Harper heaved a sharp inhale as her eyes shot open, adjusting to the dimly lit room. She was lying on a dark red carpet, the fluffy fibers cradled her arms and legs. As Harper pushed up onto her elbows she realized the well-known and dull joint pain in her arms was gone. She quickly stood up on her feet and felt the vertebrae of her back align itself straight and tall. She looked around the room. Its ceilings were high, higher than any building she’d ever been in, and the walls were covered in a dark slate blue coat of paint, contrasting the cream pillars that lined the room in equal spacing. The roof was made of glass panels that came to a point at the center like a teepee, and out the windows, it was pitch black. Embedded in the darkness were splatters of stars - like looking at a blown-up picture of the Milky Way. Harper’s eyes swept across the room and landed on a huge wooden door, its surface was carved intricately with markings that resembled wings and arrows. It was astonishing. It reached all the way to the glass ceiling and was emitting a soft warm glow at its edges. She felt an overpowering urge to push the door open.

      Expecting it to be as heavy as it looked she stepped back and got into a solid crouching stance and pushed. The door weighed nothing, like a screen door to a backyard that could be swung open with the flick of a wrist. Harper’s momentum caused her to stumble forward and land awkwardly on… a chair. After catching her breath she looked around and saw she was in a dining room, but the slate blue walls had been replaced by the glass panels that had been the ceiling in the other room. They also looked out into the same star scattered darkness. The table before Harper was the same wood as the door and just as beautifully carved, angel wings and arrows, but there were other carvings on the top. Names. Hundreds of thousands of them, all in pairs, some surrounded by hearts or stars. They were the names of lovers - it was obvious. A table like the one in the room could have sat 50 people or more but there were only two chairs. The one Harper had fallen on and one at the other end of the strange, carved table. For the first time, she noticed the man sitting in the opposite chair, he was looking down at his lap, slumped over, breathing too evenly to be awake. He had grey hair, matching Harper’s, and even from all across the table she could see his cheeks and chin sag with age. She walked around the table, running her hand over all the names carved along the edge. When she neared the man, his strong bone structure, high-set cheekbones, and prominent jaw were evident even under the wrinkles. He was subtly beautiful and looked unmistakably familiar to Harper, although she had no idea why. His chest rose and sank with each breath and his eyelids fluttered as if he was in a dream. She gently reached down and touched his shoulder,  covered by the sleeve of a light v-neck, despite having to be at least 80 years old his arms were lean and strong. The man jolted awake and his eyes darted around before they landed on Harper and locked in a stare. Harper sharply inhaled and clenched her jaw. Mitchell Scott.  His eyes. Unmatched. The same light blue as they’d always been, deep-set, hidden behind thick eyelashes even in age. So pale in color they were practically grey- the color of clouds-.

      “The color of clouds,” Mitchell spoke. As if he had read her mind. Harper knew he recognized her then too, and as he reached his hand to cup her cheek she didn’t move. He rubbed his thumb near her eye, and murmured with a smile, “the color of river pebbles.”

      She lingered there, trance-like, taking comfort in his cupped hand. How was he here? Why? Where is here? Where are we? Why are we… Harper’s head suddenly flooded with a million questions. She tore her face away from Mitchell’s hand and saw hurt flash across his eyes. She thought about where she had last been, before waking up on a shag carpet in.. God knows where. Her memories seemed foggy, distant, blocked by something. Thinking made her brain ache and she shut her eyes against the pain and thought harder. Nothing. When Harper opened her eyes Mitchell was crouched over her one hand on her back as if he was supporting her. The throbbing in her head vanished when she looked at him. But was immediately replaced by overwhelming emotions of anger and regret. She looked away from him and saw the room was no longer all glass. A wall, slate blue, stood in place of the glass panel opposite to the door. Hung on it was a square full body mirror, surrounded by more carved wood. Harper stood and started to walk toward it, and Mitchell labored as he rose and followed behind. She looked like she had looked for years, a shell of her old self. A sagging face, once striking and surrounded by a mane of copper hair now only held a short crown of grey. Her body, never thin but also never over a medium in the woman’s sundress section, now looked geriatric instead of strong and stable.

