Chapter 2 — The Arrival of Jax

Lola

The first thing I noticed was the voice.

Deep and smooth, it curled through the quiet morning like a melody half-remembered, stirring something within me I wasn’t sure I wanted to name. “You’re even prettier than I remembered.”

I froze mid-step, the worn strap of my messenger bag biting into my shoulder. The campus was still half-asleep in the soft blush of dawn, the botanical garden stretching out behind me, its ivy-shrouded stillness broken only by the occasional chirp of early birds. Or so I’d thought.

And then there he was, leaning casually against one of the ivy-covered columns that framed the pathway.

Tall. Lean. He carried himself with an odd kind of weightlessness, as though the air itself worked in quiet coordination to make room for him. His dark, slightly wavy hair caught the light filtering through the trees, and his blue eyes locked on mine with an intensity that made my heart stutter. He wore a button-down shirt—sleeves rolled to the elbows—and dark jeans that fit effortlessly, the way expensive clothes always do.

I should have looked away. Demanded to know who he was or why he was there. But there was something about the way he smiled—crooked and knowing, like he’d been waiting for this exact moment. For me. Like he knew a secret I hadn’t figured out yet.

“Lola,” he said, savoring my name as though it were an old song he hadn’t heard in years.

I blinked, gripping the strap of my bag tighter. My pulse ticked up, straddling that shaky line between curiosity and alarm. “Do I… know you?”

He tilted his head, his smile widening just enough to make me uneasy. “Not yet. But you will.”

“Right,” I said, keeping my voice deliberately flat. “This seems… perfectly normal.”

That earned a soft laugh from him, low and warm, like distant thunder stretched into something softer. “I know this is strange. Not exactly how I envisioned our first meeting, but timing’s tricky when magic is involved.”

“Magic?” My eyebrows shot up, but I kept my tone even, though my thoughts scrambled to make sense of what he was saying. “Okay, sure. Magic. Makes total sense.”

He stepped away from the column with a fluidity that seemed too deliberate to be casual. “You’re skeptical. I don’t blame you. I’d be skeptical too.” His gaze softened, his voice dipping into something quieter, almost tender. “But I promise, this is real. I’m real.”

A thought flickered in the back of my mind: prank. Had Emily put him up to this? Zander? “Is this some kind of joke? Because if it is, it’s not funny.”

He raised his hands, palms out, as though surrendering. “No joke. No trick. Just me, Jax.” His smile returned, tempered with a gentleness I didn’t quite trust. “Your Jax.”

The words hit like a stone dropped into water, rippling out and unsettling something deep inside me.

I took a step back, crossing my arms over my chest like armor. “How do you know my name?”

For a moment, the confidence in his expression faltered, just the faintest flicker, and I caught a glimpse of something more vulnerable beneath it—a hesitation, like he wasn’t sure how much to say. “Because we’ve met before,” he said softly. “Or rather, we will meet. Again.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, silver locket. The surface gleamed faintly in the morning light, the tiny engraved swirls and stars catching my eye despite myself.

He held it out toward me, but I didn’t take it.

“This,” he said, his voice tinged with wistfulness, “is from our third anniversary. We spent the day at that little coffeehouse on Green Street, and you couldn’t stop laughing at the blobfish latte art. You said it was the worst thing you’d ever seen and the best thing you’d ever tasted.”

The specificity of the memory made my breath hitch. It was too detailed, too precise to be coincidence.

“You’re telling me…” I trailed off, shaking my head slightly. “You’re from the future?”

“Not exactly,” he said, lowering the locket but keeping it in view. “Think of me as… a wish come true.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and impossible. My grip tightened on the strap of my bag, grounding me as my mind raced.

The Wishing Fountain. The coin. The whispered words I hadn’t let myself believe carried meaning. My chest tightened as the memory surfaced, unwelcome and unrelenting.

No. This couldn’t be real.

“You’re saying I… wished for you?” The question came out unsteady, the words trembling on their way past my lips.

“You wished to be seen,” he said, his gaze unwavering. “To be loved for who you are. And here I am. Because of you, Lola.”

The locket dangled from his fingers, and for a moment, I thought I heard it—a faint hum, almost melodic, vibrating through the space between us. My fingers twitched at my side, an irrational part of me wanting to reach out and feel its weight, to prove that it was real.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I took another step back, my body coiling tight like a spring. “This is… absurd,” I said, shaking my head. “I don’t even know you. And for the record, I don’t need anyone to love me. I’m fine on my own.”

His smile softened, tinged with something that looked almost like sadness. “That’s what you always say. Even in the future.”

There was no arrogance in his voice, no condescension. Just quiet certainty, as though he’d heard my words a thousand times before.

I glared at him, folding my arms tighter. “I don’t believe you.”

“I know,” he said gently, the words barely above a whisper. “But you will. Eventually.”

He stepped closer, slowly, as though afraid I might bolt. His hand brushed against mine as he placed the locket in my palm, and the touch sent a fleeting warmth up my arm. I stared down at the delicate silver, its intricate swirls whispering of something ancient and unexplainable.

“When you’re ready to believe,” Jax said, his voice low and steady, “you’ll know where to find me.”

I looked up, ready to demand more answers, but he was already walking away, his silhouette softening in the golden morning light. For a moment, it seemed as though the air itself shifted around him, blurring his edges, until he was gone entirely.

The locket sat heavy in my palm, its cool surface pressing into my skin. The world around me felt unchanged—the rustle of trees, the distant chatter of early risers heading to class. But inside, I felt as though the ground had shifted beneath my feet, unmooring me from everything I thought I knew.

I should have dropped the locket. Left it there on the path and walked away, pretending none of this had happened.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I slipped it into my pocket and kept walking, my steps unsteady, the hum of the locket and the echo of Jax’s voice lingering in my mind.

And somewhere, deep inside me, the faintest flicker of something—hope, or fear, or wonder—began to stir.