Chapter 243: Face

Adrian didn’t sit down.

He stood in the middle of the living room, staring at his father.

"Someone else?"

His father nodded.

"Yes."

"Someone wearing Elias’s face?"

"Not exactly. He looked like Elias, but there were differences."

"What kind of differences?"

"His expression. The way he moved. The way he looked at me."

Adrian rubbed his forehead.

"You’re telling me that after Elias died, you went to a shop that shouldn’t exist and found someone wearing his face?"

"That’s correct."

"And you didn’t think to mention this earlier?"

"I didn’t think it was relevant."

Adrian stared at him.

"How is that not relevant?"

His father sighed.

"Because I never saw that person again."

"That’s your explanation?"

"No. It’s the reason I didn’t mention it."

Adrian pulled out a chair and sat down.

For a moment, he said nothing.

Then he asked, "What happened when you met him?"

His father looked toward the window.

"He was standing behind the counter. The watch was on the table in front of him. It had stopped."

"Did he speak?"

"Yes."

"What did he say?"

"He asked whether I had come to collect it."

"Collect what?"

"The watch."

Adrian waited.

"I told him it belonged to Elias. The man said that was no longer true."

"Why?"

"He said Elias had given it away."

Adrian looked at the photograph.

"To you."

"Yes."

"Then you gave it to the man who looked like me."

"Yes."

"And now you’re telling me you found someone else wearing Elias’s face."

His father nodded.

Adrian leaned back.

"How many people are involved in this?"

"I don’t know."

"Wonderful."

His father gave him a tired smile.

"I was hoping you’d say something more optimistic."

"Give me a reason."

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then his father said, "The person I met in the shop told me something before I left."

Adrian looked up.

"What?"

"He said Elias had not been the first person to wear that face."

Adrian felt his stomach tighten.

"Whose face?"

His father met his eyes.

"Yours."

---

They spent the next hour going through everything his father remembered.

The first visit to the shop had happened years ago, after Elias died. His father had been searching for something that might help him understand why the watch had stopped.

He had found the shop on an unfamiliar street.

It looked ordinary.

A small counter. Shelves. A bell above the door.

The man behind it had looked like Elias.

But he hadn’t been Elias.

He had spoken as though he knew the older man, though he had never met him. He knew about the watch, about the promise, and about the person who would eventually receive it.

Before his father left, the man had said:

You are carrying something that doesn’t belong to you anymore.

His father had asked what he meant.

The man had answered:

Neither does the face you remember.

Adrian listened carefully.

"Why didn’t you ask him who he was?"

"I did."

"And?"

"He said he was waiting."

"For whom?"

"For you."

Adrian looked down.

"Of course."

His father continued.

"I didn’t understand it at the time. I thought he meant you would eventually visit the shop. But years passed, and nothing happened."

"Until Margaret."

"Yes."

Adrian picked up his phone.

The photograph of Margaret and the two men was still there.

"Do you think the man in this photograph is the same person you met?"

"I don’t know."

"But he has my face."

"Yes."

"And the other person had Elias’s."

"Yes."

Adrian looked at him.

"Then why does Margaret’s notebook say the man was the last customer?"

His father didn’t answer.

That was becoming a familiar problem.

---

Lena found them surrounded by photographs and handwritten notes.

She stood in the doorway, looking at the table.

"Should I ask?"

Adrian looked up.

"Probably."

She came closer and picked up one of the photographs.

"Is this the one from the shop?"

"Yes."

"And you’ve discovered something else?"

"Apparently, there’s another person who looks like someone my father knew."

Lena lowered the photograph.

"Someone else?"

"Someone wearing Elias’s face."

She looked at his father.

"Who was Elias?"

His father explained.

Lena listened quietly, occasionally glancing at Adrian.

When he finished, she pulled out a chair.

"Can I ask something?"

"Of course," Adrian said.

She pointed at the photograph.

"Why would someone choose to look like Elias?"

Neither man answered.

Lena continued.

"Maybe he didn’t choose. Maybe that’s simply what he looked like."

His father considered that.

"That’s possible."

"And the man who looks like Adrian?"

"He may have chosen the face," Adrian said.

Lena nodded.

"Then perhaps you’re treating two separate things as though they’re connected."

Adrian frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"The person who looks like Elias might have nothing to do with the person who looks like you. They could be connected through the shop, but that doesn’t mean they’re the same kind of person."

Adrian looked at the photographs again.

It was a reasonable point.

He had been trying to build a single explanation out of every strange detail.

Perhaps that was a mistake.

"You’re right," he said.

Lena smiled.

"I know."

His father chuckled.

Adrian gave them both a look.

"You’re enjoying this."

"A little," Lena admitted.

---

The following morning, Adrian visited the old stationery shop with Clara.

She had called him the previous night after finding another entry in Margaret’s notebook.

This time, the entry was about the first customer.

Not the last.

The first.

