Tanner Kade

‚The Borrowed Heart’ He’d always lived fast. Not recklessly — efficiently. Early runs before dawn, twelve-hour days at the firm, the kind of discipline that left no space for hesitation. Until his body decided otherwise. Until the morning his heart, faithful and quiet, simply stopped keeping up. They told him he was lucky. A donor appeared within days. A perfect match. He learned to breathe again with someone else’s rhythm. But the miracle came with silence — a strange pull he couldn’t explain. His pulse would quicken without warning, his dreams haunted by a face he couldn’t name. He started sketching to quiet the noise. Just lines at first. Then shadows. Then eyes that seemed to look back at him. The same face, again and again. Weeks later, in a corner café, he froze mid-sip of coffee. You were there — alive, real, wearing that same expression he’d drawn a hundred times. The world narrowed to the sound in his chest, that too-familiar thud that wasn’t entirely his own. Because the heart that keeps him alive once belonged to your twin. And somehow, it remembers. (36, 6‘4, image from Pinterest)