When Fate Calls
The flat felt cavernous in its silence. Michaela sat on the edge of the bed, breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts.. The air felt suffocating, she felt like dying.
Francesca was gone.
Again.
She didn’t know how it had happened. She had held her, kissed her, traced the shape of her name against her skin. She had lived in that moment, in a world where Francesca was alive, a world where she didn’t get on that plane, a world where she breathed, laughed and hers.
And then—
Absolutely nothing once more.
She had woken up alone, and cold, the sheets beside her untouched, the scent of Francesca fading like a train whistling against the night.
It was cruel.
She had already lost her once.
She had already mourned, already shattered, already learned to live with a grief so vast it had swallowed her whole. But then she had been given a second chance, a moment of reprieve, a world where Francesca was warm and real—and now that too, had been stolen from her.
She couldn’t breathe.
Her body shook as sobs escaped her mouth in soulful, painful cries.
It wasn’t fair.
It wasn’t fair.
She had had her. She had touched her, kissed her, loved her. She has built a world inside of her where Francesca existed, where she stayed.
And yet, here she was, alone again.
Her mind spiraled, twisting itself into knots, spinning around her head with the same excruciating thought—why?
What had she done wrong?
Had she made a mistake? Had she woken up too soon?
Michaela gasped for air, her vision started to blur. Her hands tight around her neck, as if she could will Francesca back into existence.
Her body ached with the sheer impossibility of her grief, the knowledge that she could have everything only for it to be taken away.
Unless—
She blinked, her breath catching her throat.
Unless she took it back.
Unless she did it again.
Her mind spun around the thought, the possibility tight on her ribs, promising something dangerous, something inevitable.
She had done it before.
She had woken up before.
She had found Francesca before.
What was stopping her from doing it again?
She sat up slowly, pulse pounding, her hands shaking as she pressed them to her face.
She could do it again.
She would do it again.
And so she did.
When Michaela opened her eyes, she wasn’t in the flat anymore.
She wasn’t even in bed.
The environment around her thrummed, and it was in motion. There were sounds of tires against wet pavement, the loud swish of windshield wipers cutting through sheets of rain.
A low murmur of music played from the radio, something soft, so familiar, a song she could almost recognize.
She inhaled sharply, blinking against the blinding glow of streetlights passing by, their golden halos blurred through the fogged-up windows.
She was in a car.
Francesca was driving.
Michaela glanced over at her—a lazy smile formed in the corner of her lips, her fingers tapping idly at the steering wheel. “Are you alright? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”
Michaela couldn’t speak.
She could only look—at Francesca’s face illuminated by the streetlights, at the familiar curve of her nose, the arch of her brow, the tiny freckle above her lips.
She was here.
Again.
Michaela’s fingers curled into her lap, her breath shallow, her heart pounding against her ribs.
She had done it.
She had woken up again.
And Francesca was alive.
For now.
Days went on.
Michaela moved through them with a strange, hollow ache in her chest, a searing pit in her stomach, a heaviness she couldn’t touch or soothe, offering no reprieve, it just exists in the space, a harbinger of nothingness.
She woke up beside Francesca each morning, feeling her warmth, hearing her soft breath, watching her face relax in sleep, and she would wrap her arms around her, bury her face in Francesca’s hair, breathe her in, and memorize her.
But even then, even in the safety of her arms the fear never left her.
They spent their days together, laughing, talking, moving through the world as If nothing was wrong, as if everything was perfect, as if Francesca would be there tomorrow and the day after and every day that followed.
Michaela tried to convince herself that it was enough.
She took Francesca to her favorite Café, watched the way her eyes lit up at the pastries, she then watched her get engrossed in a good book, doing the things she loves most doing.
She’s all too serious when reading, like the world around her comes to a halt and it was only her in motion. Her eagerness, the way her eyebrows twitch when she gets confused at a certain chapter.
She always looked so beautiful, it almost made Michaela forget about everything else.
They spent their nights wrapped in each other, making love, kissing, skin brushing, hearts beating together.
She loved her with desperation that bordered on madness, holding on too tightly, touching her constantly, kissing her like she was afraid she would disappear.
Because she was.
The nights were the hardest.
When the world has gone quiet, and shadows grew their dusk.
When Francesca slept, her body warm and soft—Michaela would watch her, wondering how many times she would have to do this.
How many worlds would she have to wake up in?
Maybe she could change the algorithm, maybe there was something she could do to avoid her death entirely.
Michaela loved her so dearly, she knew she would do whatever it takes to live in a world where Francesca breathed, no matter what it took.
She pressed her face into Francesca’s hair, breathing her in. her chest ached, her heart breaking, please don’t leave me, please don’t leave me, please don’t leave me.
Michaela sat across from Francesca at dinner; her chest was still tight, her stomach remained twisted, and the unsettling feeling refused to leave.
Francesca’s head looked at Michaela, she seemed to have noticed her despondence because now she looked concerned. “Darling, is everything alright?”
Michaela broke from her thoughts, meeting Francesca’s eyes. She studied the curves of her mouth, her sharp nose, her blue eyes—because once again, any chance to get to look at her was a luxury to Michaela, because who knows what awaited after them.
“Nothing. I was just thinking.” Said Michaela, lying through her teeth, sparing Francesca the burden that’s been haunting her for as long as she can remember.
“It doesn’t seem like nothing. What’s on your mind?” Francesca’s expression softened, she reached out her hand to rest on top of Michaela’s, and with instinct, Michaela clutched her hand with hers.
