One night, as she drifted into sleep, she had a dream unlike any before. It felt real, like stepping into another life. She found herself in a meadow bathed in golden light, surrounded by countless flowers swaying gently in the breeze. The air was thick with a sweet, calming scent, and everything around her seemed alive, almost magical.
In the center of the meadow stood a single flower bud, larger and more radiant than the rest. As she watched, it began to bloom, its petals unfurling slowly. From within, a child emerged, glowing softly, as though the flower had given birth to life itself. She reached out, and for a brief moment, she felt the silkiness of the petals and the warmth of the child's hand.
When she woke, the dream lingered, vivid and unshakable. The thought struck her like a revelation: When a child dies at birth or before they turn three, they are born again from a flower bud. That's what it means to be "fairly."
The idea consumed her, filling her with questions. She couldn't stop thinking about why she hadn't been born from a flower. Why didn't I die when I was born? If I had, maybe I could have become one of them. Maybe that's what's fair.
Later that day, she turned to her mother, her voice calm but heavy with curiosity. "Mom, why wasn't I born from a flower bud? And... if I had died when I was a baby, would I have become fairly?"
Her mother stared at her, unsettled by the question. "What are you talking about? You're here, alive, and that's all that matters," she said, trying to smile.
But the girl's expression didn't change. She simply nodded, as if the answer didn't matter, and walked away. The idea of being "fairly" lingered in her mind, more real to her than the world around her.