I knew it wasn't the book's fault. Time to get real.
I grabbed my phone and typed: "How many past lives did I have with Kaelen?" Sent it to Auriel.
Minutes later, a beep. Not Auriel—Kaelen.
A picture of nasi Padang filled my screen. On a white plate: rice wrapped in banana leaves, beef rendang, vegetable curry with bright red sambal, and a strip of crispy beef.
His caption: "Finally a decent meal."
It was almost 9 p.m., and only now he was eating dinner. I couldn't decide if I should sigh or laugh. He never said no to nasi Padang. Same with nasi goreng.
What did you have for lunch, sayang?" I asked.
Just have it now," his reply came fast.
Poor baby 😘. Be a good boy and finish it all. Bon appétit."
Yes, Boss."
Another beep. This time Auriel: "Few times. Got another?"
That gypsy girl was me, right?"
Otherwise?"
Would you open your tarot for me?"
It won't open for you, Aryan. I asked. Maybe later."
That was it.
Sometimes I thought having a tarot reader for a best friend was a total waste of resources. But of course, I'd never say it to her face. Auriel—like every other artist (and yes, I count tarot as art)—got moody sometimes.
~~~
~~~
I awake, eyes opening instantly. The world outside was quiet. Then came the faint clang of metal, twice, from the 2 a.m. patrol.
I scanned the energies around me—still. A quiet that held no peace. I was never fond of these post-midnight hours. Some of my seniors called them the best time to meditate, but I preferred my sleep. Tonight, though, I knew I wouldn't find it again easily.
Reluctantly, I folded my blanket, sat cross-legged, mudras forming in my hands, and let my breath fall into rhythm.
The air shifted. The vision pulled me under.
The girl was brought in with the others, wrists bound in coarse rope, eyes sharp even as she stumbled over the packed earth floor. Most of the women kept their heads bowed. Not her.
She couldn't have been more than sixteen, maybe seventeen. A Romani girl with hair like midnight, loose and wild, framing a face that carried both innocence and something untamed.
The Baron watched from his chair, glass in hand, surveying her as though she were a horse at market. But when her gaze met his, the room tilted.
No flinch. No submission. Just a steady, unsettling knowing.
I recognized it instantly—that defiance. My defiance.
The merchant dragged her closer. "She is unbroken, my lord. Virgin. But a difficult one. She will fight."
The Baron leaned forward. His eyes—Kaelen's eyes—studied her hands when they came into the light. Slim, webbed with lines most men ignored.
"Show me," he said, ignoring the merchant. "Read my hand."
She hesitated, chin lifting. For a moment, I thought she might spit at him. Instead, she raised her own palm. "Yours first."
The merchant raised a whip, but the Baron stopped him with a flick of his fingers. Amusement sparked across his mouth. Bold little creature.
He gave her his hand.
Her fingers brushed his skin, cool and steady. She didn't trace the lines or embellish. She only touched, then looked up—into him.
"You don't sleep," she said softly. "You'll never be satisfied. No wine, no gold, no women can still your hunger. And the more you have, the more it burns."
The room froze.
The Baron's jaw tightened, though he betrayed nothing. But I knew. I knew because I was her. And he—he was Kaelen.
"I'll take her," he said at last..
A wind chime tinkled faintly, far away, pulling me back. I exhaled.
The gypsy girl—me. And that man, the Baron. Kaelen. Another life. Another thread.
The vision clung, vivid, but I didn't push it further. Not tonight. Sleep tugged at me again. I lay my body on my bed, hugged my pillow, smiled dreamily,
Some doors open when they're ready. This one had, and that was enough.
And with that thought, I let sleep take me.