They say the law of fear is simple: the more you dread something happening, the more likely it is to happen. It's as though fear sends an invitation to fate, and fate—always eager for a little cruelty—never refuses.
In this life I now live, fear is no stranger. In fact, it is a constant shadow, more suffocating than in any of my previous lives. And this time, that fear is named Rihanat.
From the moment I saw her again in this life, everything changed. I could no longer think of my survival alone. My punishment from Death had been cruel enough, but the thought of losing her again? That would be unbearable. If the law of fear was true, then my only hope was to play against it—to erase my fears before they found a way to come true.
But that's easier said than done.
The night still felt young, even though it had been exhausting—physically, mentally, and emotionally. After the accident earlier that evening, I refused to let Rihanat out of my sight, not even for a single moment. My mind kept replaying all the possible ways something could happen to her if she left. And if that happened… if she got hurt because I wasn't there… I would never forgive myself.
Survival in this life wasn't the main challenge. I've survived worse. The real problem was that I was trapped in a body that wasn't mine. How could I ever rebuild my relationship with Rihanat when she looked at me and saw a stranger? Surviving without her by my side would make this life feel hollow, almost pointless.
After dressing my wounds, she announced that she needed to go. She warned me that, while the cuts weren't deep, it would still be best to have a doctor check them. I could barely stand the thought of her leaving, but I knew I had to hide my fear and keep my expression calm.
"Rihanat," I called out as she reached for the door. "Will I see you tomorrow? Because… I still have a lot to tell you about my story."
Her answer was not what I wanted to hear.
"I don't think I can visit the café tomorrow," she said softly.
The words landed like stones in my chest. I tried to ask why—whether something had happened to keep her away. It wasn't really about the story. I just wanted to see her again.
She hesitated before answering. "Listening to your stories… reminded me of someone I used to know. It made me miss him."
And then she bowed slightly and left.
I froze, unable to believe what I'd just heard. She still missed the man who had destroyed her happiness—the man who had made her life nearly unlivable. Hearing her say that made me hate myself all over again. If I hadn't been so selfish in my past life, she might have been happier now.
The next morning, I went to see me. Not the me I was now, but the me I used to be—the body I had once inhabited before this latest reincarnation. As Hakeem, in my new form, I stood over my own grave. I wanted answers from the dead version of myself. Why had I done it? Why had I killed myself and left my loved ones to suffer? Why had I put Rihanat through all that pain?
I knew she wouldn't be at the café that day—she'd already told me so. I figured she might be at work. But she wasn't.
She was at the cemetery.
She had never once missed a visit to my grave. Every time she came, she spoke to me as though I could hear her, telling me about her day, her thoughts, her pain. This time, she was here to blame herself for what had happened to me, even though none of it had been her fault.
"Are you doing alright?" she began, her voice trembling. "I, for one… have been doing just fine. It's as if nothing ever happened. I sleep, I eat, I laugh, I talk. But… I miss you so much. If only I had kept you from leaving that night… if I hadn't said those things… would you have made a different choice?"
Her voice broke. She cried openly, speaking to the headstone as though it could answer her.
Watching her like that… it paralyzed me. I wanted to hold her, to tell her it wasn't her fault, but I couldn't. And deep down, I knew I couldn't forgive myself either.
After she left, I stayed behind, staring at the grave. I didn't notice the footsteps until I heard a voice from behind me—gentle, familiar.
"Who are you, please?"
I turned, and my breath caught.
It was my mother.
She stood there, looking at me with eyes that carried both pain and kindness. My tears fell freely. After all these reincarnations, I was finally seeing the woman who had brought me into this world, the one who had sacrificed so much for me.
She looked exactly as she had the day I last saw her—before I took my own life.
Of course, she didn't know it was me. How could she? I was in a completely different body. But somehow, in that first glance, she looked at me with a strange familiarity, as if her heart recognized something her mind couldn't.
"I'm here to see my mother," I told her before quickly walking away.
From a distance, I watched her clean my grave, her shoulders shaking with grief. She left and went into the cemetery's restroom. I followed quietly, hearing her cry my name over and over.
I had been her only reason to live since my father's death. And yet, I had made life harder for her than anyone else ever could.
That night, I sat in my room and wrote her a letter. I pretended to be an old acquaintance of her son—of me. I told her that her boy had once made an investment in cryptocurrency, and now the returns were hers to keep. I enclosed money I had taken from Aerion's hidden stash in my previous life.
I wanted her to have something to ease her life, even if I couldn't be there.
Disguised, I went to her apartment. I still remembered the password to the door. I left the money inside and disappeared into the night.
That night, I had a dream.
A crow sat perched on an old, rusted signboard hanging loosely from a chain. As I walked beneath it, the bird suddenly took flight. The sign snapped free and came crashing down on my head.
Instant death.
I woke up gasping, sweat dripping down my face. My heart raced, but I forced myself to calm down.
"If that's how Death has planned to take me," I muttered, "then I'm going to survive it."
I'd died so many times now that even my dreams were killing me.
The next day, Rihanat returned to the café. We spent hours talking, my stories pulling her in as the evening slipped away. She wanted to hear more, but it was getting late.
"This is really fascinating," she said. "Please tell me more when I come tomorrow."
"Rihanat, it's late," I said. "Would you mind if I walked you home?"
She hesitated, insisting it wasn't necessary, but I told her I had to be somewhere near her place anyway. She finally agreed.
We walked together under the quiet night sky. It reminded me of the days we used to stroll hand in hand. Back then, those simple moments were reason enough to live. It's a shame I didn't realize their value until now.
We fear death because it robs us of tomorrow. That night, I feared it because I felt it might come for us at any moment.
"Does your story have a happy ending?" she asked suddenly.
"Do you think a happy ending is possible?" I replied.
She said she hoped my story would end well. I asked why.
"Because… I feel bad for the protagonist," she said. "He's had a hard life. He doesn't have anyone to rely on. That's why he died. Now he has to keep worrying about the next death. Even when he comes back, he has to live in constant fear."
"You can't really say you're living when you live in constant fear," she finished.
Her words echoed in my mind. They convinced me that I had to tell her the truth.
"I have to tell you this today," I said. "Because today could be my last day alive."
She looked startled, but I asked her to hear me out.
I told her about the woman I had dated for seven years. How I had failed to show her my best self. How, even in my shame, she would proudly introduce me as her boyfriend. She'd mock romantic movies but cry at TV ads showing starving children. She preferred citron tea to coffee. She always went out of her way to lift the spirits of others.
I told her I had foolishly assumed she'd be fine without me. That I wanted to apologize for misunderstanding her. That I wanted her to stop being sad over someone like me. That she was still the only one I loved.
"I didn't realize I had people who would cry with me through my pain," I said. "I know it's too late to ask for forgiveness. I'm already dead."
Confusion clouded her face. My memories were beginning to stir something deep in her, but she didn't understand.
"What do you mean?" she asked, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"The story I told you… about the man who keeps dying… I didn't make it up. That's my reality. I've died seven times. Now I'm living as Hakeem, this model. But before all this, I was Hamza. Your boyfriend."
She froze.
"You… you knew his name," she whispered.
"I know it's hard to believe," I said, my voice cracking. "But I really am Hamza."
I reached for her hand, ready to make her believe me—when a car came out of nowhere.
It hit us with brutal force.
Rihanat died instantly.
Before I could even call out her name, everything went black for me too.
It was the most painful, most excruciating death I had ever experienced.
And then, once again, I was back with Death. A new life. A new body. A new punishment.
But the same unending cycle.