James

The evening air bit at my skin as I cruised through the empty streets, my board humming against the cracked pavement. The streetlights flickered inconsistently, their amber glow catching the edges of puddles left behind by the afternoon rain. The world felt alive in its stillness, yet somehow detached, like I was watching everything through a fogged window.

My backpack weighed heavy against my shoulders, not because of the usual clutter—sketchbooks, random tools—but because of it. The diary. It had felt heavier ever since I noticed the new entry. A part of me wanted to throw it into the nearest storm drain and forget about it. Another part, the louder part, told me I couldn't.

I slowed my board to a stop and sat on the edge of the sidewalk. Pulling the diary from my bag, I let my fingers trace the worn leather, as though the answers might seep into my skin. Flipping it open, I stared at the faint words scrawled in the middle of the page.

"Do you think we are together in every universe?"

The words punched a hole in my chest. They weren't mine. I didn't write this. And yet, they hummed in my veins like a distant memory I couldn't place.

A drop of rain landed on the corner of the page, smearing the ink slightly. I snapped the diary shut and shoved it back into my bag. My head buzzed with questions, but none of them came with answers.

I pushed off the curb, letting my board carry me away from the thoughts chasing me.

Charlie

The rain hadn't stopped all evening. I sat by the window, watching the droplets race each other down the glass. Mom was passed out on the couch again, the TV murmuring softly in the background. A cup of lukewarm tea sat untouched on the table beside me.

I reached for my diary. It had become my sanctuary, the one place I could pour out everything I couldn't say aloud.

Flipping to a blank page, I hesitated. The dreams had been getting stronger—more vivid, more... real. Every time, the same boy with messy dark hair and sharp eyes. I didn't know who he was, but it felt like I should.

My pen hovered over the page, and without thinking, I began to write:

"Are we even together in this one?"

The words flowed out of me like water, effortless and unfiltered. I didn't know why I wrote them or what they meant, but they felt right.

The room seemed to shift around me, the air thickening like a held breath. My diary grew warm under my hands, the faintest hum vibrating through the pages. I stared at the words, half-expecting them to vanish or rearrange themselves.

They didn't.

Shaking my head, I closed the diary and leaned back in my chair. I needed to get out of this house, away from the suffocating weight of it all. Grabbing my jacket, I stepped outside, letting the rain soak through my clothes as I wandered aimlessly down the street.

3rd Person POV

The rain fell in a steady rhythm, blurring the edges of the world into soft shadows and muted light. Two figures moved through the night, unaware of each other's presence but bound by something neither could name.

James, his hood drawn tight, skated through the park, his board slicing through puddles. His thoughts were loud and chaotic, a mix of unease and curiosity as the diary burned a hole in his bag.

Charlie walked the same path minutes later, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets as he tried to outrun the suffocating quiet of his home. The rain clung to his lashes, mixing with the tears he refused to acknowledge.

For a fleeting moment, their paths nearly crossed, the echo of wheels on wet pavement fading into the distance as Charlie approached. Neither saw the other, but the air between them seemed to hum, as though the universe itself held its breath.

The threads of their lives twisted and pulled, drawing them closer with every step.

James

I stopped under an overpass to escape the rain, shaking water from my hair. The diary felt heavier now, like it was demanding attention. I sighed, pulling it out again.

The pages flickered as I opened it, landing on a new entry. My pulse quickened. The ink was still drying, the letters curling faintly on the page.

"Are we even together in this one?"

I stared at the words, a chill running down my spine. They were mine—or they should've been. But I hadn't written them.

Closing the diary, I shoved it back into my bag and pushed off again, the wheels of my board splashing through shallow puddles. I didn't know what the hell was going on, but one thing was certain: this wasn't just some old journal.

Charlie

The rain had soaked through my jacket by the time I reached the edge of the park. My legs ached, but I didn't care. Walking helped clear my head, even if the thoughts came rushing back the moment I stopped.

I sat on a damp bench, the wood cold against my skin. Pulling my diary from my pocket, I flipped it open to the last page I'd written on. The ink glistened faintly in the dim light.

"Are we even together in this one?"

I ran my fingers over the words, the ache in my chest flaring. I didn't know what I was looking for. Answers, maybe. Or something I couldn't name.

The rain fell harder, drumming against the cover of my diary. I closed it gently, slipping it back into my jacket.

Somewhere out there, I felt it again—that pull, like a string tied to my heart, stretching through the darkness.