The chaos was behind us.
Jason was gone. Lila was locked away awaiting judgment. Claire had finally been discharged from the hospital, and for the first time in a long while, peace returned — soft and quiet like a gentle breeze after a heavy storm.
And Dominic… Dominic had made it his personal mission to fill my life with comfort. Not grand gestures or dramatic declarations — but subtle, thoughtful surprises that warmed my heart like candlelight in winter.
It started with the little things.
A cup of hot cocoa left by my bedside when I woke up groggy. A new pair of cozy socks because he noticed I kept stealing his. Fresh sunflowers in a vase by the kitchen window. A spontaneous drive to the beach just to watch the waves. Dinner dates that seemed too romantic to be casual, even though he always said, "It's just because you're my wife."
No special reason. Just that.
But maybe that was the reason.
Still, something nestled in the pit of my stomach wouldn't leave me alone. A quiet nudge. A whisper of suspicion, not rooted in fear — but curiosity. That there was something he wasn't saying. Something hidden beneath his charming smile and warm hands.
One chilly afternoon, wrapped in thick coats and scarves, we wandered into a nearly empty ice cream shop. Yes, ice cream — in freezing weather. Because who says joy has to wait for summer?
We sat tucked away at a corner booth by the fogged-up window, spoons clinking against our colorful cups.
He looked content, leaning back as he ate his usual — mint chocolate chip, no surprises there.
I studied him quietly. The shape of his mouth. The softness in his eyes. The way he twirled the spoon between his fingers absentmindedly, as though his body remembered joy better than his mind did.
And then, I finally asked.
"Hey… is there something you want to tell me?"
He blinked, taken off guard. "Hmm? Like what?"
I hesitated, looking down at the melting swirl in my cup.
"That day," I said softly. "When I was drowning… you said something. Something strange. You said, 'Not again.'"
His spoon paused mid-air.
"I didn't want to ask before because… I thought maybe I imagined it. Or maybe it didn't mean anything and I'd sound stupid."
"You never sound stupid," he said with a small smile.
"So," I lifted my gaze to meet his. "Did you… know me before?"
There was a beat of silence between us. I half-expected him to chuckle, make some witty joke, brush it off like he always did.
Instead, Dominic just… smiled.
"Maybe," he said.
"Maybe?" I repeated, heart suddenly pounding. "What does that mean?"
He set his spoon down and chuckled. "You really want to know?"
"Yes!"
He shrugged. "Alright. I knew you… five. Maybe twenty."
"Twenty what? Days?"
He shook his head.
"Weeks?"
He just smiled.
"Months?!" I gasped.
He shook his head again, teasing.
I narrowed my eyes. "Don't say years—"
"Years," he confirmed with a soft laugh.
"WHAT?" I nearly jumped, voice bouncing off the walls. A few people turned to look, amused. I blushed and lowered my voice. "How?! When?!"
"I told you a story once, remember?" he said, eyes now warm with memory. "About a little girl who shared her snacks with me? The one who told me not to cry when I missed my dad?"
I froze.
"You said she reminded you of someone…" I whispered.
He nodded. "Because it was you."
My mouth parted in shock. "But I thought you said you forgot her?"
"I did. For years. But the day you visited your father's grave… you looked familiar. I didn't think too much of it, but after you left, I walked over to the tombstone. There were pictures of you and him… childhood photos. One of them was you, with puffy cheeks and two missing teeth, holding out a cookie."
I covered my mouth, tears stinging behind my eyes.
"I wasn't stalking you or anything," he added quickly. "Just… curious. The moment I saw that photo, everything came rushing back."
"Why didn't you say anything?" I asked, stunned.
"I didn't know how," he admitted. "Would you have believed me? I thought maybe fate brought us together again for a reason. I didn't want to ruin it by sounding crazy."
My head spun with the weight of it all.
All those moments. All those coincidences. The feeling that I knew him even when I didn't. It all made sense now.
I looked at him, still half in disbelief. "So… all this time?"
"All this time," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
I burst out laughing, teary and overwhelmed. "You're so weird!"
"Hey!" he protested, then leaned forward. "You're the one who used to wipe my snot when I cried."
I gasped. "You remember that?!"
He grinned smugly. "Every humiliating second."
I hit him lightly with a napkin, and we both laughed.
