Reborn Souls

Chapter Four

That night, I didn’t dread going to sleep. For the first time, I actually wanted to dream.

“What will I ask him first?” I murmured, staring at the ceiling. “Who are you? How do you know me? And why do you call me Monica?”

I rehearsed the questions until sleep finally took me.

When I opened my eyes, the forest was gone. I stood in a beautiful garden filled with flowers and unfamiliar plants. Vines climbed the walls, and the warm air carried a sweet fragrance.

I looked down at myself. I was wearing the same ancient clothes and carrying the same basket.

“Where am I now?” I whispered.

I walked between the flowers, touching their leaves as I passed. One flower caught my attention. I bent down and plucked it, lifting it toward my nose.

Then I heard the song.

“That melody again,” I said, lowering the flower.

I listened carefully and followed the faint sound beyond the garden. With every step, the singing became clearer. Soon I saw him kneeling beside a bed of flowers, holding one in his hands.

His fingers were covered in sand. He had been planting.

“So you grow flowers,” I said quietly.

He looked up, startled. For a moment, he seemed unable to believe I had come to him instead of running away.

He stood, brushing the sand from his hands while continuing to hum the melody. His smile widened as I approached.

“Monica,” he said, his voice full of excitement.

“My name is Cecelia,” I replied softly.

His smile faded. He stared at me as though I had spoken a language he had never heard.

“What did you say?”

“My name is Cecelia.”

He looked genuinely confused. I decided to ask a different question.

“What is your name?”

He took a few seconds to answer. “Albert.”

“Albert,” I repeated. For some reason, saying his name felt strangely natural.

“How do you know me?” I asked. “And why do you keep calling me Monica?”

He studied me for a while. “I have known you for hundreds of years.”

I took a step backward. “But I’m only twenty-four.”

“Your body is twenty-four,” he said gently. “Your soul is much older.”

I stared at him, trying to understand. I had wondered whether I was somehow connected to my grandmother, but I had never truly believed it.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

Albert didn’t answer immediately. He reached for my hand, and I hesitated. Then, for reasons I couldn’t explain, I let him take it.

He looked down at our joined hands before meeting my eyes again. Then he placed the beautiful flower he had been holding into my palm.

“You planted this?” I asked.

He nodded. “For you.”

“Why?”

“Because you have always loved flowers.”

I looked at the flower, then back at him. There were so many questions I wanted to ask: who I had been, how many lives we had shared, and why I couldn’t remember any of it.

Before I could speak, a loud growl came from my stomach.

I froze. Albert stared at me. For one awkward second, neither of us said a word.

Then my stomach growled again.

“Oh, no,” I muttered.

The next thing I knew, I was awake, staring at my ceiling.

For a few seconds, I remained still. Then my stomach growled again.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I groaned.

I jumped out of bed and rushed to the bathroom. I had eaten very late the previous night, and apparently my stomach had decided that solving the mystery of my existence could wait.

Even as I sat down, Albert’s words kept returning to me.

I looked at my wrist, at the white mark I had never thought much about.

“What if it isn’t just a birthmark?” I whispered.

For the first time, I wondered whether it was a memory my body had carried for a long time even when I didn’t remember