"Erin, what are you looking at?"
Angela tilted her head, noticing Erin eyeing her neatly packed lunchbox - fruits cut into animal shapes, arranged with care.
"This is my mom's artwork," Angela said, assuming Erin was curious.
"I hate fruits, so she makes them into shapes I like. Pretty cute, right?"
Erin gave a small nod, her voice barely audible. "Yeah."
She lowered her eyes and asked softly, "Are all mothers like this?"
Angela didn't hear her.
Erin's mother didn't even know she had food allergies - didn't know her favorite color, or what she liked to eat. In truth, they couldn't be blamed.
Erin didn't have the luxury of liking anything.
Angela.
A name that spoke of affection, like the angel her parents believed her to be.
Erin.
A name that sounded like silence - obedience. Just the way her parents wanted.
Still, she didn't feel jealous or bitter watching other children be loved. She didn't allow herself such feelings.
There was no space for emotion in a life scheduled down to the minute - from study to meals, bathing, and sleep.
If her parents could invent a way for her to study while she slept, even those four precious hours would disappear.
This had been her world for as long as she could remember: studying this, mastering that, always scoring first in class.
She carried the heavy title of the "perfect student," destined to attend a prestigious university.
Her only job was to be flawless.
A trophy child, displayed at the so called social banquets, gleaming with manufactured pride.
That evening, after her extra tuition class, Erin arrived home.
Her parents were already halfway through dinner.
The school had emailed her report card earlier that day.
As she washed her hands to join them, her father asked about her monthly exam scores.
Knowing full well they had the report already, she replied quietly with her marks.
Her father didn't respond.
Instead, he asked, "What about the second-rank student's marks?"
A chill ran through her.
Erin masked the flicker of pain in her eyes and answered evenly, "I don't know."
She already knew what was coming.
A moment later, a bowl of hot soup slammed into her.
Her father rose from his seat, voice sharp and full of rage.
"You're only two marks ahead. That means they could overtake you at any moment!"
Her mother's eyes narrowed with cold disapproval.
"Looks like you've been eating too well to focus on studying," she snapped.
"Go reflect on yourself. One skipped meal won't kill you."
Erin stood there, blank. No anger. No tears. Just silence.
She walked to the bathroom, rinsed the soup from her skin.
The scalds burned as water ran over them.
She scrubbed her uniform clean and hung it to dry, then sat quietly on her bed.
Her stomach growled.
She wanted to scream that the test was out of 100, and she had scored a perfect 100.
That there was no such thing as 101. She wanted to shout that her lunch consisted of dry nuts and a piece of stale bread.
Instead, her thoughts drifted to Angela's lunchbox - colorful, thoughtful, made with love.
A bitter smile touched her lips.
Then Erin stood up, picked up her textbooks, and began reviewing the day's lessons.
After all, she was the model student.
This is what the perfect girl does.
The next morning, Erin walked toward the bus stop, her mind adrift.
As she stepped onto the road, lost in thought, the traffic lights turned green.
Engines roared to life, tires hissed against the asphalt.
Her brain screamed at her to move, to run across before the vehicles reached her.
But her heart whispered something else - What are you running toward?
You're not running from death?
You're running into the arms of a life that's already killing you.
Who's waiting for you on the other side?
No one.
Only the cold familiarity of despair, the same rigid strings clutched tightly in her parents' hands, her body their puppet on display.
Erin didn't move.
All she saw was a truck's headlight. Blinding, engulfing.
And after that - sky.
There was no pain.
Only a deep, aching emptiness.
A kind of loneliness that didn't even hurt anymore - it just existed.
She had always known no one had the right to take their own life.
That it was a sin, a path to hell.
Hell, then.
Better than this cruel, indifferent world.
When she opened her eyes, everything was white.
Not the burning flames she'd imagined.
No throne of judgment.
No King Yama glaring from shadows.
Just? white.
An endless void stretched before her like a blank canvas, soft and glowing.
At the far end stood a figure. Ethereal. Wordless.
Did it have a face?
Not quite.
Yet somehow, it felt like every beautiful face she'd never seen - elegant, divine, formed by the mind more than the eyes.
Its very presence breathed divinity.
Then, a voice - gentle and serene, as if woven from wind and water.
"Why?"
It wasn't angry. It wasn't disappointed. Just curious. Kind.
Erin scoffed, a bitter smile playing at her lips.
"Why??" she echoed, hollowly.
"Did I have any other choice?"
Her voice rang through the void like broken glass on marble.
"The perfect doll just reached its expiration date. That's all."
The entity hummed - a sound like a lullaby with no words. It didn't argue.
