Eternal Whispers-Noah Sebastian

Part I

You had been working at the same record store for nearly two years, a quiet place nestled in the heart of your city. The store had a reputation for drawing in musicians and collectors who were serious about their craft, so it wasn't surprising when you noticed a tall, dark-haired man browsing through the vinyls one afternoon.

What's surprising, however, was when he looked up, and you found yourself staring into the piercing eyes of Noah Sebastian, the lead singer of Bad Omens. Your heart skipped a beat, recognizing him instantly, though you tried to play it cool. Celebrities came in now and then, but Noah was different. His presence was magnetic, and there was something almost otherworldly about the way he carried himself.

You walked over to him, doing your best to keep your composure. "Need help finding anything?" you asked, keeping your voice steady.

He looked up from the record he was holding, his gaze locking onto yours. For a moment, it seemed like he was searching for something in your eyes. "Just browsing," he said with a small smile. "But thanks."

Over the next few weeks, Noah became a regular at the store, always showing up at the same time on Wednesdays. You would chat about music, exchange recommendations, and sometimes even delve into deeper conversations about life and its mysteries. You felt an inexplicable connection to him, one that grew stronger with each visit. But there was something strange about it too, like an undercurrent of something you couldn't quite put your finger on.

One evening, as you were closing up the store, Noah lingered longer than usual. He seemed distracted, almost troubled. "Do you ever feel like... like you've known someone before you actually met them?" he asked suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence.

The question caught you off guard, but you nodded slowly. "Yeah, I think so. Like déjà vu, but stronger?"

He smiled faintly, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Something like that."

The air between you shifted, the comfortable connection suddenly laced with tension. Noah stepped closer, his gaze intense. "I need to show you something," he said, his voice low. "But you have to promise me that you'll keep an open mind."

Your heart raced as you nodded, unable to refuse him. You followed him out of the store and down the street to a nearby park. The sun had set, and the park was quiet, save for the rustle of leaves in the evening breeze. Noah led you to a secluded spot under an old oak tree, its branches stretching out like skeletal fingers in the dim light.

From his pocket, Noah pulled out a small, worn leather bound book. He handed it to you with a look that was almost pained. "I found this years ago, but I never understood what it meant until I met you."

You opened the book, finding pages filled with sketches and notes, written in a language you didn't recognize. As you flipped through it, your eyes landed on a sketch that made your breath catch in your throat. It was a drawing of two figures standing under an oak tree, eerily similar to the one you were standing beneath now. One figure was unmistakably Noah, and the other... the other looked just like you.

You looked up at Noah, your hands trembling. "What is this?"

He ran a hand through his hair, his expression tortured. "I don't know exactly, but I think it's some kind of journal, maybe from a past life. I found it in an old bookstore years ago, and ever since, I've been having dreams, dreams about you, about us. And then I met you, and it all started to make sense."

You stared at him, trying to process what he was saying. The connection you felt, the sense of familiarity, it wasn't just in your head. But this... this was impossible. "Noah, this can't be real."

"I know how it sounds," he said, his voice pleading. "But I think... I think we've done this before. Met, fallen in love, and something always went wrong. Something always kept us apart. But this time, we have a chance to change it."

Your mind was spinning, torn between disbelief and the undeniable pull you felt toward him. "What do you mean? Change what?"

Noah hesitated, his gaze dropping to the ground. "In the dreams, in the memories... one of us always dies. And it's always because of this," he said, gesturing to the book. "Whatever it is, it's like a curse. I don't know why it's happening, but I think if we destroy the book, we can break the cycle."

The weight of his words settled over you, cold and heavy. You looked down at the book in your hands, feeling the dark energy radiating from it. It wasn't just an old journal it was something much more sinister.

You nodded slowly, your decision made. "Let's destroy it."

Noah's relief was palpable as he took the book from you. Together, you found a nearby trash bin, and Noah set the book inside. He pulled out a lighter, hesitating for just a moment before flicking it on and tossing it into the bin. The flames caught quickly, devouring the pages.

As the fire burned, you felt a strange sensation, like a weight lifting off your chest. But just as quickly, a new fear gripped you. What if this didn't work? What if the curse was real, and it was too late?

But as the flames died down, Noah turned to you, his expression hopeful for the first time since you'd met. "It's over," he said softly, taking your hand in his. "We're free."

You wanted to believe him, but something in the back of your mind still whispered of danger. As you walked back to the store together, you couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't the end. The curse may have been broken, but its remnants would linger watching, waiting.

Noah squeezed your hand, sensing your unease. "Hey," he said, his voice reassuring. "We'll be okay. We're together now, and nothing can change that."

You smiled up at him, hoping he was right. But deep down, you couldn't help but wonder if the curse had one final trick left, one last twist in the story you thought you knew.

And as you walked through the dimly lit streets, you both failed to notice the shadowy figure watching from the distance, a figure that seemed all too familiar, holding a new, untouched journal in its hands.