When the Unseen Learns Your Name

Alex wasn’t in a hurry.

After work he could take the metro, catch a bus, or walk home the mostly-straight forty-minute way.

Tonight he chose to walk. It had been an ordinary day—almost too ordinary—and he wanted a bit more of that simple, easy quiet.

The sun slipped below the horizon, the heat of the day finally letting go, and the evening carried that soft, late-May coolness he always loved.

His paycheck was enough, Sarah didn’t bother him anymore—he helped regularly—and Johnny, now a first-grader, lived with his mom but saw Alex every Sunday. Today was only Wednesday.

Alex stopped at a café, eating ice cream and recalling the days in his childhood when his grandfather took him out.

He left a tip for a pretty-looking young waitress just as the streetlights flickered on, even though the evening still held plenty of light. He knew that feeling — relying on a small income at a young age; he’d worked in a bar as a teenager.

He walked, not really thinking, just watching people pass by—the smiles, the stylish girls, the small details that made the city feel alive.

And then, somewhere between the last crowd and the first trees of the park…

…he felt it for the first time.

What?

He had no name for the sudden, overwhelming wave that washed over him…

Something painfully familiar

…and wildly incomprehensible.

Not fear.

Not exactly heartache.

More like a suffocating longing, striking like a sharp pain…

And at the same time—a sense that someone was watching him.

Or something?

He slowed down.

Maybe skip the park? Maybe it was a premonition — a warning from the Universe? Please. The last time he believed in that he was fifteen.

The world was material. Everything else—nonsense.

He kept walking. The park was nearly empty.

And the strange feeling faded.

Alex reached home in a good mood. There was time for a solo game of chess, a new episode of his favorite show, and then sleep. Tomorrow—work.

The next morning Sarah asked him to pick Johnny up after lunch. Not a problem; he could easily take an extra hour off.

Standing by the school gate, he smiled as his son ran toward him shouting, “Dad!”

Sometimes he wondered if he and Sarah had made a mistake by splitting up.

But no… life was easier alone. He never felt like a good father.

He asked Johnny what he wanted on the way home, paid for ice cream and popcorn, and whispered:

“Just don’t tell Mom.”

Sarah was obsessed with healthy food.

They walked slowly, talking, and time flew. Near the last blocks, Alex hurried his son along.

“Dad, why are you rushing?” Johnny began—and then, in a tone not his own:

“And let not your heart be hasty.”

Alex stumbled.

“What?”

Johnny smiled, but in his deep gray-blue eyes flickered something strange.

“Let not your heart be hasty,” he repeated. “You were almost running.”

Only his grandfather said that. Johnny had never met him.

“Where’d you get that?” Alex asked.

“Why? It just popped into my head.”

That evening, the conversation wouldn’t leave Alex’s mind.

This time after work, he wanted to get home faster. The park air was fresh; families were feeding ducks at the pond, and the benches along the path stood empty.

“Stop!” a harsh voice barked behind him. “Why are you so hasty?”

His blood ran cold. He could’ve sworn there was no one around.

The feeling came again—loneliness, sorrow, a pressure behind the ribs.

Alex turned, forcing himself.

A young man sat on the bench, oddly dressed, unnaturally pale.

“Go back,” he rasped, trying to speak—coughing through half the sentence. “Back to yourself…” — cough — “otherwise only…” — cough — “you will find…” — everything else was unclear.

“What?” Alex stepped closer.

But the young man jerked his hand, pointing toward Alex’s home.

Alex glanced in that direction. When he turned back—the bench was empty.

“What the hell…?”

The dread sharpened, almost painful.

Was he losing his mind?

He tried to distract himself that night, but nothing worked. The sense of being watched only grew.

Glancing at the dark window, he caught a movement—a curtain in the apartment across the courtyard snapped shut the moment he looked.

Who was there?

He talked with Sarah later—Johnny was doing well in school, though insecure. She sounded softer than usual; even suggested Alex spend more time with their son.

