We thought she was just tired.
It was a rare warm fall afternoon, and the neighborhood kids were playing with puppies on the lawn. While others laughed and played, Mira sat quietly, holding a marker but not drawing—just watching the puppies, as if listening to something only she could hear.
Then she looked up and said, “They picked who’s staying.” She pointed to a puppy beside her. “That one. He remembers the house—even though he wasn’t here last time.”
When asked what she meant, she calmly explained the puppy had lived there “last time,” and began describing things no one had told her: a swing set that used to be there, and a girl named Clara who sang while he napped.
Mrs. Patel, who owned the puppies, turned pale. Clara had been her daughter, who passed away five years earlier. Mira’s words struck everyone silent.
In the days that followed, Mira became known for her strange, quiet wisdom. People came with questions, and she offered small insights that left them moved. One man asked about his missing granddaughter. Mira hadn’t seen her but said she was “still waiting… at the lake.”
At another puppy gathering, a woman named Rachel appeared. She had known Clara long ago. Mira quietly told her, “Clara knows you’re here.” Moments later, a puppy ran into Rachel’s arms—as if waiting for her all along.
What Mira taught us wasn’t just about spirits or past lives—it was about unseen connections, love, and memory. Sometimes, the most powerful truths come from children, animals, or a quiet moment. And those are the ones worth listening to.