The shop faded away. The cold outside ceased to matter. It was just us, suspended in a soft, sparkling moment — one where the past met the present, and the future started to shimmer.
Two weeks later, I found myself standing in front of my closet with my hands on my hips, frowning at the rows of dresses like they'd personally offended me.
Claire had called earlier that morning, her voice sweet and full of mischief.
"Put on something pretty, darling," she said. "Dominic has plans for tonight, and I've made sure he doesn't mess it up."
"What kind of plans?" I asked, suspicious.
"The kind that require lipstick," she giggled and promptly hung up.
That woman was far too excited for someone still recovering from a coma.
Still, her excitement was contagious. So, I picked out a burgundy satin dress that hugged my waist and fell to mid-calf. I paired it with nude heels and soft waves in my hair.
Dominic knocked on my door exactly at 6:00 p.m., dressed in a navy-blue suit with a grey wool coat thrown over it. He didn't say anything when he saw me — just stood there for a moment, blinking.
"You're beautiful," he said, softly.
I felt my cheeks warm. "You clean up okay too."
He offered me his arm. "Shall we?"
The city was glowing that night. It was Valentine's Day, and it seemed like everyone was out in full force — holding hands, buying roses, sneaking kisses under glowing street lamps.
Our car pulled up to a place I'd never been before. Not a restaurant. Not a hotel. It was… a greenhouse?
I turned to him in confusion.
He smiled. "Claire's idea."
Of course it was.
Inside, soft golden lights hung from the high glass ceilings. Hundreds of flowers — roses, lilies, tulips, and sunflowers — bloomed around us in neat rows. A table sat at the center of it all, covered in white linen, crystal glasses, and candlelight.
"This is…" I started, unsure how to describe it.
"Insane?" he teased.
"Perfect," I said instead.
Dinner was slow and lovely. He poured the wine. I picked at dessert. We laughed about Claire's increasingly unhinged obsession with matchmaking. He told me how she'd interrogated him the day after she woke up from her coma, asking, "Have you told her how you feel yet? Don't make me die twice, Dominic."
I almost spat out my drink.
But when dessert plates were cleared and soft instrumental music began to play, something shifted.
Dominic stood from his chair and walked around to where I sat. He didn't kneel right away. He just looked at me, eyes serious, voice low.
"I didn't plan this at first," he began. "I was scared it was too soon. Scared you'd say no. But Claire told me something that stayed with me. She said… 'Time doesn't matter if your souls already know each other.'"
I swallowed hard, heart thumping.
"I've known you since I was a boy. And even when I forgot, my heart didn't. You've always been that person for me — the one I want to protect, to grow with, to annoy for the rest of my life."
Then — slowly — he dropped to one knee and pulled out a velvet box.
My breath caught.
Inside sat a delicate ring — a thin gold band with a single oval diamond, small sunburst stones curling around it like petals.
"I know this marriage started with a contract," he said. "But I want it to end with a promise. A real one. Marry me, Amira. For real this time. Not because of revenge, or pain, or fate. But because we choose each other. Every day. Every version of us."
My vision blurred with tears. My fingers shook.
"I…"
I wanted to say yes. God, I wanted to say yes.
But I also wanted to say something first.
"I need you to know something," I whispered. "Before all this — before the contract and Lila and Jason — I didn't believe love could last. I didn't think people could be good. I thought the world was a cruel place, and all love did was hurt."
He nodded, listening, waiting.
"But you… you've been kind. Patient. Steady. And I've never felt safer in someone's love than I do in yours."
I knelt too, cupping his cheek.
"So yes," I whispered, smiling through tears. "Yes. A thousand times yes."
He slipped the ring onto my finger, and I threw my arms around him. We both laughed as we fell slightly into the flowers, his coat catching rose petals, my heels flying somewhere behind me.
Later that night, Claire called us.
"I'm glad you didn't mess it up," she told Dominic. "And Amira?"
"Yes?"
"Welcome to the family, officially."
I couldn't stop smiling for hours.
The day came faster than I expected.
June 4th.
I woke up with a strange combination of peace and panic swirling in my stomach. Claire had slept over the night before to "make sure Dominic doesn't accidentally see your dress and ruin the magic," even though Dominic and I had lived in separate rooms since we got engaged. Her presence had been both comforting and chaotic — she'd brought face masks, wedding magazines, and stories of her own wedding night that made me want to crawl into the floor.
