In a quaint, sunlit café tucked away on a cobblestone street, Marianne sat by a window adorned with a cascade of ivy, her heart drumming a rhythm of anticipation that felt as ancient as time itself. The café, with its rustic charm and walls lined with books and vintage photographs, buzzed with the gentle murmur of other patrons, each absorbed in their little worlds. Marianne, however, was caught in the grip of a profound déjà vu—a tingling sensation that her soul had anticipated this moment long before her conscious mind had decided to be here.

Outside, the bustling street life of the city painted a vibrant tableau of everyday existence. The café door swung open occasionally, each time admitting snippets of conversation and fleeting breezes that hinted at the coming spring. It was during one such moment, as a gust of floral-scented air brushed against her face, that Marianne felt the deep, almost forgotten memories surfacing again—memories of lives past where love burned both brightly and painfully.

In each life she had lived, the vividness of each era was unique, yet all were woven with one constant thread: Alexander. Whether it was under the harsh sun of ancient Egypt, the snowy landscapes of medieval Russia, or the bustling streets of 1920s New York, in each iteration, they found each other as if by magic. Their connection was undeniable, transcendent of time and logic. However, each encounter inevitably led her to the same painful realization—their love was a cycle, a beautifully tragic loop of meeting and parting.

The soft tinkle of the bell above the café door snapped Marianne back to the present. As if on cue, Alexander walked in. Recognition flared instantly in his eyes, mirroring the echo in her own heart. He looked the same yet subtly altered—his hair perhaps a shade darker, his stature reflecting the nuances of a different life's journey—but his eyes, those deep wells of emotion, remained unchanged.

As he approached, the years seemed to dissolve; Marianne felt herself at once a young woman experiencing the thrill of new love and an old soul revisiting an ancient, familiar pain. They greeted each other with a soft, knowing smile that spoke volumes more than words could convey.

Seated across from each other, their conversation unfolded with ease. They spoke of art, the dreams they had nurtured, and even the trivial moments of their daily lives. Yet, beneath the casual exchange, an undercurrent of deeper, unspoken understanding flowed silently between them. Marianne could sense the moment he too recognized the peculiar déjà vu, the mysterious cycle of their intertwined destinies. Yet, in his eyes, there was also a spark of rebellion against the fate they seemed unable to escape, a desire to make this time different.

They reminisced about the moments they had shared across different lifetimes—how they had danced under starlit skies in another century, how they had written letters filled with undying love during times of war, and how they had parted, time and again, with promises to find each other once more. Each memory was a testament to their enduring bond, a bond that neither time nor death could sever.

Deciding to stay and relive the love she knew would inevitably circle back to its beginning was a choice fraught with a poignant mix of joy and sorrow for Marianne. She understood the heartache that loomed in the future, the parting that awaited them at the end of this serendipitous chapter. Yet, as they laughed together, sharing a joke that seemed to have amused them in another life, the rush of affection filled her chest, and she knew it was all worth it. Love, even if fleeting, even if repeated across the corridors of time, was a radiant spark in the expanse of her many lives.

As twilight began to shade the day into a soft purple dusk, they planned their next encounter, each silently acknowledging the cycle but choosing to embrace the moment with open hearts. For Marianne, no matter how brief or repetitive their encounters, loving Alexander was an affirmation of life's most profound truth: to feel deeply, to love fully, was to be truly alive.

And so, as the night drew in and the café began to empty, they lingered over their coffee, the world around them fading into a backdrop for their timeless story. They spoke of plans and dreams, of what the future could hold if only they could break the cycle this time. But deep down, they knew the truth. This was but one chapter in an eternal narrative, one more thread in the tapestry of their love, destined to continue weaving through the ages.

As they finally parted under the starlit sky, the same stars under which they had sworn eternal love in countless lives before, Marianne felt both the joy of having loved and the sorrow of impending separation. But there was also peace, a profound serenity in knowing that this wasn't truly the end. As always, it was merely another beginning.

The café door closed softly behind Alexander, and Marianne remained seated, her eyes tracing the remnants of their time together. She smiled faintly, her heart both full and breaking, as she whispered into the stillness, "Until we meet again, my love."

In the quiet of the now almost silent café, Marianne felt a warmth envelop her—a timeless embrace that whispered of lifetimes past and those yet to come. And with a quiet resolve, she gathered her things and stepped out into the night, the cycle continuing, their story unwritten but already known, somewhere in the folds of time.