Chapter 4: The Other Side of Julian

He faded out. Like a song you can’t quite remember the words to.

I knew it was because Julian had discovered Lucas’s existence.

It was the kind of realization that changes everything. I wondered what it must have felt like, to find a stranger living in your skin.

A second personality isn’t supposed to exist; it had to be erased.

I read about it online, tried to make sense of the medical jargon. It all sounded so clinical, so cold.

But what could I do? I couldn’t bear to lose my lover, but I had no right to stop someone from trying to heal.

It was a cruel choice, one with no good answers. I hated that I was even a part of it.

He just stood there, hands in his pockets, looking lost. I let him in, my heart pounding.

He brought a bouquet of flowers.

They were wrapped in brown paper, tied with a piece of blue ribbon. I could smell the faint scent of glue and paper as soon as he handed them to me.

They were beautiful. Almost too beautiful to touch. Paper forget-me-nots, dusted with fine glitter.

They sparkled in the light, each petal carefully creased. I ran my fingers over them, feeling the texture, the care that went into every fold.

“I found this in the storage room at home. I think Lucas wanted to give them to you.” Julian handed me the bouquet. “They’re called forget-me-nots.”

His voice was soft, almost apologetic. I took the bouquet, holding it close to my chest.

Lucas had once said he’d give me a bouquet that would never wilt.

I remembered the way he’d promised it, laughing at my skepticism. I never thought he’d actually do it.

I thought he was going to break that promise.

The thought stung, sharper than I expected. I blinked back tears, not wanting Julian to see.

“You really hate me, don’t you?” Julian said. “Just like my parents—you’d rather have Lucas back than me, right?”

His words were brittle, edged with old pain. I looked away, unable to meet his gaze.

I was silent.

There was nothing I could say that would make it better. Some wounds never heal. Not really.

The truth? Lucas and Julian were twins. But Lucas died in an accident when they were ten.

The story was old, but it still hurt to hear it. I pictured them as kids, racing down the street, laughing in the summer sun.

When they were young, Julian was mischievous, Lucas was steady. The accident happened when the brothers were racing bikes and were hit by a truck.

I could see it in my mind—the screech of tires, the flash of metal, the world changing in an instant.

Lucas died instantly. Julian spent half a year in the hospital.

How do you come back from something like that?

They say family is family, but sometimes people play favorites. After the accident, in their grief, Julian’s parents once asked why it wasn’t Julian who died.

Some wounds never heal. Not really.

Julian and I weren’t close enough to face each other’s deepest wounds.

We kept our distance. Like planets in separate orbits.

But he was one of the people Lucas loved most.

I knew that much. No matter what happened, I would always care about him, even if I couldn’t say it out loud.

So before Julian left, I called out to him.

The words caught in my throat, but I forced them out. I couldn’t let him leave without saying something.

“Julian, you have to live well from now on.” I held the flowers, standing at the stairwell, looking at him. “Eat well when you’re away, okay? Don’t get picky. Don’t hang around with those spoiled rich kids, either. You’re not Lucas, and I know that. I don’t hate you. For three years of high school, you were always a worthy rival. I hope your future goes smoothly, really.”

I meant every word. I watched him go, the bouquet clutched to my chest, the stairwell echoing with the sound of his footsteps.

My life went the way I wanted.

It wasn’t easy, but it was mine. I carved out a place for myself, brick by brick, day by day.

I kept busy. Studied, worked part-time at a coffee shop, made friends. My life was fuller than it ever was in high school.

I learned to make the perfect latte, to remember regulars’ names, to fake a smile even on the worst days. My world grew bigger, brighter.

After college, I got a job at a global company. After two years of grinding overtime, I finally saved enough for a down payment and settled in this city.

The city was loud and restless, but it felt like home. I decorated my apartment with thrift store finds, hung fairy lights in the kitchen, let myself believe I belonged. It wasn’t much, but it was mine.

The memories of high school never faded, but those old events were like paintings on a wall—just something to look at.

It was just another story now. One of many.

I was never close to Julian or his friends, so for years I never heard a word about him.

We moved in different circles. Our lives spun out in opposite directions, the thread between us growing thinner with every passing year.

Of course, I didn’t regret it. Life is like that: you meet many people, and then lose touch with most of them.

You can’t hold on to everyone. And maybe that’s okay.

At ten o’clock on a Wednesday morning, I waited at the international arrivals gate at the airport, ready to pick up my boss returning from a business trip.

The airport buzzed with energy—families reuniting, business travelers rushing past, the smell of coffee and jet fuel thick in the air. I checked my phone again. Couldn’t help it.

The woman next to me wore a little black dress, perfectly tailored to show off her figure. I couldn’t help admiring how gorgeous she was.

She stood out in the crowd, her heels clicking against the tile floor. She looked like she belonged somewhere else entirely.

Soon, I spotted my boss in the crowd.

He looked tired but happy, dragging a battered suitcase behind him. I straightened my jacket, ready to greet him.

The woman beside me started waving excitedly. “Julian, over here!”

Her voice was bright, cutting through the noise. I turned, my heart skipping a beat at the name.

My eyes shifted, and I saw Julian, whom I hadn’t seen in years, walking right behind my boss in a simple shirt and jeans.

He looked older, but still unmistakable. There was a seriousness in his eyes I didn’t remember from before.

My boss was a kindly older man. Balding, he’d just shaved his head.

He wore his age with grace, his smile warm and familiar. I felt a surge of gratitude for how he’d looked out for me at work.

With the height difference, the airport lights bounced off his shiny head, casting a glow on Julian behind him. It made Julian’s skin look almost porcelain.

It was a funny sight, and for a moment, I almost laughed. The absurdity of it all made everything feel lighter.

“Mr. Pierce, over here.” I waved.

He spotted me and made his way over, his steps slow but steady.

He walked over with a smile. “Thank you, Mariah.”

His voice was warm, genuine. I smiled back, feeling a little more at ease.

I took his luggage. As we walked, I filled him in on work stuff.

We chatted about the new project, the upcoming deadlines. I kept my tone professional, trying not to let my mind wander.