A story about Jackson and Eunji, true lovers and soul mates spanning over multiple lifetimes.

We have been friends for eight years. I've been in love with you for three. It started slowly, so slowly that I didn't even notice. We should not even be friends, it is forbidden. Men and women are not supposed to be friends. It’s not just that you are a proper lady, but a proper princess as well and I am but a lowly servant boy. You have never seen it that way and for that I am glad. Every day I am thankful that you are the kind, precious person that you are. I like to think that being my friend has allowed you to remain that way and not succumb to the personality that most would expect of a princess. However, I do believe that even without me you would stay true to yourself, thinking it is because of me makes me feel better though.

It has taken three years for me to summon the courage to say how I feel. I have been waiting all this time to tell you, the right time. I took too long though because now your heart is taken by someone else. Of course he is much better for you than I and nothing could be worse. I wish it was me making you smile like that, laugh like that. If I had taken my chances I could have been where he is standing and that's what hurts the most. I loved you first. When I see you with him, it tears my whole world apart. I came so close to telling you, I really did. Now you will never know how I feel about you. It is most likely for the best that I didn’t tell you though. This way I won’t be rejected, instead I will simply be haunted by the ‘what if’s’ and that’s okay, it is because I still have you. We are still friends and I am grateful that we still have that.

* * * * * * * *

Jackson came to see me today. At first I thought that he had somehow found out how I feel about you and he had come to warn me away from you. He did not. I thank the good Lord that he did not because I am not positive if I could have done as he asked. I am tied to you; you are my everything even if I am not yours. He came to me to ask my opinion on how to ask for your hand in marriage. He has already received the kings blessing and so because he wants it to be perfect he asked me what would impress you enough to say yes to him. It broke my heart because I know that no matter what he does you will say yes and I will lose the slim chance that I did have. You are going to marry him and I will have the honour of standing by to watch my world become someone else’s.

The closest I have to your heart is your red ribbon sewn to my rags.

* * * * * * * *

I remember the day that I first met him like it was yesterday. Cliché? Yes, but no less true.

His laugh was what drew my attention to him. Laughter isn’t a sound often heard around here; normally the only sounds are those of shallow breathing and the occasional retch or coughing fit. It’s not a place that’s known for its happiness. He was sitting on the floor in front of one of the patients and at first I thought he was a visitor. I was on my way over to tell him that visitors were not supposed to be in here when I noticed the drip inserted into the back of his hand. I froze where I was. In all my time working here, never had I seen someone so… happy. The woman that he was sitting in front of had been here for six months and only had a slight chance of survival. That day was the first time I’d seen her smile since she was admitted. An hour later I saw him get up from the floor and make his way toward his spot. The woman had fallen asleep. I couldn’t help myself and I went to talk to him.

It had been a month since I met Jackson and I felt as though we’d known each other for forever but I knew that I’d never seen him before in my life. I would have remembered. He was so full of life, which is so unusual for someone in his situation. Maybe that’s why I became so attached to him. I found myself staying with him even after my shifts were long over. Out of nowhere he asked me why I talked to him so much. I told him that it was nice to be able to talk to somebody.

“Don’t you have anyone waiting for you at home to talk to?” Jackson had asked me in response.

And all of a sudden I had found myself telling him all about living alone and how much I hated it and that one of the reasons I liked going to work so much was because there were people there, human contact. I told him a lot about my life that night, I regret it in a way. If either of us had any right to complain about our lives, it wasn’t me. It didn’t bother him though, he listened intently to everything I said, something I hadn’t had in a long time.

* * * * * * * *

I knew it was bad the moment I saw him. It had been three months since I met him and it was the first time he showed that he was in pain. The end was close and we both knew it. He had weakly grabbed my hand in both of his.

“I don’t need this anymore. Keep it safe.”

His last words will stay with me.

“You’ll be okay.”

I finish tying his red ribbon into my hair and leave the locker room.

* * * * * * * *

He went to the army and was sent to war, it was the worst four years of both of our lives. The phone call I had been dreading since he left me, came in the middle of the night. All they knew was that there had been attack at the base. Most had been killed, some captured. He was one of those taken. My breath caught in my throat, fighting back tears. I asked them what was going to happen. They couldn’t tell me. It was classified. At the time I wished that they hadn’t called, that I didn’t know. The phone call had only succeeded in providing me with fear and more questions.

It had been a month since the call and I still hadn’t heard a thing. The news reporters only knew as much information as I; they had only brought me frustration until I stopped watching altogether. It was eight o’clock at night when, from my curled up position on the couch, I heard a knock at the door. I got up slowly, trying to make myself presentable for whoever had come to visit at this hour. The sight in front of me when I opened the door caused me to freeze.

Jackson was down on one knee, holding a ring out to me.

“Will you marry me?”

That’s all it took for me to drop onto my own knees and throw my arms around him. I felt his laugh more than heard it.

“Woah, ease up. The ribs are still healing.”

Just as quickly as I had hugged him I had let go, both of us standing up. I stepped back to look at him properly. His hair was longer and messier than it had been when he left. There were a number of scars, both new and old, on his face. His smile was still the same. A number of medals had been attached to his uniform; they had shone in the light spilling from inside the house. He was thinner, a lot thinner, than when he left but he was in one piece, alive and here.

He reached for my hand and slipped the ring onto my finger.

“I missed you so much.”

* * * * * * * *

Now, at eighty years of age, standing at his fresh grave I look back on our lives with not a single regret. Everything that happened did so for a reason. I am happy and content in the knowledge that I would have done nothing different if I had the choice.

I clutch the red ribbon holding his medals tighter as I leave.