Maya Sinclair wasn't sure when the restlessness started. Maybe it was the café. Maybe it was the way that woman had looked at her like she was something familiar wearing a stranger's skin. Or maybe it was the way Eddie froze up like he'd been hit by a truck.
But something cracked open inside her that day. And now it wouldn't shut.
She wasn't going to get answers from Eddie. That much was clear. So, she was going to do it her way.
No distractions. No games. Just facts.
She sat cross-legged on her bedroom floor, surrounded by a mess of printouts, hospital records she'd requested under the guise of a "school project," and her old medical file. Her laptop hummed beside her, glowing like a silent accomplice.
"Okay," she whispered, cracking her knuckles. "Let's see what you're hiding."
She pulled up traffic reports from one year ago—March 11th.
She typed in the time of her accident. 10:06 PM. Intersection of Hillside and 5th.
Boom.
Two-vehicle collision. Vehicle one: red Honda Civic. License plate registered to Samantha Rose Taylor.
Her heart stopped.
Vehicle two: name redacted. Injured party transferred to Saint Francis Hospital.
That was her. That was Maya.
But it didn't stop there.
Driver of vehicle one not found at the scene. Car was empty upon arrival. Presumed ejected or fled.
Her stomach turned.
Where had Sammy gone?
She flipped through the hospital records she'd just gotten from the front desk that morning—pretending to be a curious honors student researching trauma response procedures. The nurse had smiled, handed over a slim file, and wished her luck.
Now, as she read through it, the words blurred in places she didn't want them to.
Patient: Maya Sinclair.
Arrival Time: 10:08 PM. Condition: Unconscious. Chest trauma. Flatlined at 10:19 PM. Emergency surgery initiated at 10:23 PM.
Heart transplant performed at 10:26 PM. Donor anonymous.
Maya dropped the folder.
Her hand covered her chest on instinct.
That wasn't a metaphor.
That wasn't poetry or coincidence.
That was Sammy.
She scrambled through the files again, hands shaking, pulling open browser tabs faster than her brain could keep up.
She searched obituaries. Hospital death records.
There it was.
Samantha Rose Taylor. Died March 11th. Time of death: 10:21 PM. Declared at Saint Francis Hospital.
Same place. Same night. Same hour.
Five minutes before Maya flatlined.
Maya's fingers were trembling.
She read it again.
Sammy was in the same hospital. She died there. They had no idea who was driving her car, but the vehicle hit Maya's car. And then she—
No. No way.
Her eyes scanned the transplant note again.
Heart received from in-house donor. No transport required.
It didn't come from another hospital.
It didn't come on a helicopter or in a cooler.
It came from within the building.
That's when it hit her.
That's when the realization punched her so hard in the chest she could barely breathe.
Sammy's car caused her crash. Sammy died minutes before Maya did. Sammy was in the same hospital. And now—
Now her heart was beating in Maya's body.
It wasn't metaphorical.
It wasn't symbolic.
It was literal.
The door to her room creaked open. It was Sally, holding snacks and looking slightly worried.
"Dude… what's with the serial killer setup?"
Maya didn't answer right away. Her eyes were glassy, locked on the files like they might jump off the paper and strangle her.
Sally stepped closer. "Maya? What's going on?"
Maya looked up slowly. Her voice was quiet. Shaky.
"I think… I have her heart."
"Whose heart?"
"Sammy's."
Sally blinked. "Like… her actual heart?"
Maya nodded.
"The girl from the accident," she said. "She's the one who crashed into me. She died five minutes before I flatlined. And I had a transplant."
Sally's hand flew to her mouth. "Holy sh—"
"And Eddie," Maya added, voice cracking. "Eddie was her boyfriend."
Silence.
Sally didn't know what to say. Neither did Maya.
Because what the hell could you say?
She stared at the printout of Sammy's name on the death certificate. Below it, scribbled in messy black ink, were the words from her transplant note:
"Donor: Matched. Immediate transplant. Patient revived."
She was revived.
Because someone else died.
Because Sammy died.
And now she was walking around with the heart that had once loved Eddie.
That's why the woman at the café had hugged her like she was her daughter.
That's why Eddie never talked about his past.
That's why she sometimes had dreams that didn't belong to her.
Because they weren't hers.
They were Sammy's.
And Maya was starting to think her heart hadn't forgotten a thing.
Maya couldn't sleep.
She stared at the message from Sammy's mom over and over, fingers frozen above her phone like she was waiting for permission to breathe.
There's something else you need to know.
What else could there possibly be?
Her thoughts spiraled so hard she was sure she could feel her pulse beating in someone else's rhythm. Her chest ached—not with heartbreak, not with fear, but with a strange, quiet familiarity. Like a whisper that wasn't hers.
The world outside felt too bright, too loud, too fake. She walked in a daze until she realized her feet had carried her straight to the old woman's house.
The door opened before she knocked.
"You know," the woman said softly, stepping aside.
Inside, Maya collapsed onto the couch like her bones couldn't carry the weight anymore.
"You didn't know, did you?" the woman asked gently.
Maya shook her head.
"I only found out a few weeks ago," the woman said. "A nurse at the hospital remembered me. Said they used Sammy's heart. That it went to a teenage girl in critical condition that same night."
Maya whispered, "That was me."
"I know." Her eyes shimmered. "The second I saw you, I knew. Not just the face… it's something else. The way you laughed. The way you wrinkle your nose when you're thinking."
"I'm not her," Maya said quickly.
"I know you're not. But a part of her lives in you. Literally."
Maya felt like she couldn't breathe. "This is insane. Like, sci-fi movie level insane."
The woman reached out and took her hand. "Do you believe in fate?"
"No. But I believe in chaos."
The woman smiled sadly. "Sometimes they're the same thing."