Chapter 3

I stood in the corner of the gallery, staring at the figure focused on taking photographs, my heart pounding like it was about to burst from my chest.

Those slender fingers, that slightly curved silhouette, and that vintage camera—everything was too familiar.

'Impossible... Damian is already...'

My legs moved toward that direction without permission, each step feeling like I was walking on broken glass. The cold rain from his funeral seemed to hit my face again, and I could almost smell the lilies from that terrible day.

He couldn't possibly still be alive. In the original timeline, Damian had been dead.

But when I got closer and saw his profile clearly, I nearly fainted on the spot. It really was him. A living, breathing Damian, concentrating on adjusting his lens angle, photographing an abstract painting on the wall.

"Miss, are you alright? You look very pale."

That gentle voice made me look up abruptly. Damian had lowered his camera and was looking at me with concern, his eyes full of worry. This warm voice, this caring gaze... everything was exactly the same as in my memories.

"You... you're Damian?" My voice was shaking so badly I could barely understand myself.

He smiled gently—that smile I had been missing in my dreams: "Yes, I'm Damian. Do we know each other?"

Hearing him confirm it himself, my world completely turned upside down. 'He's alive... really alive...' I felt like I was floating, as if I might lose consciousness at any moment.

"You really don't look well. Come on, sit down first." Damian gently supported my arm, guiding me to a bench in the gallery's rest area.

His touch was real, warm. Not a hallucination, not a dream. Damian was really alive.

"Let me get you some water." He said this and quickly walked to the service counter, returning shortly with a glass of water.

I took the glass, my hands still slightly trembling. Damian sat down beside me, maintaining an appropriate distance without making me feel pressured. This was just like him—always so considerate, so gentle.

"Thank you." I sipped the water slowly, trying to calm myself down.

"You're welcome. I'm Damian, a photographer." He introduced himself. "I'm shooting for a mental health project, documenting how art affects people's emotions."

Hearing the words "mental health," I immediately became alert: "Mental health? Why... why did you choose this topic?"

Damian thought for a moment, his gaze becoming somewhat deeper: "I feel like many people are silently suffering. If art can help them... that would be meaningful. Modern society's pressure is too much, and many people are struggling in loneliness."

'Still the same kind Damian...' I thought to myself, but at the same time, an uneasy feeling washed over me. 'But he mentioned mental health—has it already started?'

In the original timeline, it was after Damian began focusing on mental health issues that he gradually fell into his own spiral of depression.

"You seem very nervous. Did I say something wrong?" Damian noticed the change in my expression and asked with some concern.

"No, no." I quickly shook my head. "It's just... what aspects do your photographs mainly focus on?"

"Mainly documenting those overlooked emotional moments." His eyes sparkled with passionate light. "Like someone thinking alone in a late-night coffee shop, or someone suddenly crying in front of an artwork. These genuine emotional reactions are often more moving than the artwork itself."

Watching his focused expression as he spoke, a familiar feeling of being moved surged in my heart. This was the Damian I had a crush on—sensitive, talented, always paying attention to those overlooked beauties.

"Your work sounds very meaningful." I said sincerely.

"I hope so." He smiled bitterly. "Although reality is always... never mind, let's not talk about these heavy topics. What about you? Are you an art enthusiast?"

I was about to answer when I suddenly remembered that in this timeline, Damian and I didn't know each other before. I had to be careful not to reveal any information I shouldn't know.

"I... I also like photography." I said. "That painting you were just shooting was very special."

"That's a piece about loneliness." Damian looked back at the abstract painting. "The artist wanted to express modern people's sense of isolation in bustling cities. I think many people can relate to it."

Time passed quickly as we talked about art and photography. Damian's insights were still so profound, so captivating. But as our conversation deepened, I became increasingly worried.

When we walked out of the gallery, Seattle's night was shrouded under dim streetlights. Damian proactively suggested: "I've been having trouble sleeping lately, probably from work stress. Do you know any good coffee shops? I'd like to find a place to sit for a while."

Hearing "trouble sleeping," my heart clenched hard. 'Insomnia... this is exactly the same as the original timeline...'

"Insomnia must be painful, right?" I asked tentatively.

"Yeah, sometimes I lie in bed all night unable to sleep, my mind constantly thinking about many things." Damian rubbed his temples. "It might be because of this mental health project I've been shooting recently—I've encountered too many heavy stories."

We walked slowly along the street, and Damian continued: "Sometimes I wonder if my photos could really help people. But reality is always..."

"What about reality?" I interrupted him, the unease in my heart growing stronger.

Damian stopped walking and smiled bitterly under the streetlight: "Reality is that some pain seems impossible to heal. Like recently I always feel... forget it, I shouldn't talk about this. We just met, I shouldn't be passing this negative energy to you."

'No, I can't let the tragedy repeat. This time, I must save him.'

I took a deep breath and mustered the courage to say: "Actually, sharing pain sometimes makes it lighter. If you're willing, I'd be happy to listen."

Damian looked at me, a flash of surprise in his eyes, then gratitude: "Thank you, really. Few people are willing to listen to these things."

"I think everyone should be understood and cared for." I said sincerely. "No one should bear pain alone."

He studied my face for a moment, something shifting in his expression. "You know, there's something about you... you feel familiar somehow. Like maybe we've met before?"

My breath caught. 'Be careful, Luna. Don't give yourself away.'

"Maybe we just have similar perspectives on life," I said carefully.

"Maybe." He smiled, but there was still that puzzled look in his eyes. "Well, I should probably head home. Thank you for tonight—for listening. It means more than you know."

As we stood at the street corner preparing to part ways, I watched him under the amber streetlight. His silhouette looked so fragile, so vulnerable.

'I won't let you slip away again,' I thought fiercely. 'Whatever it takes, I'll find a way to save you.'

Damian turned back one more time before disappearing into the night. "Hey, maybe I'll see you around? You seem like someone worth knowing."

I nodded. After he was gone, I stood alone under the streetlight, feeling the weight of this second chance pressing down on me.