MOONTALK

It all began when I was young, studying in London, walking the crowded streets between university and the trip to my apartment when I caught something I couldn’t name—a flicker of recognition in a stranger’s face, so sharp it left me breathless. Then slowly it began elsewhere, like a pen forgotten to lift, the ink spreads on the whole paper. Sometimes it was a laugh in the Underground, echoing through the tunnels like a memory I couldn’t place. Other times, it was the trace of perfume in the library, drifting between the stacks, strange yet familiar. Each time, I looked up, expecting someone I knew—but there was never anyone. Only the fading laughter in tunnels, the perfume dissolving in dusty aisles, the shadows of strangers swallowed by the crowd. I didn’t know then that my soul had been searching across lifetimes, but even at eighteen the feeling left me restless, pulled by something I couldn’t explain.