I Would've Stayed, If I Could

All My Lifetimes Led to You

Anthony (Archer)
Year: 2030

It was a quiet morning. The kind of quiet that held the weight of old songs, of half-remembered dreams. The kind of silence that reminded you of someone long gone.

I sat on my usual bench, beneath the old tree with the stubborn leaves that never fully turned in autumn. It was in a park tucked behind a bookstore, a place Eliana once said felt “borrowed from a different world.”

She loved this bench.

She once said: “If I ever forget everything, bring me here. I think I’ll remember you if the wind smells like this.”

But she never remembered.

Not before she left.

Eleven years.

It’s been eleven years since the last life she lived.

Since the final picnic.

Since the last goodbye.

Seven years of waking up alone, carrying every version of her in my heart — the girl who painted under a war-torn sky, the woman who sang lullabies during the plague, the quiet librarian who wrote poetry during a revolution. Every name. Every death. Every version of her that smiled at me before fate took her away again.

I was still here.

Alive. Breathing.

Remembering what she no longer could.

People passed by, children’s laughter echoing from the playground. A couple walked a dog. Someone rode past on a bike, humming a familiar tune.

And then…

I heard it.

A soft voice. Humming.

That lullaby.

The same one Eliana used to hum when she thought no one was listening. The same lullaby she hummed on the night she died, resting against my shoulder.

I turned.

A woman had sat beside me. She wore a yellow sweater, the same color as the scarf Eliana once painted with stars. She had short hair, warm eyes, a sketchbook on her lap.

She didn’t look exactly like Eliana.

But the way she tapped her fingers when she was nervous — that was hers.

The way she leaned slightly to the right, like she was favoring an old wound — that was hers.

And her eyes… God, her eyes.

Even if time had reshaped her, even if the universe had rewritten her face, my soul knew her before my heart did.

I couldn’t breathe.

She stopped humming, turned to me with a soft, polite smile.

“Sorry,” she said, in the most casual, modern voice I’ve ever heard. “I don’t usually talk to strangers. But… do I know you?”

She asked it like a joke. Like someone trying to be friendly on a Sunday morning.

My heart cracked wide open.

I wanted to say everything.

Yes. You’ve loved me in kingdoms and in cabins. You’ve kissed me in war and in peace. You died in my arms — again and again. I’ve screamed your name into centuries. I’ve waited through silence. Through snow. Through history itself.

She didn’t recognize me.

But I saw it — that flicker of something behind her gaze. A pull. A weight she didn’t understand. The kind of gravity souls carry when they orbit each other lifetime after lifetime.

I swallowed the lump in my throat.

My fingers trembled on the cane beside me.

I had waited for this moment for decades. For centuries.

But nothing prepares you for it — seeing the love of your lives, breathing again, alive, and looking at you like you’re just another man on a bench.

I could’ve said a thousand things.

But instead, I just smiled.

Eyes full of tears I didn’t bother hiding.

And I whispered, “No. But I’ve been waiting for you.”

She blinked.

The breeze played with her hair. A dog barked in the distance.

“What’s your name?” she asked, curious now.

“Archer,” I said. “Most people call me Archer. But… she used to call me Anthony”

“She?” she tilted her head. “Someone special?”

I nodded. “The most special.”

She was quiet for a moment, staring at the trees. “Do you believe in fate?” she asked suddenly.

“I believe in you,” I whispered. “In every version of you.”

Her brows furrowed, confused.

I smiled again. “Sorry. That must sound strange.”

She laughed — a laugh that pulled at something in my bones.

“No. It’s kind of nice. Romantic, in a way,” she said. “I’m Lara, by the way.”

Lara.

It wasn’t Eliana.

But it didn’t matter.

Because in every lifetime, she always came back — sometimes as someone else. Sometimes too late. But always, somehow… always.

“Hi, Lara,” I said. “Would you like to walk with me?”

She looked at the sky. “I have time.”

And we stood together.

Side by side.

She didn’t know who I was.

But she didn’t move away either. She didn’t look at me like I was a stranger.

She just walked beside me, sketchbook in hand, humming that lullaby once again.

And I followed the sound.

Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned after all these lifetimes…

It’s that she always finds her way back.

Even if she doesn’t remember.

I always will.