The Ink of Our Souls|ONC2025

"Ariana, what's wrong?" Michael pulled me into his chest as sobs wracked my body. As if worried that the moisture from my tears would affect the scroll, Tony reversed his process to seal the silk back into its humidity-safe container.

"Haoyu," was all I could say. Michael pulled me to one of the benches on the other side of the archive, and I could hear Tony shuffling around the room, but I couldn't catch my breath or stop the tears that were being wrenched from my heart.

"Yes, Emperor Haoyu," Tony said quietly. "Though there is no record of what dynasty he was a part of, the scroll predates the Han dynasty by a few years at least." I could feel Michael's arm lifting and waving at Tony, who seemed to understand. "But, I will leave you. Notify me when you've left, Michael. You know I must lock the archive."

"Of course, thank you, Tony," Michael answered.

"Never a problem. Who am I to keep you from your Grandfather's collection?" With that, the archive door opened and closed, leaving us alone.

I'm not sure how much time had passed before I could control my crying enough to realize I was soaking through Michael's dress shirt. I hoped he wouldn't have to go to work after this. I hadn't asked him whether he had taken the whole day off. I was a teaching assistant for a class that afternoon, but I had informed Dr. Edwards about visiting the archives, so she knew I might not be able to make it. Usually, I just sat at the back of her lectures and helped distribute or collect materials. Unlike the labs where she truly needed me, in lectures, she could have another student replace me.

"I'm sorry," I said, uselessly wiping my hands over the wet spot I had created.

"Stop," Michael whispered and grasped my hands in his. I looked up at him, and the hard look in his eyes made me recoil. He blinked a few times, and the look softened. He smiled apologetically, "You don't have to apologize for your emotions or my shirt. But you do have to try to tell me what is happening here." He pushed our clasped hands to my chest.

"It felt familiar," I answered, trying to figure out how not to sound crazy.

"Like you heard it in a dream?" He prompted.

"Exactly like that," I said as I straightened myself.

"In that dream that had a man with the same name as the dying Emperor?"

"Yes," I admitted.

"Hmm," Michael answered, then pulled me into his chest in an unexpected hug. "I found this poem in a book detailing my grandfather's collection right after he had bequeathed it to the University Archives. When I found out the original was here, I was drawn to it, needing to see the author's handwriting upon the page."

"Why?" I pressed my ear to his chest, listening to the vibration of his words and his steady heartbeat.

"I guess you could say it felt like a memory I couldn't place. Like Deja Vu. Words that I had never heard before, yet were familiar."

"And did you feel better when you saw them?"

"No, not ever, not the first or fiftieth time. It never clicked into place until I said them to you." He pushed me so he could look into my eyes while he spoke. "And when I said them to you, it felt right, like yours were the ears these words were intended for. But that makes no sense."

"No, it doesn't," I said, but it did, it all made sense to me.

"When I first met you," Michael said. "You called me Haoyu. I didn't remember that until today. Even after you said it in your sleep, I didn't make the connection until you looked at me the same way today and said it as if it were mine."