The last thing Noura Adhi remembered was the blinding white lights, the screech of tires on rain-slicked asphalt, and the peculiar, fleeting thought that she had forgotten to water her dying succulent.
Then—nothing.
Or rather, not quite nothing. There was warmth first, a golden, syrupy warmth that seeped into her bones. When she opened her eyes, she expected pain, cold, darkness. Instead, she found herself suspended in an endless sky of shifting colors—golds, blues, and purples weaving together like a living tapestry.
And standing before her was a figure bathed in light.
He was neither old nor young, neither man nor woman. His form shifted gently, like a candle flame in the breeze. His robes were woven from the stars themselves, and when he spoke, it was as though music had been given voice.
"Welcome, Noura Adhi," the figure said, his voice rich with sorrow and kindness. "You have reached the end of your first journey."
Noura blinked, instinctively touching her own face, her chest. There was no pain, no heartbeat. Only existence.
"Am I… dead?" she asked, her voice fragile.
The being nodded slowly. "Yes."
There was no bitterness, no anger. Only a profound sadness.
"You lived a life burdened by duty," the being continued, "sacrificing your dreams for practicality, your joy for survival. Even at the end, your thoughts were not of yourself, but of responsibilities unmet."
Noura's throat tightened. Images flickered through her mind—long nights bent over spreadsheets, missed birthdays, forgotten passions buried under deadlines.
"You deserved better," the being said softly.
Tears pricked her eyes. "It's too late, isn't it?"
"Maybe not," the being answered, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "I am allowed, on rare occasions, to offer a soul a second chance—when their first life was stolen by obligations rather than fulfilled by dreams."
Noura stared at him, heart pounding even though she no longer had one. "A second… life?"
"Yes. In a different world. A place where your past burdens cannot chain you." He tilted his head, studying her. "You will retain your memories—your experiences, your lessons—but you will be given a new body. A younger one."
"How… younger?"
"Twenty-two," the being said. "The age when your heart was still half full of dreams."
Noura almost laughed—a cracked, shaky sound. "And… what would I do there?"
"Anything you choose," the being said simply. "But I believe you already know what your heart yearns for."
The memory of her childhood kitchen, the battered cookbook, the hours spent trying (and often failing) to recreate her grandmother's recipes—they all surged up within her.
"Cooking," she whispered.
The being's smile deepened. "Then cook."
With a wave of his hand, a leather satchel appeared before her. It hovered in the air, glowing faintly.
"This," he said, "will be your companion."
Noura reached out, her fingers brushing against the supple leather. Instantly, warmth bloomed up her arm.
"Inside," the being continued, "are tools crafted by divine hands—a set of knives that will never dull, pans that heat perfectly without flame, a mortar and pestle that understand the essence of every spice."
He paused, his gaze softening.
"And something else."
The satchel shifted, and from its depths emerged a book—old, worn, but lovingly bound.
Noura gasped. She recognized the cover immediately.
"My grandmother's cookbook," she breathed. "But… it was lost… years ago…"
"It was never truly lost," the being said. "Her spirit wished it returned to you, when the time was right. It contains not only her recipes, but new ones—inspired by the world you are about to enter."
Noura clutched the satchel to her chest, tears streaming freely now. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you so much."
The being bowed his head. "Live fully, Noura Adhi. Taste the world. Savor your days."
The colors around her began to swirl faster, a vortex pulling at her.
"Wait—!" she cried. "What kind of world is it?"
The being's voice, already fading, echoed with laughter and mystery.
"One where even the smallest flame can set the skies ablaze."
And then she was falling—spinning through light and shadow, warmth and chill, fear and hope.
When she woke, it was to the earthy scent of damp grass and the gentle warmth of sunlight on her face.
She sat up, blinking rapidly.
She was in a meadow, ringed by towering trees whose leaves shimmered in strange hues—emerald green tinged with gold, deep indigo veined with silver. The sky above was bluer than any sky she had ever seen, studded with two suns.
"Definitely not Earth," she muttered.
Her hands looked… different. Slimmer, younger. No calluses from years of typing, no ink stains from last-minute report edits. She pulled out a lock of hair and found it shinier, healthier.
Tentatively, she opened the satchel.
The divine knives gleamed, each one perfectly balanced. The pans nested neatly together, impossibly light but sturdy. The mortar and pestle gave off a faint hum, almost as if recognizing her touch.
And the cookbook—she cradled it like a holy relic.
On the first page, in careful, looping script, was a message:
*To my dearest Noura,
May your hands never tire, your heart never harden, and your spirit never hunger for anything but joy.*
—Grandma Amara
Noura pressed the book to her lips, breathing in the familiar scent of old paper and cinnamon.
A noise startled her—the rustle of leaves, the snap of a twig. She scrambled to her feet, tucking the satchel over her shoulder.
From the treeline emerged a creature—small, curious, with big golden eyes and ears that twitched like rabbit ears. It was… vaguely cat-like? Maybe?
It chirped at her, tilting its head.
"Hello," Noura said cautiously. "I'm… new."
The creature chirped again and, after a moment's hesitation, padded up to her, sniffing at her satchel. It gave a pleased purr and nuzzled her leg.
Noura laughed—a real, free laugh she hadn't heard from herself in years.
"I guess that means you approve," she said.
Somewhere in the distance, a village bell chimed.
Noura squared her shoulders, heart pounding with a heady mix of terror and excitement.
A new world.
A new life.
And this time, she would live it on her own terms.
She took her first step toward the village, toward the unknown, the satchel thumping reassuringly against her side.
Her heart whispered the promise she had never dared make before:
This time, I'll follow my dream.
And so began Noura Adhi's second life—a life not defined by duty or deadlines, but by flavor, discovery, and the untamed joy of a world where anything was possible.