Forever Bound

The first time Evelyn saw him, she felt an ache in her chest, as if the air had been stolen from her lungs. It wasn’t love at first sight—at least, not in the way books describe it. It was recognition. Something ancient stirred in her bones, whispering, You’ve known him before.

He was just a stranger at the train station, waiting for the evening departure, his coat dusted with the soft drizzle of spring rain. Yet when their eyes met, she knew.

“Do I know you?” he asked, his voice careful, like someone afraid of the answer.

“I think so,” she whispered, though she couldn’t explain why.

That night Evelyn dreamed in colors she didn’t remember knowing. She was in another century, dressed in a gown heavy with gold, standing in a candlelit ballroom. Across the room stood the same man—only his hair was longer, tied at the nape of his neck, and his eyes carried the same storm she’d just seen at the station.

He bowed. She curtsied. And she remembered his name: Alexander.

When she woke, her pillow was damp with tears.

Days passed, but fate has a way of refusing silence. She saw him again—at the bookstore, of all places, both reaching for the same copy of a collection of poetry. His fingers brushed hers, and the world tilted.

“Strange,” he said, his voice lower this time, almost reverent. “Every time I look at you, I feel like I’m supposed to remember something.”

Evelyn swallowed hard. “Maybe you are.”

They began to meet, as though pulled together by some invisible thread. Coffee shops turned into long walks, and long walks turned into conversations that stretched until dawn. With him, she never had to explain why she cried at old songs or why the smell of lavender made her chest ache. He understood, because he felt it too.

One night, he confessed.

“I dreamed about you,” he said softly, staring at the stars. “We were by the sea. I think it was… centuries ago. You wore blue, and you were leaving me.”

Her heart raced. “I dreamed the same thing.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and fragile. Then he whispered, “What if this isn’t the first time we’ve met? What if this is just… another chapter?”

Evelyn thought about that for weeks. She thought about it when she brushed her hair, when she passed strangers in the street, when she woke from dreams filled with lives she couldn’t place. Always, he was there—different names, different faces, but always him.

In one dream, he was a soldier, and she a nurse tending his wounds.
In another, he was a sailor, waving goodbye as her tears blurred the shore.
In yet another, they were both farmers, their hands rough, their laughter full.

Lifetime after lifetime, their story repeated. Sometimes they found each other, sometimes they lost each other. But always, always, they were forever bound.

One evening, he asked her the question she feared most.

“What if it ends again? What if, in this life too, we lose each other?”

She reached for his hand, her fingers trembling. “Then we’ll find each other again. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not in fifty years. But we always do.”

His eyes softened. “Forever bound.”

“Forever bound,” she echoed.

Months later, tragedy struck. A car accident on a rain-slicked road. Evelyn stood by his hospital bed, her hands clutching his, her tears falling onto his pale skin. Machines beeped steadily, but his breaths were shallow, fragile.

“Don’t leave me,” she whispered. “Not yet. Not this time.”

He opened his eyes, weak but certain. “I’ll find you.”

And then he was gone.

Grief hollowed her, but even in her darkest nights, she clung to the promise. She knew she would see him again—not in this life, but in the next. Maybe as a stranger at another train station. Maybe as a child laughing in the park. Maybe as a friend she didn’t yet know she needed.

But when the time came, she would recognize him.

Because souls that are bound, never truly part.

And Evelyn knew—across centuries, across lifetimes, across the endless weaving of fate—he would always come back to her.

Forever bound.