"Would you like to revisit any memory - a fragment you long for?" it asked.
Longing?
What was there to long for?
Her life had been a rotation of textbooks and test scores, tutors and expectations.
No warmth, no color, not even hate or jealousy to make her feel alive.
Just layers of numbness - refined, polished, and suffocating.
"No."
Her answer was firm, final.
A soft, golden light shimmered from the entity, its presence both comforting and impossibly distant.
"You've earned no bad karma," it said, its voice like silk over skin.
"Logically, you should be given another chance."
But Erin didn't respond.
She stood rooted in her refusal, the pain too deep to name.
She truly didn't want another life; she just wants to embrace the serenity and disappear into nothingness.
The entity understood.
It did not offer her another lifetime in the same broken shell.
Instead, it offered what she had never known:
A glimpse.
A brush of color against the white.
A world where love was real, where laughter was loud, where children weren't trophies but beings with dreams.
A world of choice.
With a wave of its hand, the white void began to ripple.
When Erin's consciousness returned, it was not to the familiar, suffocating pressure of her old life, nor to the stark void.
Instead, a rush of cool, damp earth enveloped her.
A distant sun blinded her view.
She tried to move, to stand, but her form felt rooted.
Panic, a new sensation, flickered, quickly replaced by bewildered shock.
Her hands? were they leaves?
Her body, a slender stem?
A small plant.
The entity's voice, now a whisper within her head, resonated: "You chose to sever your life. You have no right to choose your next. Your soul should have shattered. But in pity, you are granted this."
She sighed, a rustle of her newly formed leaves against a gentle breeze.
Even in death, the world was cruel.
No peaceful afterlife, just this - a tiny lemon sapling, dwarfed by the towering ancient oak tree, surrounded by a vibrant tapestry of forest giants.
Days turned into weeks, then months.
The initial resentment slowly, imperceptibly, began to fade.
She enjoyed the warm sunlight, and waited in anticipation for the first rain to fall.
The photosynthesis process she had only learned in her biology class was now an inherent instinct inside her.
She felt the gentle burrowing of a beetle near her roots, the ants carrying their daily rations and moving around.
The worms she had only seen from afar were now moving through her leaves, yet she didn't feel nauseated.
She wasn't doing anything, yet she was living.
She stretched towards the light, her small leaves unfurling, responding to an ancient, inherent need to grow.
One afternoon, a small child, giggling, knelt beside her.
Tiny fingers, surprisingly gentle, brushed against her leaves.
"Look, Mama!" the child exclaimed.
"A baby lemon tree! It's so little."
A woman's kind voice replied, "Yes, sweetie. It needs lots of sunshine and water to grow big and strong."
The child carefully poured a small stream of water from a plastic cup at her base.
It wasn't love, not as humans knew it, but it was kindness. A pure, simple act of care.
The sapling drank, absorbing not just the water, but the soft warmth of the child's attention.
As seasons cycled, she deepened her roots, unfurled more leaves, and felt the stirrings of a purpose.
She absorbed nutrients, produced oxygen, and eventually, after years, a small, fragrant white blossom appeared.
Then another, and another.
Bees hummed around her, a symphony of life.
Small, green nubs formed, growing into bright, plump lemons, their scent a sharp, clean joy.
Birds nested in her branches.
Small animals sought shelter in her shade.
Occasionally, people would come and grab her fruits, some aggressively, some poured water for her, some just thanked her.
When the time came, centuries later in human terms, for her life as a tree to end, it was with a quiet, profound sense of fulfillment.
Her branches, gnarled and wise, had borne fruit for generations, her roots holding the earth firm.
She hadn't sought revenge; she had simply lived, given, and received.
The white space again.
The ethereal entity stood before her.
"Do you believe in love and kindness now?"
She hesitated.
"Perhaps? as a tree. Humans are cold animals."
The entity simply smiled. With another gentle wave, the void shifted.
Consciousness returned with a jolt of warmth and a delightful chaos of smells.
She was small, soft, and warm, surrounded by a comforting, rhythmic thumping.
Her eyes, still slightly blurred, opened to a blur of gentle giant faces.
She was a puppy. A tiny, clumsy, utterly adored puppy.
Her days were a whirlwind of soft blankets, playful nips with her siblings, the rich scent of warm milk, and the overwhelming, glorious touch of human hands.
She was picked up, cuddled, whispered to.
A child, no older than five, would bury her face in her fur, murmuring, "My sweet little Luna."
Luna.
The name felt like a song.
Her previous life had been devoid of such tender names, such easy affection.
