the pull of fate
The days following the concert blurred into a haze of restless thoughts and sleepless nights. Minjeong moved through her routine in a daze, her body functioning on autopilot while her mind lingered on the haunting image of Karina. The memory of her gaze, the flicker of recognition, refused to leave. It wasn’t just the longing that gnawed at her, there was something more. A feeling, fleeting yet undeniable, tugged at the edges of her consciousness like an unfinished melody. Minjeong was dead set on letting this go, but something about Karina was different this time, and it unsettled her more than she cared to admit.
Aeri, ever perceptive, had noticed the change. She’d seen the subtle tremor in Minjeong’s hands during their meetings, the faraway look in her eyes when they spoke. It had only taken a few days for Aeri to catch on.
“You’re still thinking about her, aren’t you?” Aeri’s voice was gentle but firm, laced with the understanding that only someone who had witnessed Minjeong’s past could have. Aeri had reincarnated with Minjeong every single time, as a companion, a friend. And every time Minjeong found Jimin, Aeri witnessed every tragedy that awaited the lovers.
Minjeong sat across from her, staring blankly at the draft of her manuscript, though the words before her were a blur. She wasn’t sure if she was still writing or if the words were writing themselves.
“I saw her,” Minjeong said, her voice low. It felt strange to admit it aloud, like speaking it might make it real. “Jimin, or Karina. She’s an idol now. She was… different, but also the same.”
Aeri’s brow furrowed, her expression shifting to one of concern. “What do you mean, the same? You can’t be serious.”
Minjeong closed her eyes, the image of Karina’s face flashing in her mind once again. “Her eyes. Her presence. It was like looking at someone from a dream—someone I’ve known forever. But at the same time, she’s someone I’ve never met.” Minjeong pauses, opening her eyes, and Aeri could see the pain swirling in her brown orbs.
“She’s… not Jimin anymore. She’s not the same, but I can feel it. The connection, it’s still there, but she doesn’t remember.”
Aeri leaned back in her chair, studying Minjeong carefully. “That’s… a lot to take in. but you’ve been through this before, Minjeong. This curse, you’ve seen it, felt it for centuries. Are you seriously telling me that you’re… what, considering chasing her again?”
Minjeong’s eyes flickered with an emotion Aeri couldn’t quite place, maybe fear, maybe hope? Or a mix of both. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “But I can’t just walk away. Not after what happened in our past life. Not after seeing her.”
Aeri placed a hand on her arm, her gaze softening. “Minjeong, I have seen you suffer throughout the centuries. I have been your companion, and I know you think that this is going to end differently, but I want you to be sure.”
Aeri couldn’t handle seeing her closest friend get hurt again. She couldn’t handle seeing another tragedy again.
Tears welled up in Minjeong’s eyes. “I don’t know if I can walk away, Aeri. You know that I’ve tried, and I failed every single time. But I can’t just… dive in, either. It’s not fair to her. She doesn’t remember any of it. I’m just a ghost to her.”
Aeri studied Minjeong for a long moment before speaking again. “Maybe you don’t have to just leave it to chance. Maybe… we could search for a way to break the curse again. If there’s even a chance that she could help too—”
“No,” Minjeong cut in, shaking her head vehemently. “I can’t risk it. I can’t drag her into the same pain we’ve always lived with. It’s too dangerous. For both of us.”
Aeri sighed but didn’t push further. She had learned long ago that when Minjeong made up her mind, there was little anyone could do to change it. Still, the concern in her eyes lingered, and Minjeong knew that her friend was silently hoping she would reconsider.
Karina sat in front of her vanity, her reflection staring back at her with an almost unfamiliar intensity. The studio lights cast long shadows over her face, and for a moment, she found herself lost in them. She had always been aware of the way people looked at her, the gaze of strangers, fans, even her fellow idols. But this time, something was different.
It had been days since the concert, but the image of the girl lingered in her mind, like a fragment of a dream that wouldn’t fade. The way their eyes had met, the way the girl’s gaze held a depth Karina couldn’t place. It wasn’t the usual gaze of a fan or someone admiring her from afar—it felt… personal. Familiar, even. It was as if the girl knew her, knew something about her that Karina herself didn’t.
What unsettled Karina the most was the image of her face. The girl’s blonde hair, styled simply yet elegantly, was something she didn’t immediately expect in the sea of dark-haired fans. But it wasn’t just her appearance, it was the feeling of recognition. Karina could have sworn that there was something about her eyes. They were blue, but when the girl had looked at her, Karina had seen the faintest reflection of brown. Contact lenses, perhaps? It made her wonder who this person really was and why she felt so drawn to her.
The thought gnawed at her. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something had clicked into place during their brief interaction, a connection that had been buried deep inside her, too far for her conscious mind to understand. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the girl’s face again, and every time, a gnawing sense of loss crept into her chest.
“Karina, are you alright?” a voice asked, pulling her from her thoughts. She turned to see Yizhuo, her manager and best friend, standing at the door of the dressing room. Yizhuo’s expression was soft but sharp, a mix of concern and quiet authority that made Karina feel exposed.
“Yeah,” Karina replied, forcing a smile. “Just… tired.”
Yizhuo’s brow furrowed, but she didn’t press. Instead, she walked in and closed the door behind her, stepping closer. “You’ve been distant these past few days. I can tell something’s bothering you. Is it the concert?”
Karina shifted uncomfortably in her chair, her fingers absently brushing the makeup brushes scattered on the counter. “I’m fine, really. It’s just been a lot, you know?” she said, but the words felt hollow, even to her.
Yizhuo didn’t seem convinced. She placed a hand on the edge of the vanity and leaned forward slightly, her gaze fixed on Karina. “Karina, we’ve been working together long enough for me to know when something’s not right. You’ve had a lot on your plate, but I’ve never seen you this… off.”
A knot tightened in Karina’s chest, and for a moment, she wanted to tell Yizhuo everything—the strange pull she felt toward the girl from the concert, the haunting sense that they shared something she couldn’t quite explain. But the words didn’t come. Instead, she muttered, “It’s nothing. Just personal stuff.”
Yizhuo’s expression softened, but there was still an edge of concern in her eyes. “You don’t have to tell me everything, but I’m here if you need someone to talk to. You’ve been through a lot, Karina. You don’t have to carry it alone.”
The sincerity in Yizhuo’s voice made Karina want to break, but she couldn’t bring herself to open up. She had kept secrets from her manager before, and this felt like one she couldn’t share—at least not yet.
“Thanks, Yizhuo,” Karina said, forcing another smile. I’ll be fine. Really.”
Yizhuo nodded, though her gaze lingered for a moment longer than Karina would have liked. With a quiet sigh, Yizhuo straightened up. “Alright, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call. Just take care of yourself, okay?”
As Yizhuo left the room, Karina stared at her reflection again. The familiar emptiness settled in, but now, it was joined by something else. Something deeper, something that connected her to a person she couldn’t fully understand.
That night, as Karina lay in bed, the memory of the girl’s gaze crept back into her thoughts. She closed her eyes, but instead of sleep, her mind wandered deeper, wondering what it all meant. Was she just imagining it? Or had something in that brief encounter actually been real?
No matter how much she tried to push it away, Karina couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this. A connection, a thread between them that stretched across time and space. It gnawed at her relentlessly, demanding her attention, as though her very soul recognized a truth her mind could not yet grasp. But what was it? And why did it feel so much like she was remembering something she couldn’t quite place—a memory just out of reach, cloaked in the mist of another lifetime.