(Credits: A24 / CJ ENM)

There is a kind of grief that does not come from death. It comes from imagining a version of your life that almost happened. It is quiet, soft, and hard to explain. Past Lives, now streaming on Netflix, captures that exact feeling. Not with drama or declarations, but with long silences, soft eyes, and conversations that drift like leaves on water. It is not a love story in the usual sense. It is a memory. One that does not fade, even when the people do.

Celine Song’s directorial debut follows Na Young and Hae Sung, childhood friends growing up in South Korea. When Na Young’s family emigrates to Canada, their bond is abruptly cut. Years later, she is living in New York as Nora, a playwright. He remains in Seoul, steady and familiar. When they reconnect over video calls, the connection feels instant but fragile. There is no explosion of emotion. Just the awkward, honest tenderness of two people wondering if they are still the same to each other.

Eventually, Hae Sung visits New York. They spend a few days walking around the city. They talk, they remember, they laugh. But underneath every shared smile is a truth neither says aloud. They are no longer children. They are no longer each other’s future. They are simply two people trying to figure out what to do with the feelings that never had a place to go. Past Lives lets these moments stretch and breathe, without interruption.

What makes Past Lives so special is its restraint. It never tries to manipulate. It does not dramatise heartbreak or simplify emotion. Instead, it trusts the viewer to sit with discomfort. Nora is not caught between two men. She is a woman who has made choices and now must live with the quiet echo of what might have been. Hae Sung is not a symbol of nostalgia. He is a real person, still hoping, still grounded. Arthur, Nora’s husband, is not a convenient antagonist. He is thoughtful and honest. He understands that love sometimes lives in the past, and still, he stays.

Visually, Past Lives moves with a quiet rhythm. Streets are filmed like memories. Cafés feel like confessionals. Light passes through windows with no urgency. The camera lingers not to build suspense but to allow reflection. Every scene feels lived in. Every line feels personal. It is a film that gives you space to feel, not just watch.

One of the most emotionally resonant ideas in Past Lives is the Korean concept of “In-Yun”, the belief that encounters in a thousand past lives connect people who meet in this life. The film does not present it as magic or myth. It lets it be something softer. A way to explain why some people feel important, even if they were only in your life for a season. It is not a promise. It is a quiet reason to let go with grace.

Past Lives does not offer conclusions. It does not demand answers. It invites you to remember the person you once imagined your life with and to honour that version of yourself without shame. It asks nothing more than that you look and feel and let the moment pass without trying to control it.

Watch Past Lives on Netflix when the world feels too fast. Watch it when your thoughts are louder than you want them to be. Or watch it when you miss someone you do not talk to anymore. It will not fix anything. But it will remind you that some goodbyes are also forms of love.