Alex tossed and turned for hours. Unease mixed with longing wouldn’t let him sleep.

He turned on the lights, paced the room, scrolled through his phone, played calming music. Finally, toward 2:30 a.m., he began to doze—

“LOOK!”

A roar shook him awake.

From the darkness near the wardrobe, a pair of eyes blinked at him.

Cold sweat. Weakness in his legs.

He lunged for the light.

Nothing.

No one.

Still shaking, Alex made his way to the kitchen.

He gulped down water, hands unsteady, then washed his face.

A hallucination?

Half an hour later he fell into a restless sleep.

In the dream, nonsense swirled—faces, voices, his grandfather, and a note spinning in the dim air with glowing words:

“Return… to yourself… otherwise only… you will find.”

Then—darkness. A sky full of stars. Black trees around.

That feeling again: danger? Longing? Desire?

He stood on the edge of a village. Almost no lights. The smell of acacia.

Its sweetness vibrated with an ache of renewal.

Suddenly—warm light behind him.

He turned.

An old man sat by a fire.

“Sit, son,” the man said. “Where are you going?”

Alex hesitated.

“Where am I… going?” he echoed, unsure what to answer.

How had he ended up here at all?

The fire popped and tossed sparks.

“Who are you?” the man asked. “Tell me about yourself.”

His gray-blue eyes shone with sadness.

He handed Alex a clay cup of milk. It smelled like childhood with his mom, and like summer farm visits. Alex felt lost.

The old man sighed.

“I want to warn you, Alex. When you and Sarah were about to marry, you sent her that little note with a dove and a heart. Back then I…”

Alex shuddered—

And woke up, dragged out of sleep by his alarm.

The dream had felt too real.

Who was that man?

Only his grandfather knew about the dove note. But the man wasn’t him. What had he been trying to say?

He glared at the alarm clock as if it were guilty.

By the afternoon, the boss called Alex into his office to review the quarterly plans. The report Alex brought was flawless—he liked work that demanded precision.

They were amid discussion when someone opened the door:

“Alex, it’s time! Urgent!”

Alex spun around.

He would’ve sworn it was the same pale man from the park.

The same gray-blue eyes.

“You? Who on Earth are you?”

“What?” the boss said, perplexed. “Alex, are you talking to me?”

“No! I… I meant him—”

He pointed to the doorway.

There was no one.

His boss frowned with concern.

“Are you feeling alright?”

“I… yes. Sorry. I must’ve…”

“Let’s continue?”

“Yes. Of course. Thank you! Thank you so... much!” Alex said with a silly smile, ears burning.

The boss looked uneasy, but continued.

At the end he thanked Alex for his excellent work and suggested taking Monday off.

“I’m fine,” Alex protested, embarrassed.

“Then after a day off,” the boss said, “you’ll be even finer.”

Walking out of the office, Alex felt something in his pocket.

A small folded scrap of paper. He hadn’t put anything there that morning.

He opened it, and a chill went through him:

“Return… to yourself… otherwise only… you will find.”

Underneath someone had added:

“And let not your heart be hasty. (Eccl. 5:1)”

A prank?

A warning?

Long ago, when he was still on his own, he would have gone dancing on Friday nights or stopped by a bar with friends.

When he and Sarah got together, he started inviting her out—on dates, on little trips. She showed him every museum around. The first year was magical. Then Johnny was born, and Alex threw himself into his career instead of the family, disappointing Sarah more with each month.

They grew distant without even noticing.

And now, on a Friday night, he didn’t want anything at all.

As if he no longer knew who he was.

But for the first time in his life he wanted to find out.

After a moment’s hesitation, he boarded a nearly empty bus that seemed to wait for him.

Rain clouds gathered overhead.

He took a window seat.

Then a lively older man with silver hair and a light cap jumped in just before the doors closed. Without hesitation he walked straight to Alex and sat beside him.

The bus rolled forward as the first drops drummed against the glass. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

“You ever think about what happens to love after the wedding?” the man asked suddenly. “I’ve been married more than once. Always felt like something was missing.”

