Two Halves of One Soul
When the family welcomed two identical daughters, though it wasn’t a surprise, Emily still felt a flicker of fear in the hospital. The twins were brought in for feeding and left with her in the ward.
“How will I tell them apart?” she wondered. “Knowing twins were coming was one thing, but seeing them—my own girls, so perfectly alike—was another.”
Yet Emily soon learned to distinguish her daughters by subtle signs only she noticed. Everyone else mixed them up.
Lily and Daisy grew up inseparable, attending nursery and school together. By their teens, they’d heard countless legends about twins—how the ancient Greeks believed them to be children of the gods, how the constellation Gemini bore their name. It was said twins shared one soul, thinking as one.
And it seemed true. When Lily fell ill, Daisy soon followed. They often found themselves in similar scrapes, and their uncanny resemblance meant even friends confused them. Their tastes aligned too, even fancying the same boys.
As they neared graduation, both excelled in school and planned for university. But during the Christmas holidays, Daisy suddenly fell terribly ill. Lily waited to feel sick herself, but the days passed, and Daisy bore it alone. Their parents rushed her to hospital, where doctors delivered grim news—a severe blood disorder.
“You should’ve come sooner,” they said, though admitted, “Without symptoms, who would?”
Daisy fought for six months but passed that spring. Lily, at school that day, felt a searing pain in her chest the moment her sister died—her heart hammered as if trying to escape. She nearly fainted.
Her parents feared for Lily, dreading she wouldn’t survive the loss. Lily herself braced to fall ill like Daisy. A frantic hospital check-up revealed nothing—she was healthy.
The family grieved deeply. Lily wrestled with guilt.
“Why her? Why not me?” she wondered. “It’s like part of me is gone.”
Her mother urged her forward.
“Love, your A-levels are coming. Do well—for yourself and for Daisy.” Lily nodded, steadied herself, and aced her exams.
Amid the sorrow, Lily found clarity.
“Mum, I’ve decided—I’m studying medicine. I want to fight these wretched diseases.”
Her parents embraced her. “We’ll support you, darling.”
Time dulled the pain, but Lily missed Daisy terribly. No one understood her like her twin.
“Mum, it’s like my life split into ‘before’ and ‘after,’” she confessed. Her mother understood—she felt it too.
Years passed. Nearing graduation, Lily met James, and for the first time in years, her smile reached her eyes. Love breathed new life into her.
Three months in, Daisy appeared in a dream, waving as if pointing somewhere. Lily woke puzzled—it was the first time her sister had visited her dreams.
“I should visit her grave,” she thought, then decided to stop by the church. Her mother agreed.
On her way to uni, she called James. They’d planned to meet after her lectures.
“James, I need to visit the cemetery first. I’ll come after.”
“Of course, love. Take your time,” he replied.
Her last lectures were cancelled. Pleased, she headed to the graves early, then to church. James would be surprised—he had the day off.
But his flat door was unlocked. She stepped inside—and froze. James was with another woman. All three stared in shock.
“Lily?!” he jumped up.
“I never want to see you again,” she spat, fleeing.
Easier said than endured. But as the hurt faded, she reasoned, “Better now than after vows.”
James begged forgiveness, but Lily was firm.
“Never. You disgust me.”
He vanished, but word reached her later.
“Lily, James borrowed money in your name,” a friend revealed.
Her stomach dropped—but the friend was married, trustworthy. Lily repaid the debt, shaking her head at his cruelty. Yet it confirmed she’d dodged disaster.
Then she remembered Daisy’s dream—her sister pointing, warning. Had she steered Lily clear of James? The thought settled in her: Daisy was still with her.
Years later, Dr. Lily worked hospital night shifts. Leaving early to beat traffic, her car stalled midway.
“Brilliant,” she muttered, popping the bonnet despite knowing little about engines. “What’s wrong, old girl? You just had an MOT.”
After a failed restart, she sighed—then, miraculously, the engine roared to life.
“Good lass!” she laughed.
Ahead, traffic crawled past a horrific crash—four cars mangled. It could’ve been her.
At the hospital, a tearful nurse clutched her arm.
“My brother… he died in that crash.”
Lily froze. “I saw it. I’m so sorry.”
Changing into scrubs, realization struck: Daisy had stalled her car, saving her life.
Post-shift, mechanics found no issues. “Car’s tip-top,” they said.
Lily knew—Daisy had intervened.
Weeks later, meeting a friend at a café, she parked across from a fountain. As she stepped toward the crossing, her bracelet—Daisy’s—snapped, beads scattering.
“Blast,” she bent to gather them—when a screech and sickening thud echoed. A car had ploughed into pedestrians. She’d have been among them.
Her friend hugged her tightly. “Thank God you’re safe.”
At home, Lily eyed Daisy’s photo on the dresser. That bracelet, that stall—her sister’s hand guiding her.
She wasn’t superstitious. She kept Daisy’s trinkets in a box, unlike those who purged such reminders. To her, they weren’t just objects—they were fragments of the soul she’d shared with Daisy.
Lily lived for them both now. And somehow, Daisy lived on through her.
