My parents died when I was two months old. I don't even remember their faces, not even in dreams. I grew up in an orphanage, tossed into the world with nothing but a name and empty hands. Life there wasn't kind. We fought for food, for clothes, for a sense of worth. But one thing was always true orphans stick together. That's the only thing I knew, the only thing I trusted.
There was one day that changed everything.
I was coming back from the market. It was just another hard day, barely managed to trade scraps for a bit of bread. That's when I saw her Angela. My sister, not by blood, but by pain. We grew up in that same cold orphanage, shared the same broken plates and dreams of better days. She was family.
But there she was, surrounded by thugs. One had her by the hair, another yelling at her to spit out some cheap beer and hand over money. I didn't understand. Why would she drink? Why were they accusing her? But the moment I ran to help, I felt it this wasn't a random attack.
They didn't even estated on picking me up.
Before I could move, before I could even speak, they grabbed me. Tied me up. Dragged me to the train tracks like I was trash. I screamed her name, Angela! Angela, begging her to say something, to stop them. But she didn't. She just stood there.
And then the train came, That was the end of me.
What haunts me isn't just the pain or the betrayal. It's the simple fact that I died without ever living. I never had a girlfriend. Never kissed anyone. Never told someone I loved them. And when I looked up in those final moments, Angela my only sister looked at me like I disgusted her. Like I meant nothing.
Was it because I always protected her? Was it because I was always the one standing up for her when no one else did?
I don't know.
But that's how I died.
I thought death would be black silent, cold, and final. But no. I was still there, eyes shut, thoughts screaming.
What a death I achieved nothing.
How could she do this to me?
Angela. My only sister. My only family.
Then I heard her voice.
Let go of the past.
My eyes snapped open. I was standing in a vast white space endless and empty. And in front of me was a woman. Beautiful. Not in a flashy way, but unreal. Divine. I couldn't look her in the eyes. I felt too small, too dirty, too broken.
She tilted her head. "What's wrong with you? Why are you clinging to that past?"
Where, where am I? I asked, my voice shaking, barely more than a whisper. I felt like a child againlost, scared, nothing to hold onto.
She looked at me with calm eyes. "Your soul is full of regret. You couldn't pass into the land of the dead. And you couldn't accept your death either. So now you're stuck.
I swallowed hard.
Soeven after dying I still can't rest?
No,she said, as if reading my thoughts. You already died. But in an unfair way. So I'm giving you a second chance."
I stared at her, unsure if I should be grateful or angry.
She smiled softly. Use this chance. Fill your soul with something other than regret. Live. Feel joy. Heal. And maybe," she added, chuckling, "get yourself a girlfriend this time. Seems like that really bothered you.
I blinked. What?
But before I could say anything before I could even ask her name I was hurled backward. The white world shattered into pieces, and I was falling, flying, thrown into the unknown.
I woke up lying on something soft. Too soft. The strange part was it was breathing.
Confused, I opened my eyes and found a woman clinging to me like she was holding her long-lost husband. For a second, I was overjoyed. Did I wake up married? Maybe this second chance was better than I thought.
Then boom.
Don't even think about leaving without paying the brothel's fee, she snapped. You spent a whole week here without dropping a single coin!
Pay up before you go.