“That’s not very nice of them,” I reply, pouring hot water into a clay pot full of dried tea leaves. The satisfying glug of the steaming stream fills my ears, harmonizing with the gentle crackle and snap of the stove fire before me. “In my experience, people often laugh at things they don’t understand.”
Jyn arches a brow. “Butyouunderstand?”
“Oh, yes. I’m a bit of a know-it-all, in fact.” I sit down across from her and pour her a cup, delighted when she brings it to her lips and takes a thoughtful sip.
“I’ve come seeking answers,” she says after a moment.
“And I’m happy to oblige.”
“I don’t even know where to begin. You’ll think me mad.Ithink I’m mad.”
I pour myself a cup of tea, breathing in the herbal steam. “You’ll find no judgment from me. Tell me what’s on your mind.”
Jyn chews on the inside of her cheek, an adorable little quirk she’s picked up in this lifetime, it would seem. And yet the familiar furrow of her brows, as well as the way her shoulders tense with concentration, remain the same. She takes a deep breath and steels herself, her eyes peering deeply into mine.
“I think you’re my Fated One,” she says.
I grin so wide that my cheeks ache. “I know I am. Now, if you’ll drink your tea, I would share with you a story.”
It’s well into the evening by the time I’m finished. Jyn sits at the table overlooking the flowers, her delicate features painted in the soft orange sunset. Her eyes are closed, her fingers rubbing at her temples. She didn’t speak a word during or even after I recounted our tale.
“I don’t understand,” she says eventually. “I don’t remember anything at all.”
“Give it time,” I reply patiently. “It’s a lot to take in.”
“Are you sure you’re not lying?”
“No, sunshine. This is far too important for me to lie.”
Jyn shifts in her seat, frustration bubbling off the surface of her skin. It’s fascinating how much clearer her feelings are to me over our connection. Where before they were muffled, like listening to her speak from another room, now all is unobstructed and clear. I can sense her blazing curiosity, can feel the butterflies fluttering in her stomach. I’m even able to partake in the headache pulsing behind her eyes as she racks her mind for memories she can’t seem to summon.
“I’m sorry,” she says after a long while. “Everything you’vesaid feels so familiar. Almost like a dream… but nothing’s coming to me.”
I was scared of forgetting you.
I push away a great disappointment in favor of hope. Of course I hoped her memories would sit closer to the surface, since her soul hasn’t endured the cycle of rebirth as many times as mine has. But even if Jyn never remembers everything, what matters is that she’shere. Whatever the future may have in store for us, I’m confident that we’ll figure it out together. Nothing but possibility stands before us.
“There’s no need to fret,” I say, rising from my seat at the table. “We have plenty of time to get to know each other again. Are you staying somewhere in the city?”
Jyn nods, the rims of her eyes red and puffy. I so hate to see her upset. “I have a room at the inn.”
“It’s getting late. Allow me to see you back.”
She takes my hand when I offer it, her skin soft against my rough palm. My heart skips a beat when I notice the faint blush of her cheeks. “Thank you, that’s very kind.”
A thought suddenly pops into my head. “Before we go, I have something for you. A gift.”
Jyn gives me a quizzical look. “But how did you know I was coming?”
Holding up my hand to show off our taut red thread, I reply, “I had a feeling.”
I momentarily leave her for the entrance of my home, stepping through the doorway to rifle through the cabinets next to my writing desk. After a bit of shuffling, I find a small box stashed away in the very back. The box itself is brown and plain, easily overlooked. It’s the contentswithinthat are of immeasurable value. I return to Jyn and place the box delicately in the cup of her hands.
“What is it?” she asks, prying the lid open to reveal something wrapped in soft green silk.
“Something that was once yours,” I explain. “I wanted to keep it safe for you.”
Jyn carefully peels away the layers of silk to reveal a silver hairpin, the one I gifted her all those lifetimes ago. She stares at the intricate piece for so long I fear her mind has wandered too far. She’s in a world entirely her own. I silently pray that it will help jog her memories. Maybe a trinket, something to hold, will help spark something.