But now it was quiet. The calm before everything changed.
I sat in the bridal suite, my dress spread around me like a cloud. It was cream with hints of blush and pale gold, soft lace curling over my shoulders and bodice like wild vines. I wore no veil. Just pins in my hair and light makeup. I wanted to feel like myself today.
There was a soft knock on the door.
"Come in," I called.
Claire walked in, looking stunning in a pale rose dress that perfectly matched the floral accents in the chapel. Her makeup was soft, and her smile was radiant.
"Oh my goodness," she whispered, placing a hand over her heart. "You look like someone out of a fairytale."
I laughed, nervous. "You're biased."
"Nope. Objectively, you are the most beautiful bride I've ever seen. Including me on my wedding day."
"Dominic's going to cry," I said, half-teasing.
"He already did," Claire said with a wink. "Ten minutes ago. In the groom's room. He's pretending it was from dust."
I couldn't help but laugh, but it helped. Laughter always helped.
A few moments later, my bridesmaids burst in — three close friends from university I hadn't seen in years. Friends I'd lost touch with when I isolated myself during my engagement with Jason. But after the whole world flipped upside down, they'd come back into my life like they never left.
They wore deep green dresses in different styles of their choice. One of them, Leila, handed me a bouquet of wildflowers tied with silk ribbon.
"Ready to get married for real this time?" she asked with a grin.
"Let's do it."
The chapel was small but beautiful — all white stone and wood beams, with cascading greenery and candles lining the aisle. It felt intimate. Sacred. Exactly how I'd always wanted.
As I stood behind the heavy doors waiting for the music cue, I felt something brush against my skin — a memory, maybe.
My father's smile. His laugh. The sound of him humming a love song while washing the car.
I imagined him beside me now, walking me down the aisle.
"Still with me, Dad?" I whispered.
The doors opened.
The music started.
And I walked alone — but not lonely.
When my eyes found Dominic at the altar, everything else faded.
He looked breathtaking in his black tux and deep green tie. But it wasn't the outfit that stole my breath. It was his expression — that look like he'd never seen anything more beautiful. Like I was a miracle.
I wanted to run down the aisle, but I forced myself to walk slowly. With every step, I remembered every moment — the contract, the fights, the quiet dinners, the fake kisses that started feeling real, the soft way he'd hold my hand when I couldn't sleep.
By the time I reached him, I was already blinking back tears.
"You're crying already?" I whispered.
He grinned. "Nope. It's the flowers. I'm allergic."
I laughed through my tears.
The ceremony began.
We exchanged our vows — ones we wrote ourselves.
Dominic went first.
"Amira," he said, voice rough with emotion, "you once asked me why I loved you. You thought it was because you were convenient. Or kind. Or quiet. But I love you because you never stopped being soft, even when the world hardened you. I love the way you talk to plants. The way you laugh at your own jokes. I love how you heal, not by forgetting, but by facing the pain and choosing joy anyway. I want to be the man who stands beside you — in joy and in mess, in laughter and in silence. Forever."
I wiped my face quickly before it ruined my makeup.
Then I read mine.
"Dominic," I began, "when we started this marriage, I didn't think I'd ever trust anyone again. I thought you were just a distraction. But then… you showed me patience. You listened when I was hurting. You made me believe in the little things again — dinners, good coffee, falling asleep on the couch. You made me feel like love wasn't something to fear. So today, I promise to keep choosing you. To build something real. To remember that this isn't just fate — it's also a choice. And I choose you."
The moment we kissed, people burst into applause. Claire was sobbing dramatically into a napkin beside the pastor. One of my bridesmaids actually shouted, "FINALLY!"
And just like that, we were husband and wife. For real this time.
The reception was a blur of laughter, dancing, and joy.
Dominic and I shared our first dance under fairy lights, the song one Claire had chosen — something soft and nostalgic, sung in a language neither of us knew but somehow still understood.
Claire gave a toast that made everyone cry and laugh in the same breath.
"To my new daughter," she said, "you've brought sunshine into my son's life — and into mine. And to my son, who took his sweet time — you better keep her smiling, or I'll ground you. Forever."
Then we danced. Ate cake. Took ridiculous pictures in the photo booth. I even threw my bouquet, and Claire caught it. She winked at me and said, "You never know."
When the night ended and Dominic and I slipped away into the car heading toward our honeymoon destination, I leaned my head on his shoulder.
