After her meeting with Mike, Janet walked home alone. The evening city was cloaked in a thin mist, and the glow of streetlights reflected off the damp pavement, casting an ethereal light. Her mind replayed their conversation—Mike's steadiness, his willingness to accept the inexplicable, offered a faint comfort. But it also deepened her questions. Why was she seeing these visions? And why him?
When she arrived home, Janet slipped off her coat, tossing her bag onto the couch. She didn't turn on the lights, letting the soft glow of the city outside seep through the windows. Standing by the glass, she gazed down at the sea of twinkling lights, feeling both connected to and detached from the bustling world below. Letting out a quiet sigh, she turned toward her bedroom.
In one corner of the room sat her meditation space: a simple mat with a few candles arranged neatly beside it. The faint scent of sandalwood lingered in the air, calming her as she prepared herself. This was her ritual, the one constant in a life riddled with uncertainty. Here, she sought clarity, connection, and above all, guidance.
Janet knelt on the mat, her hands resting lightly on her knees as she closed her eyes. She believed in fate, in the threads of destiny that bound lives together. She also believed that somewhere in this vast, interconnected world, there was a destined guide—a monk, a teacher—who would help her master her unruly abilities.
She drew in a deep breath, reciting her familiar mantra silently: "Let go. Listen. Seek the answer." Her breathing slowed, becoming steady and rhythmic. Bit by bit, her mind quieted, and her focus deepened.
Time slipped away, and the room seemed to fade around her, replaced by a gentle stillness. Then, like ripples across water, her consciousness shifted. The air grew heavy, vibrating faintly, and a figure began to materialize in the quiet of her mind.
It was a monk. His form was indistinct, almost like a reflection in a rippling pond. His hands were clasped in a gesture of prayer, his face soft and serene, radiating a calm warmth.
"You've finally come," he said, his voice low and steady, resonating as though carried from a great distance.
Janet's heart stirred with recognition. "Who are you?" she asked, her voice trembling in the vast silence of her mind.
"I am your guide," he replied with a gentle smile. "But the answers you seek lie within you. The question is whether you are ready to truly listen."
"My abilities, my visions—they confuse and overwhelm me," Janet said, her voice filled with desperation. "Can you teach me how to control them? To understand them?"
The monk was silent for a moment, then responded, "To control them is not to escape your fate, but to embrace it. You must learn to accept rather than resist. Fate will guide you, and the answers will reveal themselves when you trust yourself."
As his words hung in the air, the monk's form began to fade, dissolving into a soft, golden light that surrounded her briefly before vanishing altogether. Janet opened her eyes slowly, the soft glow of candlelight grounding her once more. Everything in the room was exactly as she had left it, and yet she felt changed.
She sat still for a moment, her hand brushing lightly over the edge of the mat, her thoughts lingering on his words. The encounter felt like a dream, yet it was as vivid as any reality she had known.
Taking a deep breath, she clasped her hands together and murmured, "Perhaps what I truly need isn't to escape, but to face what lies ahead."
A faint sense of clarity began to take shape within her—a small glimmer of light in the midst of her confusion. She realized this was only the beginning, and the path ahead of her was still long and uncertain. But for the first time, she felt the faintest spark of hope, as though destiny itself had whispered that she wasn't entirely alone.
The next morning, Janet arrived at her friend Clara's boutique as usual. The little shop was nestled on a bustling street corner, its charming display windows showcasing carefully curated outfits that Clara handpicked for her clients. The shop was a peaceful retreat compared to the chaos of Janet's life—a place where she could immerse herself in the simplicity of arranging displays and helping customers find the perfect fit.
As she approached the shop's glass door, juggling her coffee and tote bag, Janet froze mid-step. A voice—deep, calm, and unmistakably familiar—sounded in her mind.
"Clean the floor first. Rearrange the mannequin by the window. Dress it in the latest men's coat—navy wool, double-breasted. The first customer today will buy it."
Janet's breath hitched, the coffee cup trembling slightly in her hand. It was him. The same monk she had seen in her vision the night before. His voice was steady and unyielding, not asking but instructing. She glanced around the street, half expecting to see someone standing nearby. But there was no one. Just the usual morning crowd rushing to work or lingering at nearby cafes.
Pushing the door open, Janet stepped inside. The shop smelled faintly of lavender and cedar, and Clara was already at the counter, busy organizing a stack of invoices. She glanced up and smiled. "Morning! You're here early for a change."
Janet offered a faint smile in return, still rattled by the voice. She set her bag down behind the counter and glanced toward the floor, the mannequin, and the rack near the display window. She hesitated, wondering if she should follow the monk's instructions or dismiss it as a product of her overactive mind.
"Something wrong?" Clara asked, peering at her over the rim of her glasses.
"No, just... thinking," Janet replied, grabbing a cleaning cloth. "I'll tidy up near the front."
Clara raised an eyebrow but didn't question her further. Janet moved toward the display window, her steps purposeful. The shop's wooden floorboards creaked softly underfoot as she began wiping them down with careful, deliberate strokes. As she worked, she kept glancing at the mannequin—a sleek female figure wearing a chic autumn dress.
After cleaning the floor, she stepped back and eyed the mannequin critically. The monk's words echoed in her mind. Dress it in the latest men's coat.
Janet made her way to the rack where Clara displayed the newest arrivals. There it was—a navy wool coat, perfectly tailored with sharp lapels and gleaming buttons. Janet ran her fingers over the fabric, feeling its weight and quality. She hesitated for a moment before slipping it off the hanger and heading back to the window.
She quickly swapped the mannequin's dress for the coat, adjusting the sleeves and collar until it sat just right. Once done, she stood back, taking in the scene. The coat, paired with the cityscape reflected in the window, exuded a quiet sophistication. Janet couldn't deny it looked perfect.
"What are you doing?" Clara asked, appearing behind her. She glanced at the newly dressed mannequin, then at Janet. "I thought we were keeping the men's line in the back."
"I just... felt like it should go here," Janet said, trying to sound nonchalant. "It'll catch more attention in the window."
Clara shrugged. "If you say so. But if it doesn't sell, it's on you."