"If the next life really exists, would you come back to me?"
I looked at the handsome man who had always been my home, my destination to return to. His beautiful eyes that had always swept me away, his calming smile that never failed to comfort me, were still there.
Slowly, I held his hand tightly tighter than I ever had before, as if all the strength in me was slipping away. He returned my grasp with his gentle hold. I nodded, agreeing to his request.
"Yes, I will. I will find you, and I will always search for you in the next life."
But his grip no longer lingered. Those beautiful eyes were now hidden, and that smile faded into a faint trace. I glanced at the monitor beside him—the line of life had vanished, leaving only a flat one, a sign that he was gone.
He surrendered at last to the illness that had tormented him for so long. Yet, upon his tranquil face lingered a quiet smile—one that spoke not of sorrow, but of release, as though he had finally been freed from the weight of pain.
The tears I had been holding back finally fell, unstoppable. I gazed at his serene face, my trembling hand reaching to touch the skin that had already grown cold. I pressed a kiss to his forehead, a final farewell to my beloved man. Our foreheads met as I closed my eyes, savoring the very last moment I could still reach him.
The room was drowned in silence, broken only by the faint hum of the machine that no longer carried his heartbeat. Even my sobs could not rise above that sound. My hand remained clasped around his, unwilling to let go, as if by holding on a little longer, I could keep the world from stealing him away.
"I'll be strong for us… but how am I supposed to live without you…?" I whispered, my voice quivering, as though I were speaking to the echo of his soul lingering in the air he had just departed.
The nurses moved with quiet grace around us, gently detaching the instruments that had once fought to keep his fragile body alive. Their sympathetic gazes pressed against me, but I could not bear to look back. The world blurred into a distant hum, fading away, until all that remained was the hollow space where his presence used to be—a void so heavy it filled every corner of the room. For a fleeting moment I wished this was only a dream, but the cruel sharpness of reality told me otherwise.
When the machines were gone, I reached again for that pale, cold hand, caressing it tenderly as though my touch could still reach him. I wove my fingers between his, holding him as if love alone might awaken his response. But only silence answered me.
"Wait for me," I breathed, as tears slipped down and stained his still skin. "If life has torn us apart here, then death will lead me back to you. That is my vow."
Whether it was only an illusion or something real, I felt a faint warmth brush against me, as if his soul whispered back. His gentle, loving voice echoed within my heart: I will wait for you, always.
I closed my eyes, holding tightly to that invisible vow. He may have left this world, but never my heart. And in the depths of grief's darkness, I knew one truth with certainty—our story was not yet over. It would continue until the day we were reunited for longer than a lifetime. In every existence, I would make sure to hold his hand tightly, and never let go.
Day turned into night, and the world kept spinning as if it knew nothing of my pain. Yet my world felt frozen without him.
The house that once sheltered us no longer felt alive. Emptiness followed me from room to room, each corner whispering his memory.
There he was smiling, waiting for me with arms open wide, ready to pull me into his embrace and kiss my forehead like he always did. I closed my eyes to savor that feeling, and when I opened them, he was gone.
I searched every corner of our home until I reached the place where his photograph stood, framed between two burning candles.
It was only an illusion. I was too fragile to face this truth.
The flower shop I often passed overflowed with soft fragrances, but for me, every blossom carried the weight of mourning. Every petal reminded me of his smile, every fragrance of his embrace, and every fallen stem of the final time I saw him lying so peacefully, unaware of what would come after.
Often I whispered into the silence, "Do you still hear me? Are you still here?" And though only stillness answered, deep within my chest I always felt him like a shadow trailing me, like the wind brushing my cheek, as if he were near.
One evening, as I walked past the same flower shop, I saw a white butterfly resting on the glass window. Its fragile wings shimmered softly in the fading light of dusk. My heart stilled. He had once told me, with a small laugh, "If I leave first, I'll come back as a butterfly… so I can always find my way back to you, and I'll stay with you even if I'm only a tiny butterfly."
My knees grew weak, tears clouded my sight. "It's you, isn't it?" I whispered. The butterfly did not fly away. It simply stayed, as if keeping a silent promise.
Since that night, I began to see them everywhere. In the garden, at the flower shop, even on my lonely walks home. Each one reminded me of him—gentle, faithful, watching over me. And though I wept, my heart slowly began to heal.
Because I realized, love does not end with death. Love endures. Love waits. Love crosses the boundaries of this world into the next.
So whenever I see a butterfly, I smile through the tears and whisper back, "Wait for me. I'll find you again. In this life, or the next."
Years and seasons pass, and every love story between two souls must one day meet its ending for countless reasons. Yet the most painful farewell is when one is called to rest first—leaving the other to wait for the mysterious moment when fate, in its quiet grace, brings them back together.
They say reincarnation is real. That memories of past lives may not follow us, because the thread has been cut. But what if, despite everything, the bond remains? What if it continues woven into every season of existence?