𝓦𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝓛𝓲𝓯𝓮 𝓕𝓸𝓻𝓰𝓮𝓽𝓼 𝓐𝓫𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓨𝓸𝓾

Chapter I

The events of the previous day had left Paul bewildered. He had spent a good part of the evening wondering who these so-called "Beatles" were. It seemed he had something to do with them, but he had no idea what it was. He began to wonder if it was some kind of elaborate joke or maybe the product of a strange conspiracy... As he was arranging his collection of cookbooks, a series of knocks sounded at his door. Slightly annoyed at being interrupted, Paul headed to the entrance. There, he was greeted by an auburn-haired man, his eyes hidden behind thick sunglasses. The visitor's face seemed friendly, but Paul was certain he had never met him before.

"What is it for?" he asked, trying to maintain his composure despite the confusion of recent events.

The stranger slowly removed his sunglasses, revealing a strangely familiar look, and frowned. "Paul, stop pretending. I know there are no journalists here. It's okay, you can be yerself."

Paul shrugged, perplexed. "I'm sorry, but I don't know you."

The man let out a sigh of frustration. "Paul, seriously? Stop it, you know we have to finish what we started yesterday."

"I-I've never seen you before... who are you?"

"Does the name John Lennon ring a bell?"

Paul shook his head, an expression of pure incomprehension on his face. "Never heard that name in my life. Are you sure you're not mistaken?"

The man called John seemed to lose his composure for a moment, his eyes scanning Paul's face as if trying to find a trace of recognition, or lie. "Wait, you promise yer not making one of your silly jokes to me again?"

Paul refuted. "I assure you I'm not."

"Come on, you can't have forgotten all tha'! Remember, The Beatles! Us! To the toppermost of the poppermost!"

Paul stepped back, feeling anxiety grow within him. "I swear I don't know what yer talking about. Who are these 'Beatles' everyone is talking about? I can't understand anything to what's happening!"

John's look was filled with deep sadness. "You need to remember, Paul," he murmured. "You really need to."

Paul was going to remember everything... John seemed to be sure about it.
***
Paul sat up abruptly, of breathless. His shirt was stuck to his sweaty back, and his eyes darted around, trying to adjust to the dim light of dawn filtering through the curtains. He was in his bed, in his room; everything was normal. The scene he had just experienced was just a dream. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and tried to gather his thoughts. This dream, this conversation with a certain John Lennon, had seemed so real, so tangible. Yet, he had never met a John Lennon in his life. So, why this dream? Why this feeling of familiarity?
He remembered the name Beatles, the turmoil of journalists outside his house. All of this was so strange, so confusing. Was it the result of recent stress, or was there something else behind it? One thing was certain: he could not ignore the impact of this dream on him. Paul got up and headed to the kitchen, trying to dispel the lingering images of the dream. He poured himself a tall glass of water and leaned against the counter, letting the cold water run down his throat. Who was this John Lennon? Why did he feel like he had always known him? Was it a message from his subconscious, or just a fragment of his imagination?

He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the remnants of this strange dream. No, he was just Paul McCartney, an ordinary man with an ordinary life. He had never been connected to this thing called The Beatles, nor had he ever met a John Lennon. All this was the fruit of his imagination, nothing more. He decided to start his day, hoping that activity would distract him from these disturbing thoughts. But deep down, a small voice whispered that this dream might not be as trivial as he believed.