Dear Future Self Letter

On the day of the wedding, Galen Shaw forces me to crack walnuts with my bare hands for his so-called female buddy. My expression goes cold, and I refuse outright. "My hands are for holding a scalpel, not cracking walnuts for her!" He only chuckles and orders someone to hold me down. Then, he glues the walnuts to my palms himself. One by one, he slams them against the ground. "You cheated while studying medicine. Now that you've married me, forget about ever being a doctor again!" I grit my teeth through the pain. My fingers are aching, but I try to explain. "I went abroad to study medicine for you!" His so-called female buddy sneers in a shrill voice. "All that talk about the Shaw family's hereditary disease is nonsense! Galen has been perfectly healthy for over 20 years. Don't tell me you just want another excuse to cozy up with your precious senior?" The moment those words leave her lips, the faint thought of having someone bandage my hand disappears. A shadow crosses Galen's face. "Looks like you haven't learned your lesson!" He throws me into the basement and locks me there for three days. By the time I crawl out, my hands are completely ruined. Later, when Galen's hereditary disease finally surfaces, the doctor tries to comfort him. "This disease may be terminal, but there is still a way. Dr. Robinson has just returned from overseas. She's the only one in the world who can perform this surgery. "I hear that she's your wife."

Noah, the rich young master had the best looks everyone admired. However, he didn't care about that. He lived like a mess which was a waste of everything he had received so far. His life was neither particularly bad nor particularly perfect. He just let his life flow as things occurred. He didn't love himself. That's the truth! That's why he was killed by his partner. Without any concerns, he got together with a man named William. And ended up getting sacrificed for his greed. Yet, he got another chance. Realizing, he was reborn, he didn't want to live that same tasteless life anymore. As a new start, he decided to study abroad. While he was there, he met the boy named Michel who ended up stealing his heart. For his heart which had no place for love and trust, Michel was the antidote. Regardless, there was no end to the strange things which kept happening to them from time to time. Experiencing a lot of things other people would never be able to, they finally found their happiness. Two souls that carried their regrets over two lifetimes, finally found their peace.

After getting reborn, the first thing Holly Webster does is to spend five billion dollars on an island that's completely alienated from the rest of the world. The employee in charge of the procedures is flabbergasted, to say the least. After all, the particular island isn't well-known on the world map at all. Not only do people not know about its existence, but it's also excluded from the rest of the world. Not even the GPS navigation can form a route leading to it. "Are you sure you want to buy this island, Ms. Webster? If you choose to move onto this island and live there, it'll be difficult for you to keep in touch with the outside world." Holly nods immediately, her tone taking on a relieved edge. "That's exactly what I want. I don't want anyone to get in contact with me."

Arabella worked hard and was killed now in order to come back she must live lives to save other realms

In the coastal quiet of Baler, a studio is born—not of architecture, but of intention.* Founded by Yam, a poet whose words cradle pain gently, and Franc, an artist who paints tenderness into walls, the studio becomes a refuge for those learning to stay—with grief, love, longing, and themselves. As visitors arrive, they leave behind more than footprints: a sigh recorded in bamboo, a poem tucked into the “Found Letters” shelf, a mural painted in crooked lines. Through zines, tea, silence, and sketchbooks, the studio teaches softness as revolution. Ren creates the *Window of Soft Returns*, an installation of anonymous voice recordings—each whisper forming a community of echoes. Drew builds the *Staircase With No Wrong Turns*, inviting people to walk through emotions without shame. Franc offers brushstrokes as brave work, and Yam curates writing circles that map healing in half sentences. Together, they host festivals that feel like hugs, and they begin traveling their archive, letting softness cross oceans. Even those who once left—like Miguel—return, discovering that some doors never truly close. Others, like Tala, capture the studio’s sound and turn it into a podcast of breath and becoming. Over seventy chapters, the studio transforms into something larger than itself: a mural of memory, a sanctuary for second chances, a place where return is sacred and voice is proof of survival. In the final bloom, the studio stands not as a monument—but as a reminder: > *“Staying isn’t easy. > But chosen together, > it becomes home.”*

Phoebe Lynx Villanueva is a kind hearted girl who's been in love with Keyden Sebastian Fuentes for five years. She's pretty and can have any man that she wants but she knows that Keyden is an exemption. Keyden is in love with her best friend Charity and she knows that. She also knew that Charity has feelings for Keyden. She's the antagonist of her own story and when their parents decide to fix the marriage between her and Keyden, she knows that she has to do something. Being Keyden's wife is like a dream come true but how can she do it when the man she loves is in love with somebody else who happened to be her best friend? Now, she made her choice. She will help Keyden court her best friend in exchange that he will marry her. She knew that it's a desperate move but if being this selfless is the only way for Keyden and Charity to be happy, then so be it.

"I will be your mistress, Adrian. Just let my family live." Adrian lifted his glass of wine. A faint smile curved his lips. "I thought they would send me the adopted daughter," he said, "I didn't expect you." "Everyone said your brother spoiled you like a princess. Turns out that was just a joke." The tip of the pen paused, stabbing a small blot of ink onto the paper. I signed my name, calm to the point of silence. The contract would take effect in three days. Then, I would cut all ties with the Willis name. I traded myself for the survival of the Willis family and my own permanent release.

To help my surgeon husband with his erectile dysfunction, I made an appointment with an expert six months in advance. But as the day approached, Isiah Coleman canceled it without explanation. Just as I was about to call him to demand answers, I spotted a post from his female friend on her social media. My usually stoic husband was beaming as he wrapped his arms around her. The caption read: [Only I can cure your illness.] What struck me, though, was the telltale bulge in his pants in the photo—a reaction I'd never seen from him with me. With a cold laugh, I liked the post and left a comment: [What a miracle worker!] The post exploded, with everyone speculating whether I'd confront the mistress. But what awaited him after the holiday was our freshly printed divorce certificate.

A girl trying to survive the cruelty of the world and a man looking for peace and purpose. They are bound to meet and fulfill the promise they made from their past life; that they will cross different lifetimes to find each other until their love find its way home. A brave soldier and an extraordinary girl lived a chaotic love story in the middle of a war. An activist and a doctor, a love that rose between the pavements amidst the Martial Law. And a story of a boy and a girl who's trying to look for a reason to survive and hold on to their lives. Three different stories in three different lifetimes of the same people who chose to love and chase it until they're finally home.

My boyfriend, Jacob Torrance, claimed he hated being touched. Five years together, and all I got were stiff hand-holds and the rare side-hug. Even in bed, he kept his distance. I figured he was just emotionally shut off. Then he dropped this: he wanted a kid—with his mentor's daughter. "Take it as a sperm donation," he said. "Dr. Lynn asked me before he died. Wendy's got no one else." I smiled. "You don't have to explain. I support you." When you're over someone, there's no point fighting about what's right or wrong.