Asher stood before the large, oak bookshelf, the smell of old paper and dust filling the air. His fingers brushed against the spines of countless forgotten tomes, each one whispering tales of ages past. The library had always been his sanctuary—this old building that stood in the heart of the town, shrouded by the dense woods that seemed to guard it from the outside world. It was a place that felt both timeless and out of place, as though it had been left behind by history itself.

Asher was a man who lived more in the past than the present, and his obsession with forgotten stories and mysteries was something that had both isolated him and fueled his creativity. He had come here to escape the pressures of the world, hoping the quiet of the library would help him finish the novel that had been languishing for years. But so far, the stories eluded him, no matter how many ancient books he poured over.

His eyes scanned the titles, most of them centuries old. They didn’t interest him—not today. He needed something new, something that called out to him. He wandered deeper into the labyrinthine aisles of the library, the distant echo of footsteps fading as he moved farther away from the main reading rooms.

Turning a corner, Asher came across a narrow hallway he hadn’t noticed before. It was tucked behind a stack of weathered crates and had an air of secrecy about it. A single beam of light filtered through a narrow window at the end, illuminating the dust motes that danced in the still air. Without thinking, Asher stepped into the hallway.

The further he walked, the darker it became. He had to squint to make out the details, but then, something caught his eye. A small alcove, hidden behind a half-open door. Something glimmered within, almost as though it were waiting for him.

His curiosity piqued, Asher approached. Inside, he found an old wooden chest, covered in layers of dust, tucked away in a corner. It was a curious thing—unlike anything else in the library. The lid was adorned with faint, intricate carvings, their meaning lost to time. The chest was locked, but that didn’t deter Asher. His fingers traced the patterns, his mind racing with possibilities. What could be inside? A rare manuscript? A long-lost treasure? The answer was out of his reach—until now.

He knelt down, his hand reaching for the rusted lock. A strange sensation crawled up his spine, like a whisper in the back of his mind urging him to open it. For a moment, he hesitated, as though the chest itself was daring him. But he couldn’t resist.

Asher found a small metal key lying beside the chest, almost as if it had been waiting for him all along. The lock clicked open with a low groan, and the lid creaked as he lifted it.

Inside, nestled between yellowing sheets of parchment, was an old journal. Its leather cover was worn but still intact, and the pages were delicately inscribed with faded ink. Asher's breath caught in his throat as he reached for the journal, an inexplicable pull drawing him to it. It felt ancient, as though it had been forgotten by time itself.

Without thinking, he opened the first page.

Asher reads aloud the first entry from the journal, his voice barely above a whisper:

"There is a love that transcends time. A love that cannot be forgotten, no matter how many lifetimes we live. This is our story, and though we may never meet again, our hearts will always find each other."

Asher’s heart raced as he read the words. A chill ran through him—he didn’t know why, but he felt as though the words were written for him, as though they were meant to be his. He flipped the page, unable to stop himself. The next entry was dated centuries ago, yet it felt immediate, almost like a whisper in his ear.

Asher reads the next passage, his voice trembling slightly:

"I met him today, in the same place where we met before. His eyes met mine, and I knew at once—this time, we would be together."

Asher’s pulse quickened. Who were these people? Why did their words feel so familiar?

A noise broke his concentration—a soft rustle of footsteps behind him.

“Can I help you?” a voice asked.

Asher turned, startled. Standing in the doorway was a man, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. He was tall, with dark, disheveled hair and a warm smile that seemed out of place in such a mysterious, forgotten corner of the library. His clothes were simple, yet there was something captivating about him, something Asher couldn’t quite place.

“Uh, sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. I found this... this chest,” Asher said, holding up the journal as if it could explain everything.

The stranger stepped closer, his gaze immediately fixing on the journal. There was a flicker of recognition in his eyes, but it was gone in an instant.

“That chest hasn’t been opened in years,” the man said, his voice low but inviting. “I’m Ethan, by the way. I work here... mostly in the archives.”

Asher nodded, still in a daze from the journal's pull. “I—I didn’t expect to find something like this. It feels... strange. It’s almost like it’s meant for me.”

Ethan gave him a curious look. “Well, the library has a way of showing people what they need to see, even if they don’t know it.” He stepped closer, his eyes lingering on the journal. “What’s it say?”

Asher opened the book, and together they read the next entry aloud:

"He doesn’t remember, but I do. Our love has been lost and found in every lifetime. This time, I will make sure it lasts."

Ethan's expression changed. For a split second, his face flickered with something—something deep and knowing. But just as quickly as it appeared, he masked it with a smile.

“Fascinating,” Ethan said, his voice unusually soft. “That’s... quite a story.”

Asher met his gaze, but the words caught in his throat. Something about Ethan’s presence felt familiar, too, like a missing piece of a puzzle he hadn’t even realized he was trying to solve.

“Well,” Ethan continued, “I think this journal has chosen the right person to find it.”

Asher frowned, unsure of how to respond. “You really think so?”

Ethan smiled again, a small, enigmatic smile that seemed to suggest he knew more than he was letting on. “I’m sure of it. The question is, are you ready to find out what comes next?”

......................

( To be continued)

The journal lay open between them, its faded script glowing faintly under the library’s dim, amber light. Asher’s fingers trembled slightly as he traced the edge of the last sentence, still lingering in his mind:

“He doesn’t remember, but I do. Our love has been lost and found in every lifetime. This time, I will make sure it lasts.”

