Chapter 3: Hollow Service

After lunch, we made our way back to the seminar room. There was an unease gnawing at me that I couldn't quite shake. The conversations, the moments, and the reality of this place all weighed heavier than I'd anticipated. As we found our seats, Jade leaned in slightly, her voice low and cautious.

"Just a heads up—time moves differently here. It's been nearly a week on Earth since the seminar started."

My heart stuttered. Nearly a week? The reality of those words slammed into me. My family, my body—no one had found me yet. But had anyone even noticed I was gone? I swallowed the fear that bubbled up, pushing it down deep. I didn't want to spoil whatever fragile connection Jade and I had just started to form.

I forced myself to focus on the seminar. The mentor at the podium exuded a calm authority, radiating something I envied. "Today, we'll discuss *hollow service*—the act of doing things for others without genuine love or passion behind them."

I barely registered the words at first, lost in my thoughts, but I noticed Jade stiffen beside me. Her body went rigid, her eyes narrowing as if the words had hit a raw nerve. She tried to mask it, but it was too late. I'd seen it. I wondered what part of that phrase cut into her so deeply.

The mentor's voice continued, soft but firm, "Many of us fall into this pattern, thinking we're helping others, but in reality, we're just fulfilling obligations without any real connection. It's easy to get lost in duties, to forget why we're doing them in the first place."

I glanced sideways at Jade, who was doing her best to keep her composure, but the tension was radiating off of her. Something about this idea—hollow service—had struck deep. I turned inward, trying to relate, but the truth was, I had never fully *served* anyone in my life. Not my family, not myself, and certainly not any cause. Every action I took had been filtered through self-preservation. Keep everyone at a distance. Don't let anyone too close. That's how you survive.

But then I looked at Jade again, and I could tell that this hit her harder than me. She had lived. She had achieved things. Yet, somehow, she was sitting here, next to me, struggling with the same kind of doubt. I wanted to reach out, say something to comfort her, but I stayed silent, the words stuck somewhere between my mind and my mouth.

The mentor wrapped up the lecture, and as the room buzzed with murmurs, I turned to Jade. I felt compelled to say something, to break the tension. "What do you think?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Her gaze met mine, and for a moment, the world outside of us disappeared. "I think we all have our reasons," she replied, her tone intense but distant. "But that doesn't mean we have to stay stuck."

The words hung in the air between us, and for a second, I saw something vulnerable behind her eyes—a shared frustration, a shared burden. I nodded, feeling a strange connection to her that I hadn't expected.

She studied me for a beat longer before asking, "Do you remember anything about your other lifetimes yet?"

I shook my head, wishing I had something profound to say. "No. Nothing. It's frustrating."

She leaned in slightly, her excitement evident. "In one of my favorite lifetimes, I was a scientist. I received a Nobel Prize in microbiology."

My curiosity piqued. "That's incredible! What did you discover?"

Her face lit up, a rare glimpse of pride in her smile. "I developed a vaccine that saved millions of lives. It was… it was my crowning achievement. There was nothing like the feeling of knowing I made such a huge impact."

"Wow," I breathed. "That must've been amazing."

But as much as her story fascinated me, my mind kept wandering back to Earth. To the state of my body. To whether anyone had found me yet. I couldn't focus, couldn't stay present. Desperate not to show my distress, I shifted the attention back to her. "So, what happened to you in that life?"

The light in her eyes dimmed. "I died climbing Everest alone," she said, her voice steady but soft. "That body was autistic. I always felt a bit isolated, even in my greatest moments. I did so many things alone in that life."

Her words hit me harder than I expected. I could only imagine the loneliness of climbing a mountain as vast and unforgiving as Everest. "That sounds… incredibly brave. But also lonely," I said, trying to imagine the weight of that isolation.

She nodded, her gaze thoughtful. "It was. But it taught me resilience, you know? In that life, I pushed myself to the absolute limit, trying to prove something to the world. Trying to prove that I didn't need anyone else."

There was a quiet sadness in her voice, and I could see a part of her still lived in that mountain, still carried the burden of that loneliness. But I stayed quiet, letting her continue.

