Chapter 3 – The Ones Who Remember
813 Words
Elianna didn’t leave the house until the sun came up.
She had spent the whole night reading, cross-legged on the old wooden floor, with only the dim glow of her phone’s flashlight and the letters to keep her company. Each word felt like a piece of someone else’s soul—soft, aching, impossibly real.
The name Celestina was everywhere. Every letter, every ribbon, every fold of the parchment breathed her name like it had never stopped loving her. And Leonardo V. Samaniego… his words weren’t just romantic—they were desperate. They were filled with longing, the kind that didn’t end just because life did.
Elianna didn’t believe in ghosts. But she was starting to believe in memory—how it clings to places, to paper, to hearts.
And maybe, just maybe, memory was enough to bring the past back.
She stared at the letters spread across the floor. She had read fifteen of them now. Some were soft and lighthearted—Leo writing about music, mango trees, and stolen glances. Others were heavier, darker—he spoke of war, of blood spilled in silence, of the night they said goodbye.
But the last letter she read was different.
Celestina,
If time is kind, if the soul remembers, then I know you’ll find this someday. Maybe not in this life. Maybe not in the next. But I believe in the love we planted in the dirt of this place. In the way our names still echo across these walls. In the wind that carries your laughter even when you’re gone.
I will wait in every century. I will write until my ink runs dry. And when the veil lifts, I’ll know it’s you—
Because it’s always been you.
—L.
She ran her fingers across the signature. The ink had faded in places, but it still felt warm.
Outside, the birds began to sing. A slow, gentle chorus.
Elianna stood, her legs stiff, and walked to the window. The same window Leonardo had once leaned on. The same view Celestina might have looked out of when waiting for him.
The house was falling apart, but it still stood. And that meant something.
Later that day, Elianna sat at her desk in her dorm, her thoughts miles away from where her body sat. Her roommate, Joy, was talking about an exam, but Elianna barely heard her.
“You okay?” Joy finally asked, waving a hand in front of her face.
“Yeah. Just tired.”
“You’ve been quiet since yesterday. Like… haunted, quiet.”
Elianna hesitated. Then said, “Do you believe time can… repeat itself?”
Joy raised a brow. “Like déjà vu?”
“No. Like… two souls meeting again, even if they’ve lived before. Even if they died.”
Joy laughed lightly. “What are you watching now? Some period drama again?”
Elianna smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Something like that.”
She didn’t tell Joy about the house. Or the letters. Or the boy in the mirror. Not yet.
Some things felt too sacred to explain. Like trying to describe a dream that still held pieces of your heart.
That night, she returned.
The house was still. The air thicker than usual. But as soon as she stepped inside, something shifted—like the house recognized her.
She went straight to the room upstairs, the one with the mirror. The light was dim, but the dust had settled. The letters remained, right where she left them. She picked up one she hadn’t read yet.
Dearest,
I remember the first time I saw you. You wore lavender and carried a book you never opened. You smiled like you knew something the world didn’t. And maybe you did. Because every time I look at you, I feel like I’ve seen you before. In another life. In another place. My mind forgets, but my soul doesn’t.
Elianna froze.
She had worn lavender yesterday.
Her fingers trembled as she placed the letter down. She turned to the mirror slowly.
And there he was.
Not clearly—but enough.
His outline, faint but steady. Dark eyes. A collared shirt. A look that held both sorrow and peace.
She gasped and stepped back.
But he didn’t move. He only looked at her… like he was waiting.
“Leonardo?” she whispered.
The air stirred. The candle on the table flickered violently—then stilled.
She walked toward the mirror. Closer. Closer.
“Celestina,” he whispered. This time, she heard it with her ears, not just her heart.
“I’m not her,” she said. But the words cracked. “I’m not…”
His eyes softened, almost like he knew something she didn’t.
Maybe she wasn’t Celestina.
But maybe her soul remembered enough to finish what had been left undone.
And maybe, just maybe…
She was meant to.
- Writer