Ethan hadn’t moved from his place beside him. There was something careful in the way he watched Asher, like he was trying not to say too much—or perhaps deciding how much he could say at all.

“Do you believe in that?” Asher asked quietly, not looking up. “Reincarnation? Soulmates through time?”

Ethan’s voice came softly, almost thoughtfully. “I believe some connections run too deep to die. Time bends in strange ways for certain people.”

That answer shouldn’t have comforted Asher—but it did. He nodded, then turned back to the journal. “There’s more,” he whispered.

Entry – Undated

"I have seen the signs again. The bird at the window. The sound of music in an empty room. The pain in my chest when I pass the fountain where he once waited. It means he’s here. Somewhere in this life. I just have to find him before time steals him from me again."

Goosebumps prickled along Asher’s arms. He closed the book carefully, like any sudden motion might erase the words completely.

Ethan stepped closer, voice barely audible. “You feel like it’s about you, don’t you?”

“I know how it sounds,” Asher said, glancing at him. “But yeah. I don’t know why. I’ve never believed in any of this. But this—this feels different. Like déjà vu. Like I’ve read these words before.”

“Or written them,” Ethan murmured.

That comment landed heavy, drawing Asher’s gaze sharply to Ethan’s face. But Ethan only gave a soft, unreadable smile and turned away, walking toward one of the windows that overlooked the woods.

“I’m sorry,” Asher said after a pause. “I didn’t mean to be weird about this.”

“You’re not weird,” Ethan replied, looking out into the rain. “You’re just finally listening to something most people spend their whole lives trying to ignore.”

Asher hesitated, then stepped toward him, holding the journal to his chest. “Have you... ever read this before? You said you work in the archives.”

Ethan turned back, his eyes unreadable again. “No. But I think I’ve been waiting for someone who would.”

A silence stretched between them, comfortable and charged. The rain outside had slowed to a gentle patter. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Ethan said, “You know… there’s more to this library than just what’s visible. If you want, I can show you some of the restricted sections. There might be more journals like this. Or… answers.”

Asher swallowed. The sensible part of him told him to leave, to write it all off as coincidence or imagination. But the other part—the deeper, intuitive part—knew better.

He looked down at the journal, then up at Ethan.

“I want to know more.”

Ethan smiled, this time softer. Real.

“Then follow me.”

And just like that, the old floor creaked under their steps as Ethan led Asher through a hidden corridor behind the archives. The journey deeper into the library—and into the echoes of past lives—had begun.

......................

( To be continued)

The journal sat between them on the oak table, its pages yellowed and fragile, but undeniably magnetic. Asher could hardly look away. Every sentence he read felt like a tug on a thread buried deep within him—something pulling loose, unraveling a truth he didn’t yet understand.

Ethan sat quietly across from him, his eyes flickering between Asher’s face and the journal. He looked calm, but there was something in his posture—tense, almost expectant—that made Asher wonder just how much he already knew.

“This is crazy,” Asher said, barely above a whisper. “It’s like... like I’m reading my own story, but I don’t remember writing it.”

Ethan leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table. “Sometimes, stories remember us before we remember them.”

Asher raised an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to be comforting or cryptic?”

Ethan gave a small shrug, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Maybe both.”

Asher turned back to the journal, flipping to the next entry. The ink was smudged in places, as if written in haste—or with trembling hands.

> “He smiled at me today. The same smile he used to give me beneath the moonlight in the gardens. Does he know? Can he feel it too? The weight of a thousand lifetimes between us?”

Asher’s breath caught. His pulse quickened. He didn’t know why it hit him so hard, but something about the entry stirred a hollow ache in his chest. A longing that didn’t have a name.

He looked up again. “Who wrote this?”

Ethan hesitated. “We don’t know for sure. The journal isn’t catalogued. It’s not even supposed to be in this section.”

“But you’ve seen it before,” Asher said slowly. “Haven’t you?”

Ethan didn’t deny it. Instead, he stood and began to pace the floor, the journal’s words seemingly echoing in the air around them.

“I found it once,” he said finally. “Years ago. I was about your age. It disappeared after I read it, though. I always wondered if it would come back.”

Asher tilted his head. “So this... this happens often? The journal just appears for someone?”

“Not for someone,” Ethan said, pausing. “For you.”

Silence settled thick between them.

Asher scoffed quietly. “You’re making it sound like I’m the reincarnation of some lost lover.”

Ethan didn’t laugh. “Aren’t you even the least bit curious why you’re drawn to this? Why these words feel familiar to you?”

“I mean... yeah,” Asher admitted. “But that’s just my imagination, right? I’ve read a lot of books. Maybe it’s just... resonating.”

“Or maybe,” Ethan said quietly, “your heart remembers what your mind has forgotten.”

Asher opened the journal again. This time, something caught his eye on the inside of the front cover—a faint inscription in elegant cursive, nearly hidden in the fold.

> For A. You always come back to me.

His fingers froze on the page. “Ethan.”

Ethan turned to him.

“My name starts with A.”

“I know,” Ethan replied gently.

Asher blinked. “You said that before. Like you expected me.”

Ethan came closer, leaning down to tap the journal. “Because I did. The story always begins with you finding this.”

Asher’s voice dropped. “And you?”

Ethan’s eyes were unreadable. “I’m just the one waiting for you to remember.”

......................

( To be continued)