Epilogue

[POV Renet]

Golden light bathes the endless wheat fields, each stalk swaying in a warm breeze. I move through the grain with bare feet, my white dress flowing like water around my ankles.

I know this place – have walked these paths countless times before. The Field of Reeds, where lotus blossoms float on mirror-still canals and time holds no meaning.

A figure appears at the edge of my vision, tall and straight-backed, moving with quiet purpose through the wheat. My heart beats faster, recognizing something essential before my mind can process what it sees.

When our gazes meet, time itself seems to pause in reverence.

“I have been waiting for you,” I whisper, though I don’t remember choosing to speak.

“As have I, my sweet lotus flower,” he replies, voice carrying harmonics that resonate in my very bones. “I have searched for you in every corner of existence.”

He extends his hand and I reach for it without hesitation.

The moment our palms touch, the world explodes into light – not harsh or blinding, but warm as the sun on my face during childhood summers.

He leans forward, his forehead resting against mine, and his touch sends waves of warmth cascading through me where his fingers brush my cheek.

“Never again,” he whispers against my lips. “Never again will we be parted.”

But even as the words flood through me, everything begins to fracture.

The wheat fields dissolve, the golden sky fades, and his face, always his face, slips away like water through my fingers…

I jerk awake with a gasp. The tarot card that had been stuck to my cheek fluttering down to the counter – The Lovers.

Groaning, I sat up rubbing my face, checking that I hadn’t drooled on the deck again.

“That damn dream again,” I murmured to myself, straightening in my chair behind the counter of “Celestial Roots”.

It’s been recurring for months now.

Always the same and with a man whose face I can never quite recall upon waking, yet who feels more familiar than my own reflection.

The shop was empty, the dull hum of the neon sign in the front window the only sound.

My little corner of mysticism wedged between a Starbucks and a hot yoga studio doesn’t exactly scream “thriving business,” but it’s mine.

Every crystal, every worn book spine, every stick of incense – mine.

I stretch, working out the kinks from falling asleep at my own counter like some amateur. The tarot deck feels warm under my fingers as I gather the scattered cards.

The doorbell chimes and I glance up, expecting the delivery guy, but it’s not.

A man steps through the doorway, pausing to let his eyes adjust to the dimmer light inside. He’s tall and lean, with bronze skin that gleams in the lamplight and midnight-black long hair woven into a neat braid adorned with tiny golden rings.

His clothes are simple, but there’s something regal in the way he carries himself – calm, composed, like he belongs everywhere and nowhere all at once.

And his dark eyes… They hit me like déjà vu.

I don’t know him. Every logical neuron confirms this. But something deeper, something that operates below conscious thought, recognizes him with an intensity that borders on pain.

“Evening,” he simply says, voice carrying a slight accent I can’t place. “I hope you might be able to help me.”

“Hi.” My voice comes out a little too eager, so I clear my throat. “Welcome. What are you looking for?”

He approaches the counter with easy confidence, never breaking eye contact.

There’s something magnetic about his presence, a gravitational pull that makes me want to lean closer even as my rational mind warns me to maintain proper customer service distance.

“I’m searching for something to enhance my meditation practice. A friend mentioned your shop has an exceptional selection of incense.”

“Well, your friend was right,” I say, stepping from behind the counter to lead him to the display. “We import from all over the world. Did they recommend anything specific?”

“Not exactly,” he admits, scanning the neatly arranged packages. “I’m relatively new to this actually. What would you suggest for a beginner?”

When he looks at me again, I catch myself staring at the way the light plays across his features.

Professional, I remind myself. Stay professional.

I select several options, arranging them on the nearby table.

My hands move with practiced ease, but my attention remains fixed on his face, searching for the source of my inexplicable recognition.

“This depends on what you’re hoping to achieve,” I explain. “Sandalwood promotes grounding and focus, frankincense deepens spiritual connection…”

I pause, my fingers hovering over one particular package.

Something about his presence, his energy, draws me to it.

“This one is special, though. Sweet lotus. It’s excellent for accessing deeper states of consciousness.”

He studies me for a long moment, as if seeing something that hadn’t been there before. The intensity of his gaze makes heat rise in my cheeks, and I have to resist the urge to smooth my hair or check my appearance in the mirror behind him.

“Lotus sounds nice. I’ll take that one,” he says finally.

As I ring up his purchase, I notice him glancing at the tarot cards on my counter.

“Are you a fortune teller as well?” he asks with a note of gentle mockery in his voice.

“I read cards, yes,” I replied, taking them with steady hands. “Though I prefer to think of it as guidance rather than fortune telling.”

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