"I had a partner in that life. His name was Beck. We were together, but…" She trailed off, shaking her head slightly. "It wasn't real. I didn't love him. It was performative, like checking off a box. He was there for my ashes after I died. But the truth is, I died before I ever made a real connection. I left that life full of achievements but hollow inside. My purpose was incomplete."

Her confession resonated with me. I'd spent my life hiding from real connections, too. I'd just done it in a quieter, more passive way—retreating inward, never letting anyone in.

I hesitated for a moment, then asked the question that had been nagging at me. "Do you think you've figured it out? What God wants from you?"

Jade's face softened, her expression thoughtful. "I think what God wants is for me to recognize that there's nothing missing. That everything I need is already inside me."

I raised an eyebrow. "But you think he's wrong?"

A mischievous smile curled on her lips. "Absolutely. If there's nothing missing, why do I keep coming back?"

I laughed softly. "You do keep volunteering to go back to Earth." The thought of her choosing to return again and again made me admire her resilience even more. "I'm really glad I met you, Jade. It's a shame it took dying for us to cross paths."

Her gaze softened, and a wave of bittersweet emotion washed over me. I wasn't used to feeling this way about anyone. "I wish I'd known you when I was alive," I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them. "I think you would've changed everything for me."

Jade smiled, but there was a trace of sadness behind it. "Maybe you weren't ready yet. Or maybe…" She trailed off, her gaze growing distant. "Maybe I was always meant to meet you here, in this place."

Her words lingered between us, heavy with meaning. I didn't know how to respond. For the first time in my life—or afterlife—I was beginning to understand what it meant to connect with someone, to truly *live*. But I wasn't sure if I was brave enough to embrace it, or if I'd just keep running, like I always had.

"I believe I haven't found what I'm looking for yet," Jade added softly. "There's something more out there for me. Something I haven't figured out yet."

"Maybe," I said, my voice barely audible. And for the first time in a long time, I felt the faint flicker of hope stir within me. Maybe Jade was right. Maybe we were meant to find something together, here in this strange in-between place. Or maybe we were both just searching for something we didn't know how to name yet.

But I was starting to think that, for once in my life, I might actually be willing to try.

The silence between us grew thick, laden with something neither of us was quite ready to acknowledge. I could feel the weight of Jade's gaze on me, but I couldn't bring myself to look away. There was a pull between us, something that went deeper than just surface attraction—something I didn't fully understand. And it terrified me.

I shifted in my seat, feeling the space between us tighten, even though we hadn't moved. "So… you really think there's nothing missing?" I asked, my voice a little shakier than I intended. "Like, nothing at all?"

Jade tilted her head, considering my question. "I don't know." She paused, her fingers playing absently with a strand of her hair. "Maybe that's just what we're supposed to believe. That we're whole. That everything we need is already within us. But honestly?" She leaned in, her voice dropping to a low murmur. "I don't feel whole. Not yet."

The intensity in her eyes sent a shiver down my spine, a spark of something between us that felt electric, alive. I swallowed hard, feeling the same pull that I'd been trying to ignore ever since we first sat down together. It was strange—this sense of connection, as if we were two magnets being drawn together by some invisible force. And yet, I couldn't explain it. I didn't even *want* to explain it. It just was.

I forced myself to break eye contact, needing to regain some semblance of control. "Maybe that's part of the lesson," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "To figure out what we're missing. Or maybe… we're supposed to learn that we're not supposed to *need* anything."

"Maybe," Jade agreed softly. But there was a trace of doubt in her voice, as if she wasn't quite buying it.

The room around us had long since emptied, the other seminar attendees filing out as the day came to a close. I hadn't noticed them leaving, too lost in whatever strange orbit Jade and I seemed to be caught in. But now, the quiet settled in, and it was just the two of us.

I wasn't ready for this to end.

"Do you…" I hesitated, unsure if I was even asking the right question. But I needed to know. "Do you ever get the feeling that, I don't know, we're supposed to… meet certain people in our lives? That maybe, no matter what, we end up crossing paths with them?"

Jade's eyes darkened, her expression unreadable for a moment. "I used to think that. That people come into your life for a reason, to teach you something, or to be a part of your story. But I'm not so sure anymore."

