You, the Whisper Across Lifetime

Chapter 13: One Sentence, One Thread

I used to think one sentence couldn't change your life.

But now I'm not so sure.

Even as a psychic, I'm skeptical. Maybe especially because I'm psychic. People assume I must believe in everything unseen, but I don't. I question. I wait. I don't jump into feelings just because they're loud. I wait for what stays quiet and true.

People have said I come across cold. Detached. Even when I'm reading someone's heart like a map, they think I'm just being blunt. I don't sugarcoat what I sense. I don't need to. That's how I've always protected myself.

And maybe that's why Kaelen caught me off guard.

It wasn't anything grand. Not at first. Just a single sentence.

I still remember it clearly—the way his words slipped into the quiet space of my day, unexpected, casual, but somehow familiar.

"You seem like someone I've known before. Isn't that strange?"

That was it. One sentence. A throwaway comment for most people.

But for me, it stopped time.

Not because it was romantic. Not because I believed in instant soul recognition. I didn't—not then.

I just remember staring at the screen and feeling something shift. Like the room had changed its temperature. Like something behind the veil stirred, just for a second.

I didn't respond right away. I read the sentence twice, maybe three times. I told myself it was just a coincidence. A strange choice of words. A man trying to be poetic.

Still… the air felt different after that.

It wasn't the kind of thing you could trace to logic. And I wanted logic. I always want logic.

But something in me had already started to listen.

I hardly ever saw other people's past lives. Or if I did, it came like narration—detached, like watching a story play out behind a screen. I could sense things, yes. Names, timelines, outcomes. But it never stayed with me. No weight. No residue.

Maybe that's how it's supposed to be when I have no personal link to the person I read. The soul speaks, I listen, and then it moves on.

But with Kaelen… it was different.

His past-life memory didn't come to me in a flash. It didn't pass like a story. It stayed. Lingered. Settled into the back of my chest like a bruise. His grief—his waiting—wasn't just something I saw. I felt it.

It was daunting. Too close. Like my heart had been caught in something I couldn't name.

And I wondered: Why was it like this?

Why did his memory pull so deeply at me when others never did?

Even when I saw myself in a past life—my own death, my own end—I could hold it. Process it. But his sadness? It wrenched something in me I didn't know was still raw.

Maybe it was because it hadn't healed.

Maybe it never got the chance to.

Maybe I do love him.

So much that it affected me more to see him in pain than to see myself dying.

That's the part I didn't expect. That his ache could hurt deeper than my own. That his unfinished goodbye could echo louder than my own death.

Maybe I need to analyse that later.

Right now, I just sat with it. With the quiet weight of knowing we both carried something from before—something that never got a chance to close. Maybe that's why we found each other again. Not to finish a story, but to finally acknowledge it.

_____

I could see the kids—my sons and their cousins—were getting more and more at ease with staying home. They started to treat the lockdown like an extended holiday. The time they used to spend commuting to school was now spent playing, usually indoors. I tried to balance it by supervising some light exercise: treadmill runs, backyard play, small routines under the morning sun. Anything to keep them from sitting too long in front of the computers.

Meanwhile, Kaelen had started paying closer attention to how I managed my work. Most of it was done online now—meetings, presentations, team briefings. But some parts still needed face-to-face presence, especially with clients. He asked how I commuted in Jakarta during the pandemic—if it was safe, what options I used, how people were adjusting. I could tell he was calculating something.

Then one morning, he told me he was preparing to come here.

I was quiet for a moment. I knew what it meant. His company had taken a major hit—projects delayed, funds on hold. And Kaelen, being Kaelen, wasn't one to let things collapse if there was still a chance to fix them. He was planning to fly in and try to salvage what he could.

He said he'd wait. Wait for the border restrictions to loosen. But I could hear it in his voice—he was already halfway packed.

When the word lockdown became the norm here, he was already planning something.

He mentioned it casually at first. That he might need to come. Some projects couldn't be managed remotely. Too many delays. Too many moving parts. I knew his company had taken a hit.

He didn't say much, but I could tell he was thinking ahead. About how to travel, how to make it work with all the restrictions. He asked me how things were in Jakarta. How people moved around, what kind of permits were needed. I gave him what I knew.

I didn't ask directly if it was only for work. Maybe I didn't want to know yet.

But I sensed it wasn't just about the job.I sensed he wasn't just trying to save contracts—he was also trying to stay in motion. Keep something steady in a world slipping out of place.

And I wasn't the one who acted like I know everything. I certainly asked about things I may not know. Since he was after all seen most part of he world. And during these discussions I also noted his mood, his expression when talking. I know he gave more attention when we have this discussion.

We started talking more. The calls grew longer—not just because of the distance, but because we both enjoyed them. We talked about real things—lockdown politics, global shifts, the tension building under the surface of the world.

We analysed what was going on during this pandemic lockdown.

Yes, other than being lovey dovey on long distance relationship and bantering on sweet nothings. Kaelen and I hit it off smoothly discussing world affairs. We found that we had similar views and values on seeing each issue.

There were still soft moments between us, sweet messages and shared laughter.

We rarely disagreed. More often than not, we reached the same conclusions from different angles. It felt easy. Natural. As if our thoughts had already been moving in parallel long before we met.

And I wasn't the one who acted like I know everything. I certainly asked about things I may not know. Since he was after all seen most part of he world. And during these discussions I also noted his mood, his expression when talking. I know he gave more attention when we have this discussion.

It wasn't about who knew more. It was about how we saw things—and how often we found ourselves saying, "Exactly."

I noticed he paid closer attention during those talks. Not just to the topics, but to how I approached them. I did the same. Maybe that's why it never felt like a debate. Just… a rhythm we both knew how to fall into.

There was no need to impress. No need to explain too much. It was all there already.

And somewhere in those conversations, he started giving me more—not just affection, but presence. Focus. Intent.

He didn't say it outright. But I felt it.

And I almost certain that he wasn't just trying to fix work by coming.

He was coming for something else, too. Hopefully it wasn't my wishful thinking.