On December 24, 2007, in Italy, a particular journey began — or perhaps, persisted. It belonged to someone who, to the casual observer, might appear ordinary, yet harbored an indefinable essence, even to themselves.

Shu entered the world amidst winter's chill, a day shy of Christmas, a fact that elicited admiration from others but held no significance for her. In truth, nothing in her existence seemed to carry weight; she resigned herself to the inevitable cycle of being forgotten, regardless of her actions. She grappled with her uniqueness, trying daily to blend in, yet perpetually stood out like a solitary tulip among roses. Each iteration of her life unfolded in familiar patterns, as if predetermined.

My name is Aki — this is the identity Shu gave me. It remains consistent across every universe, in every era. I am Aki, and I retain memories of all our shared past lives. Shu was a constant presence in each one. Perhaps her last incarnation was as Ranpo; she felt accepted despite her differences. I recognized her in every iteration, as if fate ordained our perpetual friendship across dimensions. Her essence remained unchanged — bright, compassionate, sincere. Above all, I cherished her smile.

In this current life, we crossed paths on January 7, 2024, Shu at 16 and I at 17. Our introduction occurred during an art course at school, her smile and eyes instantly recognizable. I pondered why our paths hadn't intersected sooner. As always, she initiated conversation first, during the break.

"I've never seen you before. What's your name?"

"Sophia. And you?"

"People usually call me Shu. You can too!"

"Well then, nice to meet you, Shu."

"Likewise, Soph — … Actually, can I give you a nickname?"

"Of course."

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"How about Aki?"

"I don't mind it. Aki it is."

The familiarity of our exchange, its repetition across lifetimes, everything suggested a deliberate hand guiding our encounters. Intriguingly, in every universe, I am given the same name as someone who deeply wounded her in the past, leading her to name me Aki, everytime.

When I encountered her during that art course, I couldn't help but be drawn to her smile amidst the bustling crowd, as if it was the purest essence of her being. Although I recognized her smile, a nagging doubt lingered - how had we not crossed paths earlier, given our shared school environment? My gaze was perhaps overly intense, and she felt it coming from a corner. However, she caught my eye, and in that moment, I realized she was the Shu I had been seeking in this life as well. While others might have reacted differently, casting judgment or gossiping, her actions were different in every lifetime. As soon as she could, she approached me with a familiar gaze. That was part of her uniqueness. Over time, we grew closer, and she confided her most secret thoughts, each being a proof of her intellect, a quality that seemed to transcend lifetimes. One of her profound musings centered around what she termed the "reincarnation theory" itself. It all began when she found uncanny resemblances between herself and a character, specifically Ranpo Edogawa, a connection that felt almost too real. After all, her existence as him marked the final chapter before reincarnating into this present life. From these reflections, she pondered the conventional notions of heaven and hell. Why should eternity be spent in the confines of either? Instead, reincarnation seemed to offer a more purposeful journey. She didn't dismiss the notion of judgment day; rather, she saw it as a moment defining the subsequent lifetimes, each presenting an opportunity for personal growth and evolution. And yet, intriguingly, in every incarnation, I find myself born with these memories intact, with the ability to recall my true identity and the quest for connection. She also astutely observed the nature of what we commonly term "fantasy." In her view, the imaginative creations of our minds are not merely flights of fancy, but fragments of past-life memories lurking within our subconscious.

"Consider this," she would say. "Why would God, the ultimate creator, imbue us with the ability to fantasize, to envision creatures, worlds, and stories beyond our own reality? What we call 'imagination' is, in fact, a collection of these fragmented memories from each past existence, but not even we are aware of it."

She often cited Kafka Asagiri, the creator of Bungou Stray Dogs, as a prime example. The intricacy and detail of his characters seemed almost too real, as if they were divine creations. According to her theory, Asagiri unwittingly pieced together memories from a previous life, perhaps as Natsume, infusing them into his literary creations. The characters bore resemblances to real people because, in essence, they were, albeit with different names, as the memories rarely extend to recalling specific identities.

"In my previous life, I might not have been called Ranpo …" she mused,

" … but my essence remains undeniable "