It was a Wednesday when she rolled into class. She wore a bright green dress that didn’t quite match our school uniforms, her hair tied back neatly. Her wheelchair had vibrant wheels decorated like little suns, and she had braces on both legs.
At first, I thought, She seems to know something I don’t.
Everyone else treated her with extra caution—almost like she was fragile glass. But I wasn’t like them. I spoke to her as I would to anyone else and asked where she was from. She just smiled and said, “You already know.
I blinked in surprise. “No, I don’t.”
Then she said my name—“Eleanor”—softly but confidently. “Do you remember me?”
I stared at her, puzzled. I couldn’t place her face anywhere. I’d never seen her before in all my years at this school. But there was something in her eyes that made me feel she was waiting for me to remember.
“Sorry, I don’t…” I started, feeling awkward, but she didn’t seem bothered.
She shrugged. “That’s okay. It’s been a while. When we last met, you were very young.”
I was unsure how to respond, and before I could ask more, the teacher told us to start class. Still, I felt drawn to her. Her name was Violet, and unlike the others who tread lightly around her, she didn’t expect me to treat her that way, which made me feel better.
Over time, we became friends. I pushed her wheelchair at lunch, helped with her books, and on sunny days, wheeled her across the schoolyard. Her dry laugh made me laugh, too. She saw the world as if she understood things most people didn’t—and wasn’t afraid to say so.
One afternoon after school, I stayed to help her with math. Even though she was often smarter than me, she always asked for help.
Pointing at a tough problem, I said, “I don’t get it. Why is this equation important?”
She smiled knowingly. “You really don’t remember, do you?”
I asked, “What do you remember?”
She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she rocked her chair back and forth and sighed. “I used to be just like you. Not like this—standing and walking—but lost, too. The world had questions I couldn’t answer.”
I frowned. “I don’t understand.”
Softly, she said, “We were friends when we were younger—in another time, another life. Something big happened and changed everything.”
I stared at her, confused. “You mean…?”
Her eyes narrowed, unsure whether to tell me more. “Not yet. But someday you’ll know.”
Her words were mysterious, and I didn’t know what to make of them. Violet was always unique, but now she seemed to speak in riddles. Sometimes, she’d smile like she knew a secret I hadn’t figured out yet.
Over the next weeks, Violet shared little by little about her life before coming to our school. She said she used to be healthy and full of energy, running and playing with friends. But one day everything changed.
In a whisper, she told me, “I was in an accident. The doctors couldn’t fix everything. My legs don’t work like before, but I’ve learned new ways to move forward.”
I hesitated. “I still don’t get it. How could we have been friends before?”
Her face softened. “You used to be my friend. I loved you a lot. But something made us forget.”
I almost asked more when a thought hit me. “Are you saying we knew each other before this life?”
She nodded. “Yes. You were the reason I made it through. We were meant to help each other—but we got separated.”
It made little sense, but something felt true. Our conversations felt oddly familiar.
One evening, walking to the bus stop, I noticed a small mark on her wrist beneath her sleeve—a symbol I’d seen before in a dream. The memory rushed back to me.
“Where did you get that tattoo?” I asked, voice trembling.
She smiled. “It’s important. The key to everything. It shows our connection before we met again.”
Suddenly, it all clicked—the dream, the deja vu, the feeling of something unfinished.
“I think I remember,” I whispered, but she didn’t hear me. “I believe I remember you.”
Violet smiled brightly. “You’re starting to remember. It’s not just about the wheelchair. What we’re meant to do matters. We can’t forget. Don’t mess this up.”
Before I could ask what she meant, a man stepped out of a nearby car. Tall, serious, and dressed in a suit, he said firmly, “Violet, it’s time. We’ve been looking for you.”
Violet’s face changed. Gone was the playful girl I knew. Now she was focused and serious.
“This is where our paths split again,” she told me. “I’ve waited my whole life for you to remember. But now, you must do this on your own.”
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said. “But I’ve given you what you need to find your own way. When the time comes, you’ll know.”
The man turned to leave, but Violet stopped him and looked back at me once more.
“Eleanor, you’re ready now. Trust yourself. This journey was never just about me. You’ve always been the key.”
Then, she was gone.
In the days after, I kept thinking about everything Violet said—her words, the strange message, and the sudden appearance of that man. It all pointed to something bigger than I ever imagined.
Deep down, I knew she was right. My life could change anytime. The dreams, the memories, the twists—they were all pieces of a greater puzzle.
I didn’t know what would happen next, but I was ready. Finally, I was ready to move forward.
This piece is inspired by stories from the everyday lives of our readers and written by a professional writer. Any resemblance to actual names or locations is purely coincidental. All images are for illustration purposes only.
