A lot of things piqued my interest but one that really stuck was the idea of reincarnation. Reincarnation is when a person’s soul is believed to be reborn in another body. I’ve read somewhere that our roles would be different in our next life. Let's say that I was a president in my past life, and now I’m a librarian, in the next I could be a stranger that would be impossible to meet. “JUPITER!” My thoughts were interrupted by an old man entering the book shop— It’s my boss. I quickly let go of the book I was holding, only for him to picked it up again and hand it to me. “If you like it why don’t you just take it?” It was the book titled as ‘The Mumbles of a Child in Love.’ I pushed the book away from me and shook my head. “I can’t possibly do that! Everyone pays for the books! I can’t just take this book without paying for it!” “Of course, you can! You’ve been working for me for years!” I think he realized that it’ll be hard to convince me to get the book for free. He sighed and said... “If it makes you feel better, take this book and I’ll take this off your paycheck. While you're at it, take a day off. I heard they’re opening the art museum tomorrow.” “Then that means there will be a lot of tourist. I can’t take a day off! Tomorrow will be busy—” “Leave. I don’t want to see your face tomorrow.” He forcibly handed me the book and pushed me out of the store. “Kids these days, they don’t even know how to take a breather.” He whispered to himself. I was about to protest when he slammed the door. “Yeah...I guess that means no.” I started taking my steps with a book in my hand. While walking I checked the book’s cover; it looked really plain, just a red-colored book but it was weirdly appealing to me. I opened the book and the first page said...

“I'd like to believe that people are some sort of unique magnets. There will be a positive and negative, quite the opposite but for some reason you just fit.”

“Oh! I’m sorry...” Someone bump into me causing me to stop my reading. I looked up to apologize but even before I could do that, they already passed me. They were in a hurry, I guess? I was going to go back to reading when my eyes caught another.

“Have you ever seen someone who holds the galaxy in their eyes?”

This was the first I’ve seen them, somehow their stares felt familiar. There was this sudden urge to go near and touch them. Kind of a creepy thought but I wonder if they also thought of that too? We held a silent staring competition. A few minutes passed and I couldn’t make of their figure anymore; the crowd already ate our presence. I sort of just stood there until I came back to reality. “What was I doing?” I asked myself. “Oh! I was heading home.” What was that earlier? Why did I just stood there and stared at them? Did they think I was weird? I hope not. When I got home, I finished what I was reading to stop myself from thinking about what happened earlier. The book took place in the year 2199; it was a tragic love story between a writer and a florist. The author wrote it remember their love and I think that’s beautiful. That night, I fell asleep with the book in my hands, dried tears on my face. “You should write more often; you have a way with your words. Your stories make me feel like I’m part of it.” The boy was holding a notebook, laying on the bed. Another boy was studying. “I have to become a lawyer.” “You don’t really have to do that. You’re just doing it because that’s your mother’s dream.” “I’m not! It has a good pay and It’ll be fun...I think?” The boy got up and hit the other with a notebook. “OW!” “You think? I just know that you’ll spend years trying to become a lawyer and when it's there you’ll quit because you realize it’s not fun. Give it up!” … I was now inside a familiar room. The boy was again laying on the bed but he was no longer reading nor breathing. The other was in a corner, silently crying. They were the same boys who were talking earlier. I was pained at the sight. I awoke from that dream and noticed that my face was wet; I was crying. I can’t remember what happened in my dream; I couldn’t remember their faces. I just know that those were faces I’m once familiar with. I tried coming to the store to help around but the old man kicked me out. He gave me a ticket for the museum though. So, I thought why not visit? I like art so why not go and have a look. I was in front of the museum and as expected there was a lot of people. I’m just going to assume that most of these people don’t even care about art. They’ll take one picture and leave, post it on social media and say, “OMG! I’m so cultured!” Not that I care but I wish they’d appreciate the effort it took to make a masterpiece. I found myself stopping in front of painting. It was a portrait of a girl with daisies in her hand. It was again another familiar face. “I painted that.” I turned to see who whispered that. It was that stranger from earlier. “What do you mean? This was painted in 2000.” When I asked that, they just smiled and left. I tried catching up but the crowd stopped me from following them. I left the museum, still confuse about what they said earlier. On my way home, I noticed that there was a flower shop near my house. I stayed there, just looking at the flowers. When I felt satisfied, I grabbed a random flower and bought it. I reached home and realized that the flower I picked was a daisy. I looked for a vase and put it there. What did they mean when they said hey painted that? Were they lying? Were they just delusional? Tired from all the thinking, I fell asleep. “You’re painting me again!” That was the first thing she said when she opened the door; It was the girl from that painting. “This is my job, milady.” There was another girl; she responded and smiled at her. The girl stood beside her, watching her paint. “You should stop calling me that! We’re friends, right?” She was pouting but the other didn’t bother to see her expression. “We are, milady. I just have to remind myself that I’m merely a servant and painter in this house.” “Oh! Shush! Our standings don’t matter!” … The door was opened by the girl from the painting. The painter dropped to the floor along with her drink, hardly living. The girl held her near, telling, asking her not to close her eyes. The painter reached for her cheeks, smiled and whispered, “Milady…” before closing her eyes. I awoke from another dream with my face wet again from tears. Like last time, I couldn’t remember what the dream was about. I just knew that those faces were faces I was once familiar with. I got up, fixed myself to prepare for work. Before leaving, my eyes caught the book and the flower. I took the book with me and decided to stop by the museum before heading to the store. I stood in front of the painting. Opened the book to its last page.

“Maybe next time…”

That was also the title of the painting. The girl from this painting, was I her? The boy from this book, was I him? Or am I both? I felt someone standing beside me. I turned to them; It was that stranger again. “You wrote this book and painted this, right?” They smiled at me. “Has it been 200 years already?” They held their hand at me, as if introducing themselves. “The name’s Saturn. Maybe it’s this time?”

…