      But as Mitchell drew nearer, the reflection looking back at Harper started to change. The fiery brilliance of her hair began to radiate until it covered her head, her face lifted, dark under-eye circles were replaced with a youthful glow. She closed her eyes and shook her head only to open them to the feeling of her hair draping over her shoulders. She looked like she was back in her twenties. How she looked before she broke up with... Mitchell. A hand on her shoulder stopped her train of thought and she gazed up to see Mitchell. He had also made the same miraculous change. His gun-metal grey locks had been replaced by sandy blonde hair and a stubble fuzzed his jaw and chin. His tanned skin was taught on his facial features, and the scar he used to have above his left brow was gone. No longer subtly beautiful, but a masterpiece. Harper found herself smiling but immediately stopped when she remembered everything between them. Had he forgiven her? Had she forgiven him? Why does it matter? Where are we? Why are we here together?  Where the hell are we?

      “Where… are we?” Harper said, pretending it was to herself but hoping Mitchell would know.

      “Beats me, I’m just happy you’re finally here,” He said looking down at her.

What was that supposed to mean?

      “What do you mean by ‘finally’ here?” Harper asked, confused, and flustered by the obvious flirt. She was acting like a teen, but then again Mitchell had always made her feel like one.

      Mitchell just smiled and grabbed her hand, walking forward before sticking his arm out toward his reflection. Where his palm should have met the mirror it simply phased through, glowing softly around his wrist like the light that had been around the door. He walked through the mirror, disappearing in a bright glow of light, never letting go of Harper’s hand, forcing her to follow him. She held her breath instinctively as she got pulled in behind him.

      “Open your eyes, silly,” Mitchells warm voice purred as he squeezed Harper's hand. She opened her eyes to find that the scenery had completely changed. She stood on the edge of the sidewalk, wearing lounge pants and a grey sports bra. The street was littered with cars, the sidewalks dotted with runners, yet they were frozen. Unmoving in time. Harper slowly turned around and was punched in the gut by the realization of where they were. The red brick steps, crumbling at the sides like they always had, leading up to the small New York townhouse with white siding. Their first house, their only house. Such a pitiful house. Harper saw that Mitchell had been right when he said: “It couldn’t hold our big dreams”.  She turned back around to the sound of Mitchell opening the car door.

      “Why are we here?” Harper demanded an answer as she stared at Mitchell, realizing he was wearing his Chesapeake Bay sweatshirt, the one she always used to wear to bed.

     “I wish I could tell you, Harp. I have no idea. All I know is that this was the last time I ever saw you,” his voice held a lifetime of sadness that Harper felt too, looking at early-twenties-Mitchell, sitting alone in his car with chipping paint.

      “I know…” Harper mumbled, looking down at the ground. She was suddenly overcome with the urge to climb in the car next to Mitchell. She rocked on her heels before hopping off the sidewalk and opening the car door. She couldn't help but sigh when she was greeted with a distantly familiar pop and click as she shut it behind her. They’d sat in this car a thousand times, they’d first kissed in this car. Mitchell looked exactly like he did before he was gone, looking out over the dash, eyes blank and yet full of hope for what lay ahead, his left hand hovering over the stick, reading to get in gear. They locked eyes for just a moment, they were thinking the same thing. Floor it.

      Mitchell shifted too quickly, the car screeched and protested as they sped out into the road, weaving through the still cars. At the end of the road, the mirror glowed, engulfing their path, the only option was to go through it again. Mitchell reached over and placed one hand on Harper's thigh before accelerating, hurling the car into the mirror.

      When the blinding glow dissipated, Harper recognized where they were immediately this time. The square brick building, parking lot, and flying American flag adorned on a rusted pole had been her second home for years. High school.

      “Never thought I’d see this place again,” Mitchell chirped, his voice wasn’t gravely warm anymore, it was filled with the softness of youth and when Harper looked toward him she could see he was no longer a young adult.

      “And I never thought I’d see you with long hair again,” Harper laughed back, noticing her voice was much the same. Teenage Mitchell's hair was longer than teenage Harper’s, the blond strands extending past his shoulders, while she rocked a short and bouncy bob. After a long pause of silent admiration, they slipped out of the car. The faint thump and echo of music with heavy base resonated through the brick walls of the auditorium.

