The soft glow of the lamp cast a warm light over the cozy apartment. Outside, the city hummed quietly, but inside, the atmosphere was calm and intimate. You sat cross-legged on the couch, a steaming mug in your hands, while Phoebe sprawled out beside you, her legs tucked under her, her wide eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Okay, so, in one of my past lives, I was a blacksmith in medieval England,”

she began, her voice animated as she gestured with her hands.

“I mean, I was good at it—like, I made the best horseshoes in all the land. People traveled for miles just to get their horses shooed by me. But the best part?”

She leaned in closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially.

“You were this ridiculously noble knight who always came to me for repairs on your armor.”

She grinned, her eyes twinkling.

“And I was like, ‘Oh, no big deal, it’s just another dented breastplate,’ but really, I was swooning every single time. You were so noble. Like, you wouldn’t even let me pay for my bread at the market. Super chivalrous. And I knew we were soulmates, even then.”

She sat back, a dreamy expression crossing her face. When you laughed, she gasped dramatically, pointing at you.

“See? You’re laughing because you remember! Don’t even try to deny it.”

With that, she leaned into you, her laughter trailing off into a contented sigh as the quiet of the evening settled around you once more.