Clara showed him the page as they stood inside the empty shop.

He came before we opened. Asked whether I had seen someone carrying a stopped watch.

I told him no.

He said I would.

Then he left.

Beneath it was another line.

I don’t think he was looking for a watch.

Clara looked at Adrian.

"Do you think this is connected to the man in the photograph?"

"Probably."

"Do you know who he was?"

"Not yet."

She studied his face.

"You’re involved in this, aren’t you?"

Adrian hesitated.

"Maybe."

Clara closed the notebook.

"I thought so."

They searched the remaining boxes.

Most contained ordinary things. Old receipts, stationery catalogues, broken pens, and photographs that had been forgotten for years.

Then Clara found a small cardboard folder tucked behind a wooden shelf.

Inside were several pieces of paper.

One was a receipt.

Another was a handwritten list of customer names.

The last was a photograph.

It showed Margaret standing inside the shop.

She was looking toward the door.

Someone stood outside.

The image was blurry, but the figure was recognizable.

The man who looked like Adrian.

Clara turned it over.

There was a sentence written on the back.

He came to return something that had never belonged to him.

Adrian stared at the words.

"What does that mean?" Clara asked.

"I don’t know."

He examined the photograph more closely.

Something was visible in the man’s hand.

A small object.

He zoomed in.

A watch.

Not the silver one.

This one had a pale face and a metal strap.

Adrian looked at the date.

It was older than the other photograph.

Margaret had taken it several years earlier.

Clara watched him.

"Do you recognize it?"

"No."

But he knew he had seen it before.

Not in a photograph.

Not in the shop.

Somewhere in his memories.

He just couldn’t remember where.

---

When Adrian returned home, he found his father waiting in the living room.

There was a small wooden box on the table.

"I thought you should see this," his father said.

Adrian approached.

"What’s inside?"

"The watch."

Adrian stopped.

"What watch?"

"The one Elias gave me."

His father opened the box.

Inside was a silver-faced watch with a dark leather strap.

Adrian looked at it.

It was identical to the one in the photograph.

"Why are you showing me this?"

"Because I think it’s time you had it."

Adrian frowned.

"You’ve kept it all these years."

"I know."

"Why give it to me now?"

His father smiled faintly.

"Because I think I understand why Elias gave it to me."

Adrian looked at the watch.

"What did he want you to do with it?"

"Keep it until someone needed to understand that time wasn’t something they owned."

"And you think that’s me?"

His father nodded.

Adrian picked up the watch.

It was heavier than it looked.

The hands were still.

He turned it over.

There was an inscription on the back.

For the one who arrives after the beginning.

Adrian ran his thumb over the words.

Then he noticed something else.

A small mark beneath the inscription.

A name.

Not Elias.

Not his father’s.

Aeris.

He lowered the watch.

His father watched him carefully.

"Do you remember it?"

Adrian shook his head.

"No."

But the name felt familiar.

Not like something he had forgotten.

More like something he had once known so well that he no longer needed to think about it.

He placed the watch back in the box.

"I don’t want to wear it."

His father nodded.

"That’s fine."

---

That evening, Adrian received another message.

Unknown number.

You found the watch.

He didn’t reply.

Another message arrived.

Now you can return it.

Adrian stared at the screen.

Then he typed.

Adrian: To whom?

The reply came almost immediately.

To the person who gave it to Elias.

Adrian looked toward the wooden box.

His father had gone to bed.

He typed again.

Adrian: Who was that?

The answer took longer.

You.

Adrian’s fingers went still.

Another message appeared.

You gave Elias the watch before he died.

He read it once.

Then again.

It didn’t make sense.

He had never met Elias.

He had never given him anything.

He had never even heard the name until yesterday.

And yet the message was certain.

He looked at the inscription on the watch.

For the one who arrives after the beginning.

His phone vibrated again.

You have been remembering the wrong beginning, Adrian.

Then the final message arrived.

Ask your father who gave him his first name.

Adrian slowly lowered the phone.

He looked toward the hallway.

His father had told him that Elias was the first person who taught him what it meant to stay.

But he had never said where his own name came from.

Adrian stood.

He walked toward the guest room.

The door was slightly open.

His father was sitting on the edge of the bed, awake.

As though he had been expecting him.

"Father?"

The older man looked up.

Adrian held out his phone.

"Who gave you your name?"

His father stared at the message.

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then he answered.

"Your mother."

Adrian frowned.

"Before you became my father?"

His father nodded.

"Yes."

"Why?"

His father looked toward the wooden box in Adrian’s hands.

"Because I didn’t have one."

He paused.

"And because the first person who gave me a name was you."

Adrian felt the room grow quiet.

His father continued.

"You called me Father before you knew what the word meant."

Adrian stared at him.

"That was my first name for you?"

"No."

His father shook his head.

"It was the first name you chose to give me."

Then he looked directly at Adrian.

"And Elias was the first person who taught me how to keep it."