      “You’re just as beautiful as I remember you…” Mitchell sighed as he gazed at Harper. She turned and looked towards him and felt red flush to her face, ever-so familiar in her teenage body. She walked towards him and took his hand, smiling as she looked at him in his classic black suit, slightly too large since it was his father’s.

      “Don’t worry, the looks faded with age,” she retorted with a small snort.

      “Bullshit,” Mitchell whispered as he reached down to grab her waist and hoist her into the air. Spinning around, they laughed before he placed her down and kissed her forehead. Harper brushed a section of hair behind her ears and looked down, feeling just as giddy as she did all those years ago. There was no awkwardness this time, no sweaty palms, no nervous touches. The world was painted in the warm, rosing tint of nostalgia and everything held just a small bit of sadness. They both thought about what could have been and what was. They simply stood in the cloudy feeling before Harper broke the silence.

      “Wanna go inside?”

      “No,” Mitchell looked in the direction of the school and shook his head, “all I remember was how hot and loud it was in there. Distracted me from the important things.”

      “Really, like what?” Harper pried, knowing what he was going to say.

      “Like you.”

      They smiled and stalled before Mitchell put his hand on the small of his back, which was fluffy from the pink ruffles her dress had. She placed both her hands on his chest. They swayed back and forth to the distant music, which was slower now, probably an old love song they used to know all the lyrics to. The world slowed to a halt around them, the still night air was warm and dry, sweetened with the hint of spring flowers and tree buds. They spun around the parking lot, locked fingers, and rocked with each other long after the music was out of earshot. The mirror appeared, its glow dimmer as if it was letting the lovers shine for themselves. Mitchel pulled Harper into his chest after a spin and she pushed her head into his tie.

      “This was so much better than last time,” Mitchell joked.

      “I know right.” 

      They reluctantly walked over to the mirror, fingers still entwined, and when they got near it Mitchell scooped Harper into his arms. They saw themselves in the reflection and beamed. Harper tilted her head to place a kiss on his jaw. Mitchell laughed and with that he leaped forward, allowing them both to be engulfed by the light. 

      Harper was lying on her back, looking up into the sky. It shone a brilliant blue and the white clouds stood against it like paper cutouts.  She could smell the overwhelming scent of grass and the low hum of insects all around her. A flannel blanket sat on the ground beneath her and she rolled onto her side to be met with the sight of Mitchell. Older again, like he had been right before they left the room with the slate blue walls and carved table. Despite his youthful body, his eyes were aged like they cradled all the thoughts, ideas, sights, words, and memories Mitchell had ever come to call his own. Harper wondered if hers looked the same.

      “Where are we?” Harper asked, her voice warm and crackly as if she’d just woken up from a nap.

      “Not sure about you, but I’m in paradise,” Mitchel said as he scooted closer to Harper and looped his arm under her. “Totally in paradise.”

      He closed his eyes briefly before they shot open like he had remembered something really important.

      “What?” Harper smiled, confused.

      “There’s something I think you should see.”

      Mitchell stood up and reached out his hand and heaved Harper up from the blanket. They stood in the center of a rolling field, it seemed to go on forever. Flowers of every color dotted the green blanket, and in the far distance, a wood loomed peacefully. Mitchell walked in the opposite direction of the trees, leading Harper up a small hill. When they got to the top she saw it. The huge table, covered in names. It was a lighter brown in the sunlight, no longer dark and harsh. The letters scraped into the table seemed to give off a soft glow of their own. As they walked closer she saw two small knives sat on a small cloth near an oddly blank area near the middle of the table. Mitchell dropped her hand and reached across to and placed a small blade in Harper's hand.

      “I think you know what this means,” Mitchell said joyfully as if he’d been waiting for this his whole life. Maybe he had. He leaned down and began to scratch the letter “M” into the table's surface. Harper expected the screeching noise of metal on wood but the only audible sound was a low hum as he scribed. When he was done he stood back and let Harper pass him to lean over the table. She added a plus sign under his wobbly “M” and carved in a cursive “H” right below that. When she lifted her knife it started to dissolve in her palm and they both stared at the table as a heart appeared around their initials. Harper backed up into Mitchell’s arms and he folded them over her shoulders.

      “This is how it should have been...” Mitchell said wistfully.

      “Now it can be.” Harper murmured as they looked out over the field, letting the sun warm their backs and the wind ripple through their clothes.