Palpitating yet confined within forbidden walls, her heart quivered with an affinity she wasn't remotely aware of. A face like his couldn't be forgotten, even if her memory were to be wiped clean. Am I hallucinating? Could it be? A young man in his early thirties skimmed a newspaper, unaware he was being studied. A tuft of wavy, caramel-brown hair fell over a set of piercing eyes. Deep, thoughtful windows. An enchanting sea-green, roaring and crashing. High and low. A well-maintained stubble framed his chiselled jawline beneath a Greek nose. He hunched his broad shoulders as he reached across the café table. Rose-coloured lips brushed against the porcelain as he carefully took sips of his coffee. The piping hot steam danced around his face, adding to the mystique brewing around him.
Pulling out a leather-bound sketchbook, she frantically flipped through the pages. Impossible! He actually . . . exists? Her eyes fleeted between the book and the man sitting across from her. The coincidence seemed too far-fetched, as she couldn't fathom a rational explanation. Logic defied the circumstances she was in. A sudden throbbing in the head yanked Helena back to reality. She clasped her forehead with one hand as the other shuddered against the table. Her entire body trembled from the pain engulfing her. Oh, no! Why does this keep happening to me? Helena was hurled into the "Golden Twenties" era in a split second, a recurring theme in her never-ending saga.
Grey, billowing clouds hovered above the surrounding areas, hunting for lost souls. A distant thunder crackled, sending shivers down her spine. Nearby, the chiming of the clock tower hummed hauntingly in the background, standing unamused by its repetitive rhythm. Deserted in a familiar setting, she pulled at her coat with raised eyebrows. Not this place again! What's the meaning of reliving this scenario? A horse-driven carriage hurried up along the pebbled road, sending a loose stone flying in the static air. A young man began to descend from it. Apparently, he was in his early thirties. Twirling his head towards her, a pair of sea-green eyes merged with hers . . .
"Are you okay? Do you need anything else?"
A man gazed worriedly at her. He had one arm wrapped around her and his eyes grew large with concern.
"Huh? What's . . . going on?"
Helena groggily turned towards the stranger, offering her a glass of water. A splitting headache hugged at her brain. Gulping mouthfuls of water, the sheer scenery became transparent before her. Distant voices grew closer. A hazy ghost substantiated into a human form, a handsome one. It bent her way, staring solemnly into her pale eyes. Steadying her glance, Helena felt her heart lurch towards her throat. Her eyes moved past the sea-green eyes towards the stranger's stretched right forearm. Etched on it was a tattoo of a young woman. A portrait bust of . . . herself . . .
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