Alex listened politely, watching people outside raise their umbrellas.

There was something comforting about listening to old men who spoke openly about their mistakes—a tenderness in it, a kind of truth.

The man talked and talked, and Alex found himself drifting in the rhythm of his voice. Bridges, wet trees, blurred lights slid past the window.

Then the man leaned closer.

“And the funny part?” he said.

“When I stood at the altar, I never took those vows seriously. Did you?”

He looked at Alex intently—too intently.

“It may not be connected, but do you know what comes after the words ‘let not your heart be hasty’?”

Alex froze.

Again?

“Sorry,” he said. “I have to go.”

It was his stop.

Their eyes met.

The same gray-blue stare. Like the young man. Like the old man by the fire.

Alex stepped into the soft, fading rain.

What did it all mean?

He walked home, deep in thought.

Who were these people? Why were they following him?

The rain stopped completely.

The air was fresh, washed, fragrant.

The familiar feeling struck him again—now with new undertones:

sadness, expectation, hope.

Hope smelled like jasmine.

He remembered a night long ago when he and Sarah sat under blooming jasmine bushes dreaming about the future.

It felt like another life.

He smiled at the memories—new jobs,

silly jokes,

shared victories.

Then he realized he had walked past his home.

He stood now at a small intersection with a flickering traffic light. Puddles reflected the streetlamps.

Across the street stood the building where he and Sarah first lived together. Six months of happiness.

A room on the second floor.

A park nearby.

The café where they had dinner sometimes.

He smiled.

Maybe it hadn’t been for nothing?

No.

Divorce was decided.

Psychologists always said: move on.

He turned to walk back.

Behind him—a roar. A splash.

A wave of dirty water hit him from head to toe.

A reckless driver had sped through a deep puddle.

“Fine,” Alex muttered. “Not stranger than ghosts in my boss’s office.”

Or… was it a sign?

After a shower, he sat on the couch with an old photo album.

This time, he fell asleep flipping through it.

Misty fields. Voices echoed ahead. He followed the sound and saw a lone house. A woman was feeding geese.

“Excuse me!” he shouted. “Where am I?”

“Where are you going?” she replied.

“I don’t know…”

“Then how can you know where you are?”

He approached, confused.

She looked at him again—and her expression changed.

“Come in, son. I’ll set the table.”

Simple food. Fresh milk. A pie that tasted like home.

“Are you expecting someone?” Alex asked.

“God sent you,” the woman said. “I expected no one. But I knew it was you the moment I saw his eyes.”

“Whose eyes?” he frowned.

“My boy’s. My husband left when he was born. My child died young. But those eyes… I’d know them anywhere. You are of our blood.”

“Of your… blood?”

“Don’t repeat the mistakes of those before you,” she said as she saw him off.

Then her eyes widened.

She pointed past his shoulder.

“Mind your steps.”

Hooves thundered.

“Move aside, ye cursed ones!” someone shouted.

A cavalry unit of knights galloped past him…

He woke up, the telephone ringing.

That feeling—unease mixed with longing—rose again.

Probably Sarah, he thought.

He had to shake off these dreams.

“Alex,” an old man’s voice said through static. “Alex…”

“Yes? Who is this?”

“Forgive me,” the voice said, trembling with pain. “It’s repeating…”

“What? Who are you?”

“I’m sorry.”

The call went dead.

10 p.m.

He sank onto the couch and opened the album again.

There was a large photo of Johnny at five.

Those gray-blue eyes.

The same as the pale young guy’s. The old man’s. His grandfather’s. And his own.

He had no clue…

Eventually exhaustion claimed him.

White clouds.

In shapes of towers, animals…

“That one looks like a dove,” his grandfather said beside him.

They sat on a green hill, watching the sky.

“Grandpa… what’s happening to me?” Alex asked quietly.

“The same thing that happened to me when I was thirty,” the old man replied. “A gift or a curse—you choose the name. You’re beginning to understand the past and the future.”

“But who are these people?”

