Aara woke to the gentle warmth of sunlight touching her face.
It felt unreal.
Too soft.
Too kind.
In her first life, mornings were cold—dry winter air crawling through the cracks of her old apartment window, alarm ringing into a room that never felt like it belonged to her. But this morning… this morning tasted different.
She heard faint footsteps in the hallway. Soft. Careful.
Someone was checking on her.
The thought alone made her chest tighten painfully.
She sat up slowly. Her hands still trembled whenever she looked at them—small, delicate, younger. A stranger's hands. A stranger's life.
Who was she now?
The door creaked open, and Arin stepped inside with a bright smile that almost looked rehearsed, as if he had been practicing how to not cry in front of her.
"You're awake early," he said softly.
Aara nodded, but she didn't trust her voice yet. Her throat still felt tight, like it remembered all the words she could never say in her first life.
Arin held a folded towel in one hand and a school uniform in the other.
School uniform.
Aara blinked.
Was she… a student in this life?
Arin cleared his throat awkwardly. "I—I ironed it for you. You always complain about the collar being crooked, so… I made sure it's perfect today."
His voice cracked a little at the end.
Aara stared at him.
No one had ever done something so simple—yet so thoughtful—for her before. In her first life, she ironed her own clothes at midnight, after finishing school work nobody appreciated.
"Thank you," she whispered, the words fragile on her tongue.
Arin's face softened with relief. "You don't have to thank me. You're my sister."
Sister.
That word again.
Heavy. Sharp. Beautiful. Dangerous.
She clutched the blanket. "Arin… what is my… name here?"
Arin froze.
His eyes widened with disbelief. His fingers tightened around the towel as if he feared it would slip out of his hands.
"You… you don't remember your name?" he asked, voice trembling.
Aara shook her head slowly.
Arin swallowed hard and sat beside her on the bed. His hands shook as he reached for hers but stopped halfway, afraid she might pull away.
He whispered, "Your name is Aarohi."
Aarohi.
The name curled softly in her mind, like a melody she didn't know she remembered. Not Aara. Not the girl crushed under her first life.
Aarohi.
A new name for a new life.
Aara tried repeating it in her mind, letting it settle on her tongue. It felt unfamiliar but warm… like a blanket woven just for her.
Arin watched her carefully. "If you don't remember anything… does it hurt? Do you feel dizzy?"
Aara shook her head again. "No. I just… feel lost."
Arin exhaled shakily. "I'll help you find everything again. Mom, Dad… they'll help too."
His eyes softened. "You're not alone, Aarohi."
Aara felt a sting behind her eyes—an ache so old it felt like part of her bones.
Not alone.
She had never heard those words meant for her. Not once. Not sincerely.
Before she could respond, a gentle knock sounded at the door. Their mother peeked in with a warm smile.
"Good morning, sweetheart. Breakfast is ready."
Aara froze again at the word sweetheart. It sounded foreign and tender and terrifying all at once. Her breath hitched, but her mother stepped inside and cupped her cheek with such natural affection that Aara didn't know whether to lean into the touch or run away from it.
"We'll go slow, okay?" her mother said softly. "One day at a time."
Aara nodded stiffly.
Her mother helped her stand, her touch steady and patient, not rushed or annoyed like in her first life's staff room, where people pushed her aside or handed her tasks with irritated expressions.
"Dad is waiting," her mother added. "He made your favorite today."
Favorite.
Aara felt dizzy again.
She had never had a favorite in her first life—no dish made just for her, no seat saved for her, no warmth directed toward her.
As they walked to the dining table, she realized she didn't even know where the kitchen was in this house, yet her feet moved as if guided by instinct. Maybe Aarohi knew. Maybe some memories still slept inside her.
They reached the dining room, and Aara stopped.
A man stood near the table—tall, gentle-looking, with tired but kind eyes. The moment he saw her, his shoulders dropped in relief.
"Aarohi," he whispered, stepping forward. "You scared us so much."
Aara stared at him.
Dad.
Her father.
In her first life, the word "father" meant shouting, slammed doors, disappointment. Here… his eyes were soft. His arms trembled as if he wanted to hug her but waited for permission.
"Come, sit," he said, pulling a chair out for her.
She hesitated.
Her father… pulling a chair for her?
Slowly, she sat.
Breakfast was served—warm, fresh, carefully prepared. She didn't know if she should eat. Her stomach was tight. Her heart was louder than her thoughts.
Her father placed a small piece of food on her plate.
"You love this," he said gently.
Aara stared at it.
Nobody had ever known what she loved. Because nobody ever asked.
Her throat tightened painfully. She whispered, "Thank you."
He smiled—soft, relieved. "Always."
As she forced herself to take a bite, her mother watched her with gentle eyes.
Arin kept stealing anxious glances.
Her father kept his voice slow and steady.
They were treating her like she mattered.
Like she was fragile.
Precious.
Loved.
She didn't know what to do with all this love.
Her hands trembled as she lowered her spoon.
Her mother noticed. "Do you want to rest more after breakfast?"
Aara took a shaky breath. "I… don't want to be a burden."
The room fell silent.
Her father's eyes softened with a kind of sadness that wasn't anger—but pain, the kind felt when someone you love hurts in ways you didn't know.
"You're not a burden, Aarohi," he said gently. "You never were."
Aara bit her lip hard, holding back tears.
Arin whispered, "You're the best part of this house."
Aara looked up, startled.
His smile was small but real.
And something inside her chest cracked—not painfully, but like ice beginning to melt after a long, cruel winter.
For the first time in both her lives—
Aara felt the faintest flicker of belonging.
A quiet, trembling piece of home.
Something she didn't know could ever exist for her.
But she had no idea…
This new warmth
this new family
this new identity
would soon test her
heal her
break her
and slowly, silently reshape her into someone she never imagined she could become.
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