I have died loving him..
That is not a metaphor.
It is not poetic exaggeration.
It is a fact written into my soul.
I remember my deaths the way some people remember childhood homes—blurred at the edges, heavy in the chest, familiar enough to hurt. I remember cold floors, burning lungs, the taste of blood, the sound of my own name breaking in his voice.
And yet… every lifetime, my heart still runs to him like it has never been wounded before.
In this life, my name is Aarohi.
I am twenty-three years old. I drink my coffee too bitter, I hate loud alarms, and I pretend I am normal. But every night, when sleep loosens its grip, memories slip through the cracks.
A girl in white falling from palace stairs.
A woman with ink-stained fingers waiting at a station that never forgives.
A bride who never made it to dawn.
Different lives.
Different endings.
Same man.
Same love.
Same pain.
I met him again on a rainy Tuesday.
Isn't it funny how destiny never announces itself? No thunder, no music, no warning. Just rain. Just coincidence.
I was standing under a bus stop roof, scrolling mindlessly on my phone, when someone stepped into my space—too close, warm, real. I smelled rain and something familiar I couldn't place.
"Sorry," he said.
That single word nearly brought me to my knees.
Because I had heard that voice scream my name across centuries.
I looked up.
And there he was.
Different face. Same soul.
His eyes—always his eyes—held that quiet softness, that dangerous kindness that had ruined me more times than I could count. In another life, those eyes had watched me bleed. In another, they had looked away while I was taken from him. In another, they had been the last thing I saw before everything went dark.
In this life, they were just… curious.
As if he was meeting me for the first time.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
I nodded too fast.
Don't touch him, my mind screamed.
Don't speak. Don't smile. Don't fall.
But my heart… my foolish, ancient heart… had already recognized him.
"I'm Aarohi," I said, hating myself for how softly it came out.
He smiled.
Every lifetime, that smile undoes me.
"Aditya."
Of course it was.
Different names across time, but the same soul signature. The universe has never been subtle about him.
Rain fell harder. People came and went. Time moved forward like it always does, cruel and indifferent.
He talked about mundane things—traffic, work, the weather. I answered when required, laughed at the right places, nodded like this wasn't my personal apocalypse unfolding under a bus stop.
Because he didn't remember.
He never does.
I am the only one cursed with memory.
---
That night, the dreams returned with violence.
I saw us as children, fingers intertwined, promises whispered under stars.
I saw him standing beside another woman while I smiled and swallowed betrayal I didn't understand.
I saw a knife. A fire. A letter that came too late.
"Why?" I asked the darkness.
For the first time… it answered.
Because love that survives everything must be tested by loss.
I woke up gasping, tears soaking my pillow.
And then I knew something had changed.
The curse—the one I thought was eternal—had a crack.
---
Three days later, the truth found me.
An old woman sat beside me in a temple I didn't remember entering. Her eyes were too sharp for her wrinkled face.
"You remember," she said, not asking.
My breath stilled.
"You've always remembered," she continued. "But this time… you're close to the end."
"The end of what?" I whispered.
She smiled sadly. "The cycle."
My heart pounded.
She told me what no one ever had.
That we were bound by a vow made before time learned to count itself.
That we were punished not for loving—but for refusing to stop.
That every lifetime was a lesson the universe kept repeating.
And then she said the words that shattered me completely.
"The curse can be broken."
Hope bloomed, dangerous and bright.
"How?" I asked.
Her answer was soft. Cruel. Final.
"Only if one of you stops loving the other."
The world tilted.
I laughed. A broken sound. "That's impossible."
She met my gaze without flinching. "That is the point."
---
I walked out into sunlight that felt too loud, too alive.
Across the street, Aditya stood, talking on his phone, smiling at something trivial. So human. So unaware.
I had loved this man across lifetimes of war, famine, betrayal, and death.
And now… loving him one last time might mean letting him go.
Or worse—
Living forever without him.
He looked up. Our eyes met.
Something flickered there. Just for a second.
As if his soul almost remembered mine.
I turned away before it could.
Because this time, the universe had given me a choice.
And I didn't know which would hurt more—
Loving him again…
Or finally being strong enough to stop.
Some loves are eternal.
Some curses wear the same name.
And some stories don't ask whether love can survive death—
but whether it can survive letting go.