“It’s just,” Michaela hesitated, trying to play out the words in her head before letting it escape her lips. she was not sure how to sound like she was going mad—there was also the problem of not wanting to sound like she was worried for her, the last thing Michaela wanted was to scare Francesca, so she chose her words carefully.
“What if, in a hypothetical sense…” she hesitated once more. “What if I wasn’t here?” the words came out shaky from her mouth, she hoped Francesca didn’t catch on.
“Whatever do you mean?” Francesca leaned in closer, confusion painted her face.
“Like, what if I died, Fran?” it spilt more like a statement than a question, but nonetheless, indirectly ironic. Francesca only looked at her, a lot more worried now, more troubled than she was bewildered by her question. “Why would you ask that, Michaela?” Francesca said, pulling away from her.
“Just…I just need to know, if I died, but you had the chance to be with me again, would you do it?” Francesca assessed her, she parted her lips slightly as if to speak, her eyebrows curved downwards, contemplating her response. She almost seemed angry, disturbed.
But moments later, her eyes grew tender, almost as if she knew.
She held Michaela’s hands again, grazing her thumb on her skin. “I’d find you, Michaela. In any life. I would find you.” She said so softly, the words hovering over her in a delicate bliss.
“But what if you can’t?” Michaela frowned, genuine concern brushed her face, at this point there was no hiding it from Francesca.
Francesca sighed softly, her mouth curling into a tender smile. “There is a place in my soul, it’s embedded there, it’s been there for as long as I can remember. It’s a place where I didn’t know had space. It had been sitting there, hollow, untethered. It’s yours. You fill that space, you take up every inch, and I would be willing to take away other parts of me to make room for you.”
Her words unfurled like satin poetry from her brittle lips, and the entire time, her gaze fixed on Michaela’s eyes like she was holding onto her.
“So no. Nothing will stop me from getting to you, because that is just how much I love you. I will find you, in every world, in every universe, I will find you.” Her voice wove the words, and it filled Michaela’s chest with warmth.
Michaela’s breath hitched, her heart twisted in pain. She looked down at their joined hands, at the way Francesca’s fingers looked like vine coiled to a tree on hers.
She wanted to believe her.
She wanted to hold on to her words and wrap herself in them, to carve them into her bones as to not forget, as to have hope.
And though Michaela knew better, she chose to believe—for now.
And so she kissed her, their lips touching with featherlight softness, a kiss that felt like it had tomorrows, and almost forever. Michaela was not going to let that go.
It was raining again, and it grew heavier as the day went on, the sky darkened, clouds swirling, restless and uncomfortable.
Michaela watched from the window, her fingers wrapped around a mug of coffee, her breath fogging the glass, her eyes following the raindrops as they slid down as they raced themselves to the bottom.
There was something familiar about it, something she couldn’t shake.
“Darling?”
Francesca called out, standing in the doorway, her hair tumbled over her shoulder, her eyes soft, warm, concerned. “You alright?”
Michaela’s breath trembled, her fingers loosening around the mug. “Yes. I’m fine.”
Francesca did not seem convinced. “Are you sure? You’ve been acting….strange lately.”
Michaela forced a smile, her heart pounding, her chest tightening. “I’m fine. I think I am just tired.”
Francesca watched her for a long moment, her eyes narrowing, her fingers drumming lightly against her arm. “Alright…if you’re sure.”
Francesca’s lips curled into a smile, her eyes brightening and her shoulders seemed to relax. “Okay. I was thinking of heading to the store. We’re out of coffee. You want to come with me?”
“No….no, I…I’ll stay here. I want to lie down for a little bit.”
She watched as Francesca’s smile fell, as her shoulders slumped, as she turned away, her fingers curling around the doorframe. “Alright. I’ll be back soon.”
“Francesca—”
Francesca turned, her eyes wide, lips parting. “Yes?”
“I….I love you.”
Francesca’s face softened. “I love you the most.”
She turned, and Michaela watched her walk away.
It was still raining when the phone rang.
Michaela’s heart stopped. She turned, her eyes widening.
She knew before she answered it.
She knew before the voice on the other end spoke.
“Is this Michaela Stirling? There’s been an accident—”
Michaela ended the phone call before they could finish. She fell onto her knees, screaming, the knots in her throat felt tighter, much sharper, like spikes poking through her vocal cords. A sharp, unrelenting cry splayed across their flat like a harrowing mist.
Michaela didn’t remember the way her body shook, the way her breath became ragged.
All she remembered was the rain.
And then the date.
October 14th. Again.
Michaela lost track of the days.
She stopped eating. She stopped sleeping. She stopped moving.
She sat by Francesca’s side of the bed, curling the sheets where remnants of her scent still lay.
It was not fair.
They were supposed to be happy.
It wasn’t supposed to happen again. Not the third time.
But it didn’t matter what she did, how hard she tried, how fiercly she loved her.
Francesca was destined to die.
In every universe.
On October 14th.
It was a curse she didn’t know how to stop.
She didn’t know how to save her.
Michaela closed her eyes, her body trembling, her breath hitched.
She was tired. Tired of losing her. Again.
And again.
And again.
But she couldn’t let go.
A life without Francesca was not a life worth living.
She didn’t know how to breathe, how to move, how to be.
She couldn’t lose her.
Not this time. Not again,
So Michaela closed her eyes.
And let herself fall.
When she opened her eyes, she was somewhere else.
This time, she was at a restaurant, and Francesca was sitting across from her, holding a wine glass by the stem, taking careful sips of the blazing red liquid.
She was alive.
Again.
She did it.
She woke up again.
She saved her.
She believes this time that she could keep her.
That this time, she wouldn’t lose her.