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When we stepped into a particularly large chamber, something stirred inside me.
The room, though worn down by time and neglect, held an undeniable gravity for me.
Its faded splendor called out to me, echoing with whispers of bygone days.
“I remember this room…” I murmured, my voice laden with a combination of awe and perplexity
My eyes roamed over the remnants of faded wall paintings and broken furniture.
The ceiling was high, and large windows adorned one side, though they were now covered with layers of dirt and grime, only allowing streaks of sunlight to break through.
Thillak looked at me, his eyes searching mine, as if trying to find a piece of that past within them. “This,” he began, taking a deep breath, “was our suite.”
As soon as he said it, the memories rushed back in full force.
The rustling of the curtains, gentle and rhythmic, played in my ears like a soft lullaby.
The snapping of crisp sheets from a bed freshly made, and the muffled laughter that often followed such domestic joys.
We indulged in the fruit, lounging on our bed, the center of our shared universe.
I moved forward, almost in a trance.
The ground beneath my feet felt different — soft, plush, like the luxurious carpets that once adorned our suite.
Tentatively, I placed a hand on an ornate desk, the wood cool and smooth beneath my fingertips.
But something felt different.
My hands… they weren’t the same.
They looked slender and adorned with intricate jewelry.
And my skin… it was green!
My clothes too had transformed.
I was wearing a long gown made of fine fabric, its folds cascading down in a waterfall of pastel shades.
My hair, typically left loose or tied in a simple ponytail, was now pinned up elegantly, with strands of pearls woven through.
Closing my eyes, I could feel the pulse of this place, as if the very walls held the essence of our love, preserved for eternity.
The room seemed alive with memories, each corner holding a story, each artifact a testament to moments of joy, passion, sorrow, and hope.
But amidst all this, one sensation was conspicuously absent — the touch of Thillak.
As if sensing my thoughts, I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder, guiding me to turn around.
And there he was, past life Thillak, looking as regal and breathtaking as ever.
His clothes mirrored the grandeur of the era, and his face, though familiar, had that distinct glow of youth, of a life not yet burdened by the countless challenges and adversities that time inevitably brings.
His eyes, however, were the same — timeless pools of love and longing, bearing the weight of lifetimes of memories, of promises made and kept, of love declared and reciprocated.
He moved closer, the distance between us melting away, and just like that, the weight of centuries dissolved.
There was no past or present, no boundary of time.
