High school seniors were supposed to be studying hard for graduation, and even the sound of the bell couldn't drown out the noise in the classroom. The hallway outside was full of people coming and going.
When Shen Yan opened his eyes, he thought he'd just napped past dismissal. But something was wrong. This was a classroom he didn't recognize. There were unfamiliar names on the blackboard, and the students were wearing different uniforms.
He was sitting near the back by the window, looking outside as he tried to piece his memory together.
Just moments ago, he'd been dozing off in his university library. Now he was here. The change was too sudden, leaving him disoriented.
Outside, the sunlight was too bright, and the faint sound of cicadas buzzed from the trees beyond the building. Shen Yan leaned on the desk, brow furrowed, eyes resting on a physics question on a test paper—but he wasn't really thinking about it.
His mind was coldly alert yet so chaotic he couldn't find the words to explain it.
He didn't remember coming to this classroom—
more precisely, he didn't remember *anything* about this school.
People were calling him "Shen Yan." His name was on the grade sheet.
But the textbooks, the course schedule, even the school uniform styles were all wrong. Stranger still—
Everyone in class seemed to know him.
Except he didn't remember *any* of them.
Forcing himself to stay calm, he kept his usual composed expression. No one else noticed anything strange, so he couldn't show his panic. He needed time—to figure out if this was a lucid dream, a dimensional rift, or a breakdown in his own mind.
A breeze blew through the open window, rustling his hair and lifting the edge of a worksheet. It fluttered off the desk.
Just as he reached to catch it, a pair of sneakers appeared before his eyes.
He looked up.
And froze.
The boy handed him the paper with a gentle voice:
"You dropped this."
His voice was neither too loud nor too soft, like a single drop of water hitting a calm lake, sending ripples through Shen Yan's heart.
He instinctively took the sheet from him.
Sunlight streamed in from the side, casting faint shadows from the boy's lashes. He smiled—warm and harmless.
"Thanks," Shen Yan replied calmly, though inside, he couldn't shake the feeling.
Because the boy's face—
was almost exactly like his own.
Like staring into a mirror.
But just slightly... off.
A stranger's face, disturbingly familiar.
It was the same figure from a recurring dream—one he'd never told anyone about. In those dreams, a blurry voice always echoed in his ears:
*"Yan Yan, I've finally found you."*
Soft, sorrowful. Like a lingering obsession.
Shen Yan always thought it was just stress-induced hallucinations.
But now—
That same figure from his dreams was standing right in front of him, saying:
*We've been desk mates for three weeks.*
The boy smiled and said gently, "I'm not new. We've been seatmates for three weeks."
Shen Yan blinked, stunned.
He glanced at the desk—there were signs of use on both sides. A water bottle, a box of mints, and a sticky note in the middle that read:
*"Whoever crosses the line first buys dinner."*
The handwriting wasn't his.
But the brand of mints was one he always ate.
Everything said they'd known each other for a while.
But Shen Yan had never seen this person before.
"What's your name?" he asked, voice quiet.
The boy smiled. "Gu Yan."
Shen Yan's heart skipped a beat.
That name was too familiar.
Not from reality, but from those fragmented, elusive dreams. The figure who always called him.
And now he was here—
flesh and blood, looking at him with knowing eyes.
And then, Gu Yan said something that made his blood run cold:
"You're not him, are you?"
Shen Yan tried to hide his shock. "What are you talking about?" he asked evenly.
But Gu Yan didn't press. He just smiled, sat back down, and said softly:
"Nothing. You're just looking at me differently today."
From that moment on, Shen Yan couldn't stop watching him.
Every action, every glance, every word felt familiar. Too familiar.
"You've done these physics problems before?" he asked casually.
"No," Gu Yan replied with a smile. "You taught me."
Shen Yan's throat tightened.
He didn't know what game Gu Yan was playing—but one thing was certain:
Gu Yan knew him.
Too well.
Better than a deskmate should.
Better than friends, or even family.
Like someone who had studied every inch of his life—his writing habits, his tastes, his routines, even the emotions he tried to hide in dreams.
Gu Yan smiled like a gentle predator, slowly luring Shen Yan into his rhythm.
Later that night, before the final self-study class, Gu Yan turned to him:
"You didn't eat much at lunch today, did you?"
Shen Yan looked up, surprised.
"How do you know?"
"You chew on your pen when you're hungry."
Shen Yan looked down and noticed the deep bite mark on his pen. His face flushed.
Gu Yan chuckled lightly. "You did the same thing last time."
It didn't sound like something from today, but something that had happened many times before.
At the end of night study, they walked side by side down the hall.
Shen Yan suddenly stopped and turned to look at him.
Gu Yan paused, meeting his eyes with a gaze that was quiet and gentle.
"Have we met before?" Shen Yan asked softly.
Gu Yan looked down, the corners of his lips lifting into a secretive smile.
"You tell me."
Shen Yan didn't press him further.
That night, he wrote one line in his journal:
"He looks like the one from my dreams—but he's not. And yet… I don't want to run away anymore."