A/N: it's been so long since I wrote , actually this story lack dialogue and is narrated in first person.
I wanted you,who read this to imagine the dialogues and their communication 🖋️.
What Is Love, By Astrid Knight
This was not a normal world, and this fact was hidden from more than half of its population. It was a world filled with demons, ghosts, and the warriors who fought them—a chaotic world where love was reserved for the gifted, leaving the ordinary behind.
I am Astrid Knight, a person abandoned despite living with my family. But what sets me apart is a secret no one knows—I can see parts of the future, glimpses of outcomes from different parallel worlds. Yet, every parallel world shows me the same inevitable future: my death.
In every future, I am killed by my family. Sometimes it's my siblings, other times my parents, or even distant relatives. An unchangeable fate—or at least, that's what I thought until I saw a future where I had a family of my own.
My ability isn't simply about seeing the future. It's tied to me and my choices. I can imagine possible situations in my life and predict the outcomes.
I've tried countless scenarios where I survive, albeit barely, but those outcomes are often worse than death. I even tried imagining relationships with powerful people, but they always rejected me. Only ordinary people would accept me, yet even they eventually abandoned me, leaving me to die miserably.
Maybe death is in love with me. Still, I keep searching, hoping to find someone—anyone—who might love me back. If enduring my family's mistreatment is love, then they must love me the most.
Today was like any other day: the same boring lectures in the same dull class. But this time, my target for a future prediction was different. Unlike the popular or handsome students, my focus was on someone quiet and peculiar.
Atlas Merry Thomas.
He rarely attended class, often rumored to be sick. With messy hair and dead eyes, he could scare anyone. I'd never seen him talk to anyone except the librarian—he was quite the reader.
Today, he became my aim.
"What will happen if Atlas Merry Thomas falls in love with me?"
The outcome? Nothing.
It was unexpected. My beauty rivals the college belle, yet there was no future where Atlas would fall for me. People who resisted me were usually from powerful families or those who didn't care about anyone. Atlas was different, though—an anomaly.
So, there was no future where Atlas would love me. Exciting.
Out of curiosity, I reversed the question.
"What will happen if I, Astrid Knight, fall in love with Atlas Merry Thomas?"
My consciousness left reality, diving into a distant future where this condition occurred.
---
When I opened my eyes, I found myself in a forest.
Had Atlas locked me up in a dark room or something?
"Go faster, Daddy! I want to go there!"
Startled, I turned to see a family of three: a father carrying his wife and daughter, walking toward me. It was a loving family—something I never had and never would.
I was about to complete my thought when I saw the man's face. Time had aged him, but even with glasses and a scar, I recognized him. It was Atlas.
Then I looked at the woman hanging on him like a monkey. Her face was too familiar—it was me.
The woman smiled wholeheartedly, laughed loudly, and kissed Atlas's cheek. It was all me.
My body trembled as I froze, watching the family pass by without noticing me. Up close, I confirmed it again—that was me.
Maybe this was a dream, or perhaps I'd gone mad.
---
The scene changed. I was now in a house—a big one, the kind I hated but couldn't resent now. Everything here was how I'd always wanted it.
A place to call home.
I saw Atlas holding a little girl who looked like me as a child. She was sleeping peacefully, hugging him. His large, scarred hands held her gently yet protectively.
In his other hand, he held a book, reading quietly. Resting on his chest, I—another version of me—lay sleeping peacefully.
Atlas closed the book, kissed both of us on the forehead, and hugged us tightly, as if he would never let go.
The scene shifted again. This time, Atlas was cooking in the kitchen. I clung to him like a koala while our daughter watched cartoons. He didn't forget to feed me as he cooked.
---
I could only stand and watch.
I didn't know what I was feeling—suffocation or sadness.
The other version of me walked toward me, smiling. She cupped my face and wiped my tears.
"Do you want to see more?" she asked.
I nodded frantically. I never wanted this dream to end.
"I'll ask again: do you want to see my life or experience it yourself?"
This time, I couldn't answer.
She leaned forward, touching her forehead to mine.
"Can you feel it?"
Warmth filled me—a sweetness, a happiness so overwhelming that I couldn't stop crying.
This is his love.
---
When I opened my eyes again, Atlas was in front of me, asleep. Up close, I saw it—the love in his eyes, the love that could protect me from anything.
I hugged him and cried, releasing years of pent-up sorrow.
Before everything went dark, I heard her voice one last time.
"Just talk to him. Be with him. Try to understand him. That's my advice to you."
---
When I returned to reality, Atlas was still asleep. I rested my head on the desk, watching him. My gaze never left him—and never would.
That day, for the first time, I spoke to him about books.
He was surprisingly easy to talk to. From then on, we slowly began to understand each other.
Atlas, a man who had never been loved, saw the world indifferently and lived for himself. But as I got to know him, he came to understand me, too.
We grew together, like flowers blooming with each passing season.
Now, his eyes are full of me, and mine of him.
It's enough. We are enough for each other.
In all other futures, I was loved unwillingly and abandoned. But this time, I chose love and willingly abandoned everything for it.
If love makes people mad, then I welcome that madness into my future—to be with him, to accompany us.
**
A/N: This is not their end as for thier future. You readers are free to wove their story however you want.
I wrote it myself and corrected using AI
Advice: When using AI ,input correct grammatical errors not proofread (they will really change the story ,a bit formally. It will lack the emotion we write there)
"If you cannot see the essence of your heart in the stories you weave, then you shall become a writer of hollow words, crafting tales that whisper to strangers, but speak not to your own soul."
-A failed writer 🌸