"I'm happy," I whispered.
"I know," he said, kissing the top of my head. "Me too."
The honeymoon wasn't some wild trip to Paris or an island with five-star spas.
It was a quiet cabin, nestled deep in Lake Tahoe. No signal. No staff. Just wood, sky, and trees that rustled like whispered secrets.
We spent the first two days sleeping late, waking to the smell of fresh coffee and the sound of birds.
Dominic cooked breakfast shirtless, whistling off-key. I teased him mercilessly.
I read in the sun, feet in his lap. We walked through narrow trails, holding hands like teenagers. He carved our initials into a tree near the stream.
It was perfect. Simple. Ours.
But beneath all that peace was something else — something unsaid. I could feel it tugging at the silence between us. Ever since the wedding, Dominic had looked at me differently. Like he was holding something back.
And I knew I was, too.
It happened on the fifth night, over dinner.
We'd made dinner together — I insisted on being the chef, he insisted on being the critic.
"You burn it again," he said dramatically, "and I'll file for annulment. I don't care how gorgeous you are."
"You'll survive," I said, tossing him a piece of fried plantain.
We laughed, eating on the deck as the night breeze swept past. The stars above looked like someone had spilled glitter on black velvet.
When we finished, I leaned my arms on the wooden rail, staring out at the trees.
"You said something once," I said softly, "the night you saved me in the water."
He looked up slowly.
"You said, 'Not again.' You thought I wouldn't remember."
Silence stretched between us.
I turned to face him.
"did you mean something else ?"
His jaw tightened — not with anger, but with restraint. His eyes searched mine, as if waiting to see if I could handle the truth.
Finally, he exhaled.
"I meant exactly what I said," he replied, voice low. "Because I've lost you before."
I stared at him.
"What… do you mean?"
He sat back down, hands clasped together. "I don't know how to explain this without sounding insane."
"Try me."
He looked at me with a seriousness I'd never seen before.
"Amira," he said. "I've lived this life before. Or, at least… most of it. This is my second time living."
I didn't speak. My pulse echoed in my ears.
He went on.
"In my first life, I didn't fight for what mattered. I let my work consume me. I stayed silent when I should've spoken. And by the time I realized I was in love with you, it was too late. You were already with Jason. You were miserable. And then… then one day, I heard you died. Something about a car accident . I never got the details."
I blinked, trying to breathe.
"I remember standing at your grave," he said quietly. "And thinking, 'Why didn't I do something?' Then… I woke up in my old body. Years back. With all the memories still intact."
He looked down.
"So when I saw you again — alive, untouched — I made up my mind. I wasn't going to let you end up with him again. Even if it meant breaking rules. Even if it meant pretending."
My hands trembled.
"You… you were reborn," I whispered.
He nodded.
I looked at him — really looked — and then let out a shaky laugh.
"Dominic," I said, voice barely a whisper. "So was I."
His eyes widened.
"I thought I was crazy," I said quickly. "When I woke up that day, I remembered everything. Jason. Lila. The betrayal. The pain. My death. All of it. I thought maybe it was a dream or my imagination."
"No," Dominic said, rising. "It wasn't."
I stepped forward until we stood chest to chest.
"I remembered being in love with someone I never got to know properly," I murmured. "Someone who always looked at me like he knew what I was going through. Like he understood me."
Tears slipped down his cheek.
"It was you."
He held my face in both hands, forehead resting on mine.
"You were always the one," he whispered. "Every life. Every version."
"I was so scared," I said, voice shaking. "Scared that maybe I didn't deserve this second chance. That I'd mess it up."
"You didn't," he said. "You fought. You healed. You chose better. You chose me."
"I guess we both found our way back," I whispered.
He kissed me, slow and deep. Not a fairytale kiss — a real one. Heavy with history. Grief. Longing. Joy.
When we pulled apart, I laughed through my tears.
"Wait till Claire finds out we're both reincarnated," I said. "She'll throw holy water on us."
He laughed. "We'll tell her after dessert."
That night, we sat under the stars, wrapped in a blanket, my head on his chest.
We didn't talk much.
We didn't need to.
Two souls. Two lives. One ending — together.
It had taken betrayal, heartbreak, death, and rebirth to get here. But we made it.
And I knew — whatever life came next, wherever the universe scattered our souls —
I'd find my way back to him.
Always.