A Soul Shared
When two daughters, identical in every way, entered the world, it was no surprise—yet in the hospital, Marina still felt a flicker of fear. The nurses brought the twins to her for feeding, leaving them in the quiet of the ward.
“How will I tell them apart?” she wondered. “Knowing twins were coming was one thing, but here they are—my beautiful girls, two reflections of the same light.”
Yet Marina soon learned to distinguish them by signs only she could see, while everyone else remained baffled.
Daisy and Maisie grew up inseparable, sharing every step from nursery to school. By their teens, they’d heard the old tales—how the Greeks believed twins were touched by the gods, how the stars themselves bore their names. They whispered of the myth: twins share one soul, thinking as one.
And it was true. If Daisy fell ill, Maisie followed. They stumbled into mirrored mishaps, their faces so alike even habits couldn’t set them apart. They fancied the same boys, dreamed the same dreams.
Graduation loomed, and both excelled, set for university—until the New Year, when Maisie collapsed. A fever, then worse. Daisy waited for her own body to rebel, but nothing came. Doctors took Maisie, ran tests, and delivered their verdict: a cruel blood disease, advanced beyond hope.
“You should have come sooner,” they said, though who would, without symptoms?
Maisie faded over six months, gone by spring. Daisy, in class when it happened, felt her chest split open—heart thrashing, ribs too small to hold it. She nearly fainted.
Her parents feared for her. Would she wither without her other half? Daisy waited to fall sick too, but tests showed nothing. The house ached with silence.
“Why her?” Daisy asked the air. “Why not me? It’s like part of me is missing.”
Her mother fretted. “Love, your exams—you must pass. Do it for yourself, and for her.” Daisy nodded, clenched her fists, and aced them.
Then, one evening: “Mum, I’m going to medical school. I want to fight these cursed illnesses.”
Her mother held her. “We’ll help you, darling. However we can.”
Time dulled the grief, but Daisy missed Maisie fiercely. No one understood her like that.
“Mum,” she said once, “life’s split into ‘before’ and ‘after.’” Her mother knew—she felt it too.
Years passed. Daisy, nearly a doctor, met Timothy. For the first time since Maisie, she smiled without forcing it. Love pulsed through her, bright and alive.
Three months in, she dreamed of Maisie—waving, pointing somewhere. A first since the funeral.
“I’ll visit her grave,” Daisy decided at dawn. “Then light a candle at church.” Her mother agreed.
On her way to lectures, she called Timothy. They’d planned to meet after class.
“Tim, I’m stopping by the cemetery first. I need to.”
“Alright, Dais. If you need to, you need to. Love you.”
Classes ended early. Daisy hurried to the grave, then church, relief settling. Plenty of time left—she’d surprise Timothy at home.
But his door was unlocked. Inside, she froze. Timothy, tangled with another woman. All three stared.
“Daisy?!” He leapt up.
“I never want to see you again.” She fled.
Easier said than endured. Yet later, calmer, she thought: “Better now than after vows.”
Timothy begged forgiveness at her door.
“I don’t believe you. Go. You sicken me.”
He vanished—until friends called. “Daisy, Tim borrowed money in your name. Said you’d repay it.”
She paid, spite bitter on her tongue. Then she remembered the dream—Maisie’s warning hand. Had she been steering her clear?
The thought stayed. Maisie was near, always.
Years later, Dr. Daisy rushed to her night shift, leaving early to beat traffic. Midway, her Ford sputtered, died.
“Brilliant,” she muttered, popping the bonnet, though she knew nothing of engines. “What’s wrong, old girl? You just had a check-up.”
She tried again. The engine roared to life.
“Good lass!” she laughed, driving on—until a jam slowed her. Past it, a wreck: four cars mangled.
“God… that could’ve been me.”
At the hospital, a weeping nurse met her. “My brother—he died in that crash.”
Daisy hugged her, cold with realization. “Maisie stopped me. She saved me.”
The garage found nothing wrong with the car. Daisy knew.
She lit candles often, thanking Maisie. One day, a friend called: “Fancy coffee by the fountain?”
Daisy agreed. Driving over, she parked, stepped toward the crossing—when her bracelet snapped, beads scattering.
“Maisie’s bracelet!” She bent to gather them—then a screech, a crash. A car plowed into pedestrians.
She trembled. That could’ve been her.
Later, over coffee, her friend hugged her tight. “What a world, eh?”
At home, Daisy glimpsed Maisie’s photo. The bracelet, the car, the crossing—all her.
“Still with me.”
She wasn’t superstitious, kept Maisie’s trinkets in a box. Others might discard the dead’s belongings, but not her. Maisie lived in her soul.
One soul, shared. Daisy felt it, always. She lived for two now.