Here, every morning was a riot of wagging tails and enthusiastic licks.
Every evening was a collapse into a warm, safe lap, lulled to sleep by gentle strokes and quiet murmurs of love.
There were lessons, yes - "No chewing the shoes, Luna!" - but they were taught with patience and a loving scratch behind the ears.
She learned fetch, her body thrumming with the thrill of the chase, the pride of returning the play ball.
She learned to greet her humans with an ecstatic full-body wiggle, knowing it would be met with joyful laughter and perhaps a treat.
She was part of a family, not a project.
She was loved for simply being Luna, a joyful, furry companion.
Years passed, marked by the deepening lines on her humans' faces.
She saw children grow, leave, and return with their own little ones, who would crawl to her, pulling her ears with innocent glee.
Her body slowed, her steps became a shuffle, but the love surrounding her only intensified.
On her last evening, nestled against her favorite human, she felt a profound peace.
She had been loved, truly, deeply, unconditionally.
And she had given back that love with every beat of her devoted heart.
The white space once more, vibrant with the entity's benevolent presence.
"And now?"
A different kind of smile touched her awareness.
Not a mock, not a sigh.
A soft, genuine one.
"Yes," she whispered, the thought echoing in the void.
"I understand kindness. And love."
The entity shimmered, a silent congratulation.
Then, with a familiar wave, the world dissolved.
She was born again.
This time as a fish.
A flash of silver scales, a silent, breathtaking world of blue and green.
She darted through sun-dappled weeds, part of a shimmering school, moving as one.
The thrill of escape from a predator, the cool current against her scales - life was a constant, fluid ballet.
There was no striving, only being, and in that pure being, a boundless freedom she'd never known.
After this life, she was once again sent to the rebirth cycle.
This time as a baby bird.
The wind beneath her wings, the vast, azure canvas of the sky stretching endlessly.
She tasted the air, sang with the dawn, and felt the exhilarating rush of air as she plunged and soared, a tiny speck of vibrant life against the immensity of the world.
Each flight was a symphony of freedom, each song a declaration of pure, unadulterated joy.
She experienced many more lives.
Each life was a brief, vivid masterpiece of sensation and simple, untainted emotion.
She was a buzzing bee, reveling in the scent of nectar and the warmth of a flower.
A sleek otter, delighting in the cool splash of a stream and the smooth feel of a polished stone.
A sturdy ant, part of a vast, cooperative community, finding satisfaction in her tiny, vital contribution.
In every form, she received.
She gave.
She felt.
The main thing common throughout her rebirth was freedom and love.
Her lives were colorful, vivid, and it felt like 'life.'
Finally, the white space embraced her again.
But this time, it was not empty.
It resonated with a deep, resonant hum of gratitude and boundless affection.
The entity's form seemed to solidify slightly, radiant with warmth.
"Do you believe in love and kindness now, little one?"
This time, tears, warm and genuine, streamed down her ethereal face.
It felt like ages, time seemed stuck.
She felt them, truly felt them.
"Yes," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
"Oh, yes. More than anything."
A yearning, vast and undeniable, filled her.
"I... I wish to be born human. To experience it all, to give it back."
The entity's light intensified, a beacon of infinite compassion.
"You have acquired good karma in all these lives. You are qualified to reincarnate."
With a final, gentle wave, she disappeared, not into a blur, but into a warm, enveloping glow.
When her eyes opened, they were small and unfocused, but they saw the world not through the lens of duty or despair, but through the soft blur of unconditional love.
Tiny fingers wrapped around a large, comforting thumb. A gentle voice cooed, "My precious, precious girl."
Warm kisses rained upon her head.
She was a little human baby, with no memory of countless lives lived as trees, animals, or fish.
She was simply a child, ignorant and innocent, loved and pampered by a family who cherished her as their priceless jewel.
Every giggle, every gurgle, every small reach for a toy was met with boundless affection.
She was learning to walk, to talk, to laugh; her world a vibrant explosion of kindness.
She was named Anya, a name that means "favored by God."
Yes, now she had a name, lovingly given to her and filled with love.
At a distance, the ethereal entity watched, a silent sentinel in the boundless void.
It saw the bright, happy life of the child, the genuine smiles, the secure embrace of her parents.
A smile slowly came into the entity's shimmering form.
It knew she would live the life she deserved, filled with the very love she had learned to believe in.
With a final, radiant blessing cast upon the little human, the entity dissolved into the fabric of the universe.
The entity was none other than the guardian angel of the girl, bestowed by Heaven to protect each of its children.
When hope shatters, despair fills, guardian angels will come to protect you.
