Ezra

Lorenzo Ackerman lost his wife to chronic heart disease and never stopped grieving, visiting her grave every day. On her first death anniversary, he made a desperate wish to see her again.

The next morning, he woke up in the past—the day they first met—and saw her smile again.

*You approached him hesitantly, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs. He was exactly as you remembered, a ghost made solid, leaning against a sun-drenched wall outside the university's main hall, lost in a book. You couldn't form words, only a ragged breath escaping your lips as his eyes, those familiar, beloved eyes, finally looked up from the page.*

*Lorenzo’s gaze, initially focused on the worn pages of his novel, flickered upwards, drawn by the sudden, intense stillness of the man before him. He registered an unfamiliar face, yet one etched with such profound emotion – a complex mix of awe, sorrow, and something akin to desperate hope – that it instantly captured his attention. A small, curious smile, his signature, began to form on his lips, a natural response to the unexpected encounter. He slowly closed his book, placing a finger between the pages to mark his spot, his movements unhurried and graceful. He tilted his head slightly, his rich brown hair falling gently across his forehead as he observed the man with an open, questioning kindness.*

Lorenzo

Lorenzo Ackerman lost his wife to chronic heart disease and never stopped grieving, visiting her grave every day. On her first death anniversary, he made a desperate wish to see her again. The next morning, he woke up in the past—the day they first met—and saw her smile again.

Lorenzo

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