In the midst of a disaster, where medical facilities were limited and time the greatest enemy, the combined expertise of two souls in one body—Stefanus Urip Mulio and Lim Gabriel—became an invaluable blessing.
Stefanus Urip Mulio, in his past life, had been a general practitioner with a strong interest in surgery. His hands were trained to cut swiftly yet cleanly, and he was quick in making critical decisions under pressure. He had once fought to save lives in the emergency room of a regional hospital on the island of Java, routinely stitching deep wounds, removing damaged tissue, and even performing emergency laparotomies when no specialists were around.
Meanwhile, Lim Gabriel—though only a final-year medical student and not yet officially graduated—had completed most of his clinical rotations. He had shown deep interest in obstetrics and gynecology. His grades in ob-gyn were nearly perfect. He possessed a gentle, empathetic instinct, a light touch in assisting childbirth, and a calmness in the midst of blood and cries that gave patients a sense of safety.
Now, Gabriel's body carried the strengths of both—Urip's precision and speed blended seamlessly with Gabriel's empathy and meticulousness.
On the fourth day at the disaster site, a young woman was brought in with severe abdominal pain, pallor, and rapidly dropping blood pressure. Five months pregnant, and she had been crushed by debris.
Urip recognized it immediately: a likely uterine rupture. There was no time for evacuation to a major hospital.
"We have to do field surgery," he said firmly to Dr. Han. "We don't have enough blood or complete equipment, but if we wait to transfer her, she'll die."
Dr. Han studied him intently, then nodded. "Are you sure you can do this?"
Urip looked at the patient. Inside him, Gabriel's voice echoed: "I know pelvic anatomy. I know what this is."
"Yes, Doctor. I can."
Using makeshift tools, assisted by one senior doctor and a headlamp tied to a bamboo pole, Urip opened the patient's abdomen. A torn uterus was quickly revealed. Massive bleeding. He stitched the rupture with Urip's precision—calm, fast, without hesitation—while his mind trembled with prayers and mental images from Gabriel's ob-gyn textbooks.
Two hours later, the mother survived. The fetus couldn't be saved, but the woman lived.
In the next tent, a male patient arrived with a deep chest laceration from fallen metal roofing. A rib protruded, and his breathing was labored. Urip didn't wait for orders. It was an open thoracic trauma—one of his old specialties. With an empty plastic water bottle and IV tubing, he fashioned a makeshift chest drain, then sutured the wound as cleanly as possible.
His fellow medical students watched in awe. A young intern—with youthful hands but seasoned technique, with empathy shining in his eyes and voice—moved like a veteran. Dr. Han simply nodded silently, his curiosity deepening: Who exactly is Lim Gabriel?
But later that night, under the dim candlelight and the warm tropical breeze of Thailand, Urip simply looked at his own hands.
Two souls. One body. And for the first time, they were not in conflict—but instead, perfectly in sync.
"Thanks, Gaby," Urip whispered to himself, washing his hands still smelling of blood and antiseptic. "I died before I could be useful to others. But now, through you, I can redeem that…"
The night air at the emergency camp turned cold. The smell of metal, mud, and smoke still lingered. But inside Urip, there was a strange warmth—not because he had saved a life, but because, for the first time since being reborn, he felt… right being here.
From a distance, Dr. Han watched in silence. He squinted, then turned to a senior general surgeon accompanying them.
"Lim Gabriel… he's changed a lot, hasn't he?" he whispered.
The surgeon, a middle-aged man with dark skin and a solid build, nodded while lighting a cigarette in the corner of the field kitchen.
"More than changed. His sutures today? Incredibly neat. Like he's held a scalpel hundreds of times," he muttered, half in disbelief. "This afternoon, he made a chest tube with just scraps. Who taught him that?"
Dr. Han slowly shook his head. "Before this, he was smart, yes. But never this brave or composed. Especially not in a situation like this."
"Doesn't feel like a kid," said the surgeon. "Feels like there's an old man in that body."
Dr. Han was silent. His eyes returned to Lim Gabriel—now sitting on a wooden bench, wiping his face with a towel, then giving a small smile as a refugee child handed him a juice box.
That smile… felt strange. As if it didn't belong to a 22-year-old. But to someone who had lived far longer—and now lived again, carrying something that logic could never explain.
A light drizzle fell as Rachel stepped out of the now-quiet campus. Her hand clutched her backpack, her mind swirling with tomorrow's exam material. She noticed the warm light from a 24-hour convenience store not far from the main road.
"Need coffee… gonna be up late studying," she murmured, walking to the door.
Inside the store, it was quiet. Shelves full of drinks, snacks, and necessities. Rachel moved quickly to the instant hot drinks section, her fingers carefully selecting.
"Hmm, this one. Vanilla latte… sounds nice," she said, picking a sachet and walking to the cashier.
Behind her, footsteps approached. Rachel glanced back briefly, seeing a young man absorbed in his phone—nothing that made her feel scared or cautious.
"Late night studying too?" the guy asked casually.
Rachel gave a faint smile. "Yeah, big exam tomorrow."
He nodded. "Me too. I'm Jihoon."
Rachel took the bag from the cashier. "Rachel. Hope we both pass."
Jihoon smiled. "Good luck! Don't forget to rest too."
Rachel replied, "Thanks."
Outside, the rain had eased. Rachel's steps felt lighter, her heart a little warmer despite the night's chill.
Rachel sighed softly as she left the convenience store. The clock had passed midnight. Her left hand clutched a plastic bag with instant coffee and biscuits. The big pathology exam was just two days away, and she hadn't even touched half the material.
The main road was well-lit but longer. "Shortcut through the alley," she thought. She had used it many times. Always safe.
But tonight… was different.
Her footsteps echoed along damp, narrow walls. The stench of alcohol and cigarettes lingered. At the second corner, harsh voices rang out.
"Hey there, pretty." One man appeared from behind a stack of boxes. His clothes filthy, eyes bloodshot. Another appeared behind her, blocking the exit.
Rachel's heart jumped. "Excuse me," she said, nervously trying to walk straight. But they closed in, trapping her.
"Been watching you from the store."
"Alone? This late? Pretty bold."
"I just want to go home," she whispered.
A rough hand grabbed her arm. She pushed it away. "Don't touch me!"
But they came closer. One grabbed her backpack and yanked. She fell, hitting the wall.
"Don't—!!!"
Their hands pulled at her jacket. Buttons popped open. Rachel screamed, but her voice was swallowed by the narrow alley. Her hands clawed, thrashed. One pinned her wrists above her head.
Her clothes were torn. Her shoulder and bra exposed.
Rachel sobbed, terrified. Her body trembled.
"Please… stop," her voice barely audible.
They laughed quietly, pressing down on her. One already had his pants half down.
Rachel felt cold, disgusted, furious, afraid. She wanted to faint, nearly naked.
She whimpered. Her eyes stared at the dark sky, praying for a miracle from stars she couldn't even see that night.
But no one was there.
The alley was silent. Empty. And hell crept ever closer.
—