His grandfather used to say, "If you want to punish someone, give them exactly what they want."

That is exactly what he told us when we went to tell him we were getting married. Back then, those were just words—an anecdote meant to promote thought in a bunch of excited young adults. We, as lovebirds, did not think too deeply about the words, but those words became fundamental truths in our lives. Now, lying here, I understood the cruel irony behind them.

My thoughts grew ever more jaded as I gazed up at the thatched roof above me, unable to move my body or even turn my head. I’d spent the last week like this, and it was becoming more apparent that I was going stir-crazy.

It didn’t help that my emotions were constantly flip-flopping. One moment I felt sad that I couldn’t move, the next I was thankful to be alive. After all, things could be worse—I could still be dead.

It felt like just a moment ago I was with him, the love of my life. We had been inseparable since college, bound by a love so deep it felt eternal. But life had other plans. I had been chronically sick, and he stayed by my side through it all. He was there when the doctors gave up hope, when the pain became unbearable, and in those final moments when death seemed a mercy.

I remembered our first meeting, a chance encounter at a campus café. I had been engrossed in a book, and he accidentally spilled coffee on my table. His apologies were so sincere, his smile so disarming, that I couldn't help but be charmed. From that day on, we were inseparable. We studied together, laughed together, and dreamed of a future that seemed full of endless possibilities.

Our love grew stronger with each passing year. He was my rock during the tough times, especially when I was diagnosed with my illness. The prognosis was grim, but he never wavered. He attended every doctor's appointment, researched treatments, and held my hand through the pain. His unwavering support and love gave me strength, even when I felt like giving up.

The days in the hospital were long and exhausting, but he made them bearable. He would bring me my favorite books, play my favorite music, and talk about our dreams as if nothing had changed. His optimism was infectious, and for a while, I believed we could conquer anything together.

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But as the illness progressed, it became harder to maintain that hope. There were nights when the pain was so intense that I wished for an end. He never left my side, whispering words of comfort, reminding me of our love. His presence was my solace, the one thing that made the suffering bearable.

The last thing I remembered was his voice, whispering something to me as I took my final breath. The words were a balm to my soul, a promise that I would hold onto even as the darkness claimed me. But now, in this strange new existence, the memory of his words was just out of reach, a tantalizing whisper that I couldn't quite grasp.

I awoke, my senses felt muted, and before I knew what was happening, I could vaguely feel myself being touched and wrapped in a blanket. My muscles were sore, and every movement felt wrong. I tried to free my hand to wipe at my eyes but could only flail inside the blanket. Slowly, I started hearing unfamiliar voices speaking a language I couldn’t understand. I tried to ask what was happening, if he was okay, only to produce a series of incoherent sounds.

Floating text appeared in front of my face, and I froze in confusion:

[Initialization Complete]

LV: 1 Experience: 0/100

Vitality: 8

Endurance: 1

Strength: 1

Agility: 1

Senses: 3

Mind: 26

Magic: 5

Clarity: 1

Skills:

The realization hit me like a brick wall. I had died and been reborn into a new body. The strangeness of it all overwhelmed me but suddenly my overwhelmed mind froze as a young-looking woman lovingly held me to her chest. Her warmth seeped into me, and her voice lulled me to sleep. Like magic, it soothed my heart and calmed me. Her happiness washed over me like a tidal wave. For now, I knew I was safe. Safe in this new life.

In those last moments of my previous life, I had wished for freedom—from the illness, from the constant pain. My wish was granted, but at a price. My punishment was that I had to live this new life without him. His grandfather's words echoed in my mind: "If you want to punish someone, give them exactly what they want." The freedom I wanted came with the cruel reality of being without him.

As I drifted off, I clung to the memory of his last words, hoping that one day I would remember what he whispered to me. Because in that moment, I knew it was something important—something that would give me the strength to face whatever this new life had in store for me.