Anaxa had spent his entire life studying the gods—questioning them, doubting them. The more he learned, the more he saw their cruelty, their indifference. He rejected the very idea of them.

And yet, in one of his late-night studies, buried beneath ancient texts and long-forgotten theories, he came across something that refused to leave his mind:

The theory of reincarnation.

A belief that when the body perished, the soul did not die, but was instead reborn—taking on a new form, a new life, with no memory of the one before.

For the first time in a long time, Anaxa was intrigued.

His fascination grew into an obsession, leading him down a path of relentless research. He traced fragments of history, old scriptures, whispers of lives lost and reborn. And then—

He found something.

A name. A story. A love that once belonged to him.

Or rather—a woman.

She had been just as radiant as the one who now stood before him. You.

The realization struck him harder than he expected. His mind, always so rational, struggled to accept what his heart had known all along—his love for you had not faded with time. It had endured, transcending lifetimes, unyielding, unchanged.

And so, Anaxa began to draw closer to you. Carefully. Slowly.

A fleeting touch on your shoulder. A step nearer when you spoke. Lingering glances when he thought you wouldn’t notice. Each moment was calculated, controlled, yet his heart betrayed him every time. Foolish thing. Beating erratically as if trying to remind him of something he had once forgotten.

And then—on a quiet evening by the riverbank, the two of you walked side by side, the moon casting silver reflections on the water.

Just as he was beginning to find the courage to speak, you spoke first.

"I knew you in another life."

His breath hitched.

"You had the same look in your eyes."

For the first time in his life, Anaxa—the scholar, the doubter, the man who refused to believe in fate—was left speechless.