“Those who knew the pain of being abandoned. Those who were left behind—or those who left others and discovered the punishment of regret.

Children growing up without parents.

Kids who died young.

They carry their sorrow through centuries.

They seek the ones who can understand, comfort… and avoid repeating the same mistakes.”

Alex swallowed.

“And my father?”

“He failed and left you,” grandpa said softly. “Though he was a good man. And I wasn’t there to help him. That’s my fault as well.

You need to remember, Alex.”

“What?”

Warm light.

His childhood home. His mother’s almond cookies. A Christmas tree scent. A fireplace.

A dog curled on a rug. He was four years old, sitting by his cousin’s side.

They were reading fairy tales.

He remembers the feeling—joy, belonging, and that faint ache that comes when something is so good you fear it might slip away.

Hope. Love. A sense of fragility. Safety. Wonder.

Yes… he had forgotten this feeling—until now.

The two of them were back on the hill.

“What can I do?” Alex asked.

“You love Sarah,” replied grandpa. “And she loves you. Sometimes pride blinds us. If you lose true love, you lose yourself.”

“It seems to me that we’re adults, and we can make decisions,” Alex protested.

His grandpa burst into laughter.

“Forgive me,” the old man said, still laughing, “but when you reach my age, you’ll realize how funny that sounds. ‘It seems to me that we’re adults…’ Do you hear yourself?”

Alex couldn’t help but smile.

“Alright,” he sighed. “I’ll think about it.”

“Return to your love. That’s how you return to yourself,” the old man said gently.

“Otherwise only regrets will chase you. I believe you will find the wisdom.”

Alex froze.

Return… to yourself…

The exact phrase now with its meaning finally unfolding.

His grandfather looked at him knowingly.

“And what does Scripture say about haste? You know it too.”

Grandpa nodded slowly.

“We make vows but don’t value them,” the old man said. “That’s why so many lives fall apart.

Read it yourself.”

He smiled mysteriously.

“Once, you helped me. Now your son will help you.

You’ll understand when you meet.”

“When did I help you?” Alex asked, confused.

Bright morning light.

8 a.m.

Alex woke as if he’d slept for years.

A quick shower. Stretching. Cleaning. Breakfast.

He took an old book and opened it to the verse:

“And let not your heart be hasty to utter anything before God.”

He remembered the vows at the altar.

How formal they had seemed then.

But had he wanted them to be formal?

He struck the armrest with his palm.

No. He wanted it to be real. Otherwise—what was the point?

A call from Sarah interrupted his thoughts.

Johnny was sick; she had a shift. Could he come?

Of course.

And again—that feeling.

Warmth.

Kinship.

Quiet tenderness… and nostalgia…

He spent the whole day with his son.

In the evening Sarah asked him to stay for dinner.

She set the table in the living room.

He looked at her the way he hadn’t looked in years.

That night he fell asleep easily.

Birds singing.

A gentle breeze.

He stood on an overlook above the city where he’d spent his youth.

A boy—almost a young man—approached. Sunglasses, short haircut, stylish clothes. A backpack with lecture notes peeking out.

“I like coming here,” the boy said, as if picking up a conversation already in progress. “When you’re above everything, you see life more clearly.”

“College?” Alex asked.

“Architecture,” the boy nodded.

“Don’t worry. Sometimes we, as kids, expect too much from adults.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“But we,” the boy went on, “also believe in you more than you think.”

Alex turned to him slowly.

“Do we know each other?”

The boy smiled slightly.

“I suppose I’m harder to recognize now. But I can become this—if you believe in me.”

He lifted his sunglasses.

Gray-blue eyes.

Familiar features.

“Johnny?” Alex whispered.

“Yes, Dad,” the boy said with a warm smile.

Alex pulled him into an embrace.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I won’t fail you again.”

Early in the morning, he looked at his sleeping son.

Then walked to Sarah’s room and gently pulled the blanket over her shoulder.

He went to the kitchen to cook breakfast.

And for the first time in ages, he knew exactly who he was.