Eternal Echoes of Us

The journal sat on Aria's worktable, its worn leather cover catching the light streaming in through the window. She had spent the better part of the night flipping through its pages, tracing her fingers over the sketches as if touching them would bring her closer to the past.

The portrait of the man—Leo—haunted her. His eyes seemed to follow her wherever she went, filled with a strange intensity that made her chest tighten. She didn't know why, but looking at him filled her with an overwhelming sense of longing, as though she were searching for something she had lost.

By morning, she knew she couldn't let the mystery rest. She needed answers.

The Willow Creek library was housed in an old brick building at the edge of town. Its arched windows and ivy-covered walls gave it an air of timelessness, as though it had always been there, quietly guarding the secrets of the past. Aria pushed open the heavy oak doors, the scent of old books and polished wood greeting her as she stepped inside.

The librarian, a middle-aged man with round glasses perched on the tip of his nose, looked up from his desk as she approached.

"Can I help you?" he asked, his voice warm and pleasant.

"I'm looking for information about someone," Aria said, setting the journal down on the counter. "A man named Leo Hawthorne."

The librarian's eyes lit up with recognition. "Ah, yes. Leo Hawthorne was quite the figure in Willow Creek's history. He was a historian—lived here in the early 1900s. Very passionate about his work, though some might say he was obsessed."

"Obsessed with what?"

"The ruins out by the cliffs," the librarian explained, gesturing vaguely toward the ocean. "He believed they held the key to understanding something… bigger. He wrote extensively about the idea of soul echoes—connections between people that transcend time."

Aria's heart skipped a beat. "Soul echoes?"

"It's the belief that certain souls are bound together," the librarian continued. "That no matter how many lifetimes pass, they're destined to find each other again and again. Hawthorne was convinced that the ruins were tied to this phenomenon, though no one ever took him seriously. Some even thought he'd gone mad."

Aria swallowed, her gaze drifting to the journal. "Do you know what happened to him?"

The librarian's expression grew somber. "He disappeared in 1954. One day, he simply vanished. Some say he walked into the ocean and never came back. Others think he may have gotten lost in the ruins. But no one knows for sure."

A chill ran down Aria's spine. She opened the journal to the portrait of Leo, sliding it across the counter. "Is this him?"

The librarian studied the drawing for a long moment before nodding. "Yes. That's Leo Hawthorne. Where did you find this?"

"At an antique shop," Aria said. "The owner said it belonged to him."

The librarian raised an eyebrow. "Well, you've certainly stumbled upon something special. If you're looking for more information, you might want to talk to his grandson—Leo Hawthorne the Third. He still lives in town and knows more about his grandfather's work than anyone else."

"Where can I find him?"

"He runs the historical society," the librarian said. "It's just down the road, near the town square."

---

The historical society was a modest building, its stone facade weathered by years of sea spray. Aria hesitated at the door, clutching the journal tightly in her hands. She wasn't sure what she expected to find, but the weight of anticipation pressed heavily on her chest.

The inside of the building was quiet, the walls lined with exhibits detailing the history of Willow Creek. Maps, photographs, and artifacts filled the space, each telling a piece of the town's story.

"Can I help you?"

The voice startled her, and she turned to see a man emerging from an office at the back of the room. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair that curled slightly at the ends. His eyes, sharp and observant, studied her with a mix of curiosity and caution.

"I'm looking for Leo Hawthorne," Aria said, her voice steadier than she felt.

"You've found him," the man said, offering a small smile. "Leo Hawthorne the Third. But most people just call me Leo."

Aria hesitated, unsure how to begin. Finally, she held out the journal. "I found this in an antique shop. The owner said it belonged to your grandfather."

Leo's expression shifted, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took the journal from her. He flipped through the pages in silence, his jaw tightening as he studied the drawings. When he reached the portrait, he paused, his fingers lingering on the edge of the page.

"This was his," Leo said finally, his voice low. "I haven't seen it in years."

"Why did he draw these?" Aria asked, unable to keep the urgency out of her voice. "Did he ever explain them to you?"

Leo looked up at her, his gaze searching. "He believed they were memories—fragments of lives he had lived before. He was convinced that the ruins by the cliffs were a kind of… gateway, a place where the boundaries between past and present blurred."

Aria's breath caught. "Do you believe that?"

"I don't know," Leo admitted. "But I do know that he was obsessed with the idea of finding someone—someone he believed he had lost in another life."

Aria's chest tightened. "Who?"

Leo hesitated, his eyes flicking back to the journal. "He never said. But I think… I think he was searching for her in every lifetime."

The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. Aria's mind raced, the pieces of the puzzle shifting but refusing to fit together.

"Would you take me to the ruins?" she asked suddenly.

Leo's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Why?"

"I think… I think I need to see them for myself," Aria said, her voice trembling with conviction. "I don't know why, but I feel like I've been there before. Like I've seen them in my dreams."

For a long moment, Leo said nothing, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nodded. "Tomorrow morning. I'll take you."

---

That night, Aria lay awake in her bed, the journal resting on the pillow beside her. She stared at the portrait of Leo Hawthorne, her fingers tracing the lines of his face.

"Who are you?" she whispered into the darkness. "And why do I feel like I've known you forever?"

Sleep came fitfully, her dreams filled with flashes of images—the ruins bathed in moonlight, the sound of waves crashing against the cliffs, and a voice calling her name, distant and familiar.

When she woke the next morning, the ache in her chest was sharper than ever.