A small figure lies sprawled on the cold, hard ground at the side of the road—motionless, drenched in blood. Her bruised cheek rests against the dirt, dust stirring faintly with each shallow, ragged breath.
It hurts. It hurts to breathe—
to force the slow, faltering rhythm of her heart to continue,
when her body feels like it's being torn apart.
Through a thin gap between her heavy lids, her blurred vision settles on the overturned car—
mangled, smoke curling upward.
Lifeless, bloodied arms hang limply from the shattered windows.
Her fingers twitch—the only part of her body that still responds.
Her skull throbs with a relentless pounding, drowning out every sound. She wants to move, to pull them out of the wreck—to save them. But her body betrays her.
A single tear slips from her eye, vanishing into the dust.
Blood mingles with gasoline, thickening the air with a sharp, nauseating stench.
Inside the wreckage, her parents lie still.
She was there—just a moment ago—laughing with them, singing along to the soft music that played in the car.
A deafening rumble rips through the stillness—
glass shatters,
metal twists, and orange-blue flames surge upward as the car erupts, lighting the road flanked by silent woods.
Heat slams into her, searing through the air as the blast echoes into the forest—
followed by the hiss of igniting gasoline and the low, relentless roar of flames devouring what's left.
---
Neva gasps, her eyes flying open.
The ceiling above her ripples, swaying through her tear-blurred vision.
Her chest heaves, her lungs dragging in the air, each breath shallow and quivering.
Damp curls cling to her sweaty forehead as beads of moisture slip down, tracing the hollow of her neck.
She curls onto her side,
tugging the duvet up to her throat, seeking warmth that she cannot feel.
Her heartbeat pounds loud in her ears.
The nightmare—eight years old yet ever-living—still haunts her.
And every time it swallows her in the dark,
it clings for days—
its terror lingering, a thick black smoke coiling around her, clawing, refusing to let her go.
She never gets used to it. She never will.
A nightmare—a blood-soaked reminder of a day she wishes had vanished, just as eight years of her life have.
She swallows hard against the lump tightening in her throat and turns her gaze to the digital clock on the nightstand: 05:04 a.m.
The red digits burn faintly against the dimness of the room.
Outside, the world is still drowned in darkness—
not a single ray of light seeps through the white lace curtains beside her bed.
Her day is already ruined—along with the fragile excitement she'd felt about starting classes today, her first day of college.
She squeezes her eyes shut, a shaky sigh slipping past her lips.
Her body still trembles, steeped in the pungency of fear. She doesn't even want to leave the warmth of her bed anymore.
---
By seven-thirty, Neva steps out of her apartment, the morning chill brushing against her skin.
Her head feels heavy, her thoughts fogged and sluggish as she descends the stairs—
one hand trailing along the railing, the iron cold against her warmth.
"Where you going, Angel?"
That voice...
Her eyes widen at once, snapping her instantly back to the moment.
She sways faintly, turning just enough to catch a glimpse of the voice's source.
The mystery man!
He stands on the balcony corridor, leaning lazily against the railing—arms draped over the edge, a sheepish grin playing across his undeniably handsome face.
Neva's thoughts spiral into chaos, tumbling through the treasure of her memories—
their first encounter, his absurdly sudden proposal, the stalking—
and her almost calling the cops, only to discover, mortifyingly,
that he actually lives next door.
Heat floods her face, her ears burning;
she can almost feel herself on fire—smoke rising from her body, curling through the morning air.
Neva instantly looks away, her eyes wide and overcome, her heart hammering so hard she can almost feel it leap out of her chest.
She starts forward, head dizzy, legs weak—her steps shallow and uncertain, she's almost assured her body is floating on air.
It's been almost a week since she last saw him.
Why now?
She could've gone her whole life without stumbling into him again.
The memory of that mortifying scene claws back to the surface,
and she squeezes her eyes shut.
Then—footsteps. Light, unhurried, drawing closer.
She stiffens, her spine straightening.
That familiar, faintly woodsy scent drifts through the air—and the warmth of his presence blooms just behind her.
She doesn't dare glance at him.
"I asked you something, Angel," he says—appearing before her in an instant.
Her body goes still, every muscle locking in place.
Her rounded eyes meet his—warm, glinting chocolate, edged with quiet amusement—as he leans in, just slightly.
Her breath catches in her throat.
"U—university," she manages to breathe out, quickly pressing her lips together.
He parts his lips in a silent oh, as though intrigued by the revelation.
She steps aside, fixing her gaze on the open iron gates ahead. Her hands curl into fists as she tries to summon some shred of vigor back into herself.
But quiet footsteps trail behind her, steady and unhurried,
even as she passes through the gates and steps onto the main cobblestone street.
She walks quietly along the edge of the still street—cold, shadowed by trees whose branches weave above her.
Sometimes, golden rays slip through the yellow and orange leaves, spilling over her skin, warming her for a fleeting second.
Few vehicles pass; the world is only just waking.
A lone jogger runs by, and she clings to her composure—
every nerve on edge—as the mystery man strolls beside her,
matching her painfully slow, uneven steps with effortless ease.
"Why... why are you walking with me?" Neva asks, her voice barely rising above a whisper.
"Hmm?" the mystery man hums in response, his tone light, almost teasing.
She glances at him—just for a quick beat of the heart—and meets his eyes.
Then she quickly looks away, fixing her gaze on the road ahead,
though not before catching the faint, knowing smile curling his lips.
"Why, you ask?" he says, a faint pause hanging between them—almost aching in its silence.
"What kind of man would I be if I didn't escort the woman I'm dying to court?"
She closes her eyes, drawing in a slow, steady breath before murmuring, "You can't be serious."
"But I am," he replies, his tone soft but certain.
Then he pauses, a hint of amusement flickering in his voice. "You don't think I am?"
"No," Neva replies curtly.
"Oh," he says, nodding slowly, as though some grand realization is only just dawning on him.
"Then how should I make you believe," he continues, voice infuriatingly casual—almost disarmingly upfront, "that I do, in fact, really want you?"
Her heart skips a beat. Cruel.
"Should we start by getting to know each other?—oh, wait," he cuts himself off with a faint laugh. "I never even asked your name, did I, Angel?"
Neva huffs, her brows knitting. How dare he?!
"I'm not telling you,"she says firmly, keeping her gaze fixed ahead—the path now leading into the heart of the town,a quieter corner of the bustling city of Vernellia.
"Then would you prefer I find out on my own?" he teases lightly.
"Follow you around all day—maybe even sit beside you during lectures?"
Neva whips her head toward him, eyes wide with disbelