay?"

"Chamomile is fine," William said, leaning against the counter.

He watched her prepare the tea, her movements precise. She could take the simple act into something graceful. Perhaps, it was something she learned in school. However, William was quick to dismiss that thought remembering how Juliette and Giselle attended the same school, yet their personality was so in contrast. The calmness was her very nature, he would think, and he envied that in the midst of this storm.

When the tea was ready, Juliette handed him a mug. It was warm and comfortable. She turned her head slightly and pointed to the balcony. "Come on."

He no longer hesitated in joining her. The sound of a sliding door breaking through the peaceful quiet of the night. Outside, the sea came into view. Its unique smell and sound greeted them as they stepped out. Two chairs joined side by side, facing the sea, with a table as their divider.

Juliette took one chair, while William settled into the other, elbows resting upon the table. They sat in silence for a while, sipping their tea and gazing out into the sea.

"It's quiet," Juliette whispered like she tried not to wake something up.

William nodded, his eyes blank and far away. "It is."

She turned to him. "You still can't sleep?"

A shake of the head ensued. "Too much on my mind."

"Wanna tell?"

He paused, clutching the warm mug with both of his hands. The question hung in the air, urging him to share, yet the words felt constricted somewhere between his chest and throat. He stole a glance toward Juliette, who sat cross-legged. The sea breeze brushed strands of hair across her face as her expression remained calm and open as if she could afford all the time in the world for him to speak.

"I have been having a dream," he started. The tone sounded hoarse as if he was half-unwilling to actually talk about it. "But it felt like... a memory. Of another life. A life where I wasn't... myself."

Juliette turned her head, now meeting him face to face. "What kind of memory?"

He, however, turned his gaze to the sea, feeling that it was too hard to look at her "A failure of a life. A life where everything has just fallen apart, and all you can do is to watch it all crumbling... because of you."

Juliette's gaze softened. She didn't interrupt him; rather, giving him space to continue.

William drew in a breath as his eyes latched on to the dark expanse that was the sea. "I haven't been the person I should've been. Not to my family, not to the people who trusted me, and certainly not to you."

Juliette was surprised, she didn't get of how she would be involved in his dream. However, she remained quiet. Even though, the curiosity killed her inside.

"I have done countless terrible things," he said, his voice almost inaudible. "In ways that I cannot possibly explain. I took everything good and pure about what I — no, we had, and I destroyed it. And the worst part is,..." He paused as he resisted the words. The clutch on his mug was getting tighter.

Juliette set her mug on the table and leaned slightly toward him. "Yes?"

He finally turned to look her way, his eyes filled with guilt and vulnerability. "The worst part is that I didn’t realize until it was too late how much I had truly lost. Until I had already broken everything beyond fixing. And now..." His voice cracked a little and he swallowed hard as he glanced away again. "Now, I am here, together with all these memories of someone I do not want to be. And if that's the person I will be, I am sure I don't deserve a second chance."

Now that he met her eyes, he could see her—Juliette from that life, her eyes were steady, filled with resolve, but also exhausted as she stood before him.

"I want to end our engagement, William." She spoke with her voice calm. Despite his unfaithfulness, she played no tears, anger, or anything in this conversation.

“Why?” His voice came out sharp, as something he had never expected coming from Juliette had been served in front of him.

Juliette would give him no emotion. "Because I'm tired of pretending. You're not in love with me, and I can't keep giving myself to someone who doesn't want me."

"Tired? What are you even tired of? You do absolutely nothing." His pride took a wound from those very words. "I gave you everything! A home, status—"

"You gave me nothing, William," Juliette interrupted with a firm tone. "Nothing that mattered. You don't see me. You don't care about what I feel or think. And I can't live like that anymore."

Her exhaustion was plain, not in her posture, but deep down in her eyes. It was not the exhaustion of someone angry; it was the exhaustion of someone who has long since lost hope.

The memory moved like a theatrical show. He could see his face, unaccepting of the fact. Pride would not allow it; this very position he was in would not permit a rejection. Reason had failed. When everything did not seem to work, cruelty from desperation stepped in.

Some of the images continued, he could still hear it now: Juliette weeping. He had stripped her of everything that mattered, convinced that this would bring her back to him. Instead, it plunged her into deeper destruction than ever.

"William?" Juliette's voice brought him to the present moment. The concern in her expression was obvious as she was watching him.

She was here, whole, serene, not even reminiscent of the shattered woman from his mind.

"I..." A long pause for him, searching, but with no words.

"You are not that person," Juliette said softly. "Whatever has happened in that life, this is not that one."

He looked at her then, he wasn't sure if that Juliette would agree, but he heard on this one.

"I don't remember about that life," she continued. "But I can say this: every day, we make choices about the kind of person we want to be. If you're here now, trying to make things right, then that's already proving something."

William shook his head slightly, his shoulders slumping. "I don’t think I can ever amend for what I did."

"Maybe you can't," Juliette said, her honesty direct. "But amending your mistakes may not be the point. Perhaps it's about learning, and deciding to do better now."

Her words washed into him. He had been wondering to make amends, to change, to take drastic measures. Yet, she was here and became a reminder that maybe it was fine to take little ones, an everyday measure. "Juliette, I—"

She raised a hand to stop him without offense. "If you're going to apologize for something I don't even remember, don't." Her smile softened. "Because in this life, you haven't done anything wrong. Yet."

"No," he replied, voice reduced to a whisper. "You have to let me do it. At least this. I'm sorry. I have to say it, even if you don't understand why. I'm sorry for everything I did to you in that life. You deserved better."

Her face wavered a bit then, something unreadable flitting across her features. And then, to his surprise, she smiled. "Well, okay," she said in a light tone again. "For whatever it is worth, I forgive you—past life, present life, or the future. I am sure you are being a bit too hard on yourself."

There was an ache in his chest, seeing how kind she was despite what he did. However, there was an undeniable weight that had been lifted. "That's a whole lot of trust and forgiveness to place in me."

"Not so," she said simply. "Just the truth. People can change, William. You've already changed."

William stared at Juliette and felt her words sink into his heart. Past and present collided at that moment. The broken woman from his memories seemed to merge with the one who had tried to forgive him. A Juliette which he knew.

"Juliette", he spoke her name softly.

"Hmm?"

"Thank you for listening, for understanding. I don't know if I deserve it, but thank you."

"You're welcome," she said lightly. Not knowing how much of tonight had affected him.

The silence stood between them as they sunk into their thoughts and waited for their dialogue to take place. The sound of waves filled in, but a moment later, they quietly nodded to one another.

"I guess we should call it a day..." Juliette said as she stood up.

William followed her to rise to his feet. But before they could leave, he hesitated and turned his head for one last look at her. A word was caught in his throat, once again.

"Can I-would it be weird if I...?" He faltered, unsure how to phrase it.

Juliette studied him for a moment, her expression softening. "Sure," she said simply, opening her arms.

William hesitated for just a moment before stepping forward. The hug was short but very meaningful.

The feeling of her arms around him were warm and light. No awkwardness, no unspoken tension. For the first time in the day, William believed that perhaps, just perhaps, he could actually find some sleep.