They say reincarnation is easy.
You get to keep your memories. You know what happens in the future. You get a second chance with an advantage.
That's what it sounds like, at least.
What they don't tell you is how hard it is to live in a body you're not used to.
As a baby, I couldn't talk and could barely crawl without getting unbelievably tired. Even lifting my arms or holding my head up took effort. Everything felt heavier than it should have.
I probably could have forced myself to grow faster than a normal baby if I really wanted to.
But I didn't.
Instead, I focused on my memory.
I still had the memories of my past life, but they felt locked away in some part of my brain I couldn't fully access yet. I knew things were there—my old family, old friends, where I used to live—but recalling them took effort. More than I expected.
And if there was one thing I wanted to remember, it was why I was reborn in the first place.
Into my own past, no less.
Wasn't I supposed to end up in some fantasy world or something?
Instead, I got this.
A weak body. Slower thoughts. Senses that overloaded way too easily.
I think a lot of it had to do with being an infant. My thoughts weren't gone, just delayed—like everything had to pass through something before I could understand it. Even recognition took effort. Sometimes I'd look at my parents and need an extra second to remember which one was which.
And my senses were terrible.
When my parents fought, it felt like my eardrums were going to burst. When they tried taking pictures of me, they'd use the flashlight on their phones.
It was blinding.
I was basically getting flash-banged for a picture.
...Anyway.
Back to the problem.
Since recalling things was so difficult, I did what anyone would do.
I read.
I had to wait until I was around two or three years old before that was even possible. That was when memory actually starts working properly, and when my parents weren't watching me every second.
Whenever they were busy—or not looking—I'd grab a book and use it to train my memory.
It turned out there were a lot of words I'd forgotten. At first, reading was slow. I understood what I was looking at, but not fast enough to keep up with it. Most words came back if I focused long enough, but some I had completely lost and had to relearn.
It was frustrating.
I'd already lived a full life before this. I should've known everything. Instead, I had to rebuild it piece by piece.
Still, the more I read, the easier it got. My recognition improved. My memory improved. Everything started clicking again.
It just took time.
Now, it's the present.
I'm five years old, and reading feels natural again. Words come without hesitation, and I don't have to stop and think just to understand them. My memory isn't perfect, but it's close enough to function like a normal adult's.
There's still one thing I can't remember, though.
Why was I reborn?
What happened before it?
Who ■■■■■■ my ■■■■■■■?
I think my parents noticed something off about me early on.
Not in a bad way.
Just... different.
When my older sister, Melanie, turned five, they enrolled her in kindergarten.
With me, they skipped it entirely.
I went straight to first grade.
Today was the first day of school.
Since I still had to act like a five-year-old, I stayed close to Melanie until she showed me where my classroom was. She was in third grade, on the opposite side of the school, so we wouldn't be seeing each other much during the day.
Inside the classroom, the desks were lined up against the walls. Instead of using them, the teacher had us sit on the floor in a big circle.
After the bell rang, she introduced herself, and we did a simple icebreaker—name and favorite food. I kept mine short.
"I'm ■■■■■■, but my family calls me ■■■■■, and I like mac and cheese."
That was enough.
After that, we got fifteen minutes of free time.
Most of the class immediately started talking, running around, or grouping up with whoever they clicked with first.
I used that time to observe.
There were thirteen boys and seventeen girls. Most of them spoke without thinking. Some talked too much, others barely at all, and a few already had their groups figured out.
It didn't take long to decide who I wanted to approach.
George and Leo.
George stood out immediately. Even at this age, he already had a solid, athletic build and carried himself like he was ready to move at any second. His short hair, loud voice, and constant energy made him hard to ignore. He looked like the kind of person who would act first and think later.
Leo was the opposite. Leaner, quieter, and more reserved, he stayed just a step behind George. His messy hair and slightly distant expression made him seem like he was always thinking about something else. But unlike George, he paid attention.
He noticed me watching them first.
"Hey," he said, nudging George, "he's been staring at us."
George turned immediately.
"Hey! What's your problem?"
"Sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to stare. I just... didn't know how to talk to you guys."
"So?" George said. "Why would you want to talk to us?"
"I... wanted to be friends with you guys."
"Oh."
George pulled Leo to the side and tried to whisper, but I heard everything anyway.
"What should we do?"
"It doesn't look like he has friends... I think we should."
They turned back to me.
George shrugged. "Okay. What's your name?"
"■■■■■."
Right as I answered, we were told it was time for lunch.
I went with them. On the way, we stopped outside another classroom. They wouldn't explain why, but I didn't push it.
After a minute, a girl our age came out and started talking to them like they'd known each other forever.
"■■■■■, this is Melanie. Melanie, this is ■■■■■."
"Melanie? That's the same name as my sister."
"..."
She was shy.
Really shy.
Before I was introduced, she spoke normally. But once she had to talk to me, she froze. It didn't feel like she didn't want to talk—more like she didn't know how.
We got lunch, and she chose where to sit—a table in the far back corner, away from most of the other students.
So she avoids people.
That must be it.
I got there last, which meant I had to sit next to her. She tensed slightly when I sat down, but didn't say anything.
George immediately started talking.
"Hey, ■■■■■, do you play sports?"
"No. I mostly read at home."
I noticed her react to that. Just a little.
"No way! That's so boring! You and Mel are kind of alike though—she reads too."
So they call her Mel.
"Really? What kinds of books do you like to read, Mel?"
"..."
Leo apologized for her being quiet. I told him I didn't mind.
George kept going.
"You read that one book, right? What's it called... Harry Pooper?"
He looked way too proud of that.
"Harry Potter," she snapped.
And after that, she didn't stop talking.
She went on about the story, the characters, everything—correcting George the whole time. It was like she forgot I was even there.
I didn't interrupt.
There wasn't a reason to.
When the bell rang, we went back to class.
After school, I met up with my sister. Our house was about a fifteen-minute walk away, so we walked home together.
She asked the usual questions.
"How was school? Did you make friends? Was the work hard?"
I answered all of them honestly.
I don't really see her as an older sister now, even though this is technically my second life with her. In my past life, I was much older than she is now.
I know that much.
I just don't know how much older.
I can't even remember my own age.
When we got home, only Mom was there. Dad was probably still at work.
She asked the same questions. I gave the same answers.
After talking for a bit, I went to my room.
And started writing this.
The story of my new life.
So...
Here I am.