I blinked, surprised. "You're not?"

"No," she said quietly. "I think we meet people, we feel things, and sometimes those connections matter. Sometimes they don't. It's like…" She sighed, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "It's like the universe gives us choices. Who we let in, who we keep out… all of it shapes us. But it's never guaranteed that anyone stays."

Her words hit me hard, a pang of sadness lacing through the connection I felt with her. I didn't want to believe that. I didn't want to believe that this—*whatever this was*—could just fade away. And yet, deep down, I understood what she was saying. Nothing was permanent. No connection was guaranteed.

But still…

"I don't know," I murmured. "I feel like we were supposed to meet. Like…" I trailed off, not even sure how to put the thought into words. The intensity between us was undeniable, but it was confusing. We'd just met, and yet it felt like we'd known each other for far longer.

Jade didn't say anything, but her eyes lingered on me for a beat longer than I expected. Her gaze was soft, curious, as if she was trying to figure out what exactly was pulling us together. Then, just as quickly, she looked away, breaking the moment.

"We should probably get going," she said, her voice betraying none of the tension I was feeling. But I could see the reluctance in her. It mirrored my own.

"Yeah," I agreed, my heart sinking a little. "We probably should."

But neither of us moved.

The room felt too small suddenly, the air between us charged with something unsaid. I didn't want the day to end. I didn't want to be alone, left with only my thoughts and the swirling confusion about everything I was feeling. Being near Jade made it easier, even if it didn't make sense. Even if it made me feel more exposed than I'd ever allowed myself to be before.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Jade stood up. She stretched, her body lithe and graceful, and I found myself watching her, feeling the magnetic pull intensify. "I guess we'll pick up where we left off tomorrow," she said with a small smirk.

I stood as well, though my legs felt heavy, reluctant to carry me away from her. "Yeah, tomorrow."

We walked toward the exit together, side by side, but the silence between us was anything but comfortable. It was charged, simmering beneath the surface. Every step I took felt harder than the last, like my body was resisting the separation that was about to happen.

At the door, Jade hesitated, her hand resting on the frame. She glanced at me, her expression unreadable again. "You know," she said slowly, "you're not as hard to figure out as you think you are."

I raised an eyebrow, caught off guard. "Oh? And what's that supposed to mean?"

Her lips curled into a wicked smile, one that sent a shiver down my spine. "You're guarded. You think staying distant keeps you safe, but it doesn't. Not really."

I swallowed, feeling the truth of her words hit too close to home. "And you think you've got me all figured out?"

Jade stepped a little closer, her presence suddenly overwhelming in the confined space of the doorway. "I think you're a lot like me," she said softly. "And I think, just like me, you're afraid of what you might find if you let someone in."

My breath caught in my throat. There it was again—that pull, that connection that neither of us wanted to acknowledge but couldn't ignore. It was as if we were both teetering on the edge of something, something big, but neither of us was ready to take that final step.

I forced a laugh, trying to lighten the moment. "Maybe I am. But I'm still figuring it out."

Jade nodded, her eyes searching mine for something unspoken. "Aren't we all?"

We stood there for a moment longer, neither of us making a move to leave. The silence between us felt heavy, thick with everything we weren't saying. I could feel the pull again, stronger this time, like an invisible thread connecting us. I didn't want to walk away from her, not yet. Not ever, if I was being honest.

But I knew we had to.

"Goodnight, Tori," Jade finally said, her voice soft but firm.

"Goodnight," I echoed, reluctant to let the word leave my lips.

With one last lingering glance, she turned and walked away, her silhouette fading into the dim hallway. I stood there, watching her disappear, feeling a strange ache in my chest that I couldn't quite explain.

As I made my way back to my room, I couldn't help but wonder what this strange, inexplicable connection meant. Why did it feel so hard to walk away from her? Why did it feel like we were both searching for something we hadn't yet realized we'd found?

I lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, Jade's face hovering in my mind. There was something about her—something that made me feel alive, even in this place that was beyond life. And as I closed my eyes, I realized that I wasn't just afraid of letting her in.

I was afraid of what would happen if I didn't.