You, the Whisper Across Lifetime

Chapter 11: Sunrise

I walked barefoot beneath the flowers in the temple yard—the same space I had grown up in, where I had spent most of my outdoor hours. The petals, heavy with dew, brushed against my skin as I stepped through the grass. Dawn hadn't broken fully yet; the sun was still tucked behind the distant line of trees, casting only a faint blush across the sky. The world felt still again. Whatever tension had clung to the forest yesterday—like a held breath—had loosened. I sensed they were gone. Or had moved on.

I stood quietly, letting the air settle around me. Letting it be.

The first light spilled softly across the stones, and I tilted my face to feel it. But something shifted. A ripple in the quiet.

I wasn't alone.

A figure stood not far away—tall, almost burly, cloaked in worn traveling fabric. His boots, wrapped in sheepskin, marked him as someone who had walked far. His presence startled me, not because he was menacing, but because I hadn't sensed him before. That never happened.

I froze. My fingers shot to the edge of my cloak and pulled it tight, hood up, hiding the hair that had marked me since ten.

"No need to cover it," he said, his voice low and rough-edged. "You are beautiful."

I stepped back instinctively. He moved a little closer. I raised my hand—firm but calm—and gave him a sign to stop. He did. I gestured again, asking who he was. I guessed he read my wary eyes.

"I spoke to your father," he said finally. "A few days ago."

Time hung still.

He made no move forward. He held his distance, as if understanding how sacred the boundary was. I found my breath again and gathered my manners, curtsying slightly, head bowed—not as a girl to a stranger, but as a host to a guest.

For a moment, we simply looked at each other. And then, something clicked. His deep brown eyes met mine, steady and searching. I saw no oppression or demand in them—only a recognition. And something quieter beneath.

The morning light continued to rise, touching the edge of the yard. And still, he stood there—silent, waiting. Like someone who had found what he didn't even know he'd come searching for.

He stepped just close enough to reach the edge of my fingers. I held my breath.

"I'll be looking for you," he said quietly. "Wait for me."

Then, just like that, he turned and walked away. I didn't call after him. I only listened. And this time, I could feel every step. His presence returned to the forest, until I heard the faint sound of a horse retreating through the trees.

And then I was alone again. Or so I thought.

In this life, Kaelen had already heard me speak of the vision. On one of our Saturday morning calls, I told him everything—what I saw, what I felt.

He had gone silent then. And when he spoke again, his voice had changed.

"You were right," he said. "It's because of me."

His words weren't a question. They were an echo of something already known.

"From the first time we chatted," he continued, "I felt there was something. But back then… I was just going through my divorce. I wanted distance, space. I wasn't ready for anything else."

He paused. I could hear the catch in his breath.

"But I kept your messages. I read them again and again. I just felt… there was something different about you."

I smiled, even as my heart pressed tight in my chest.

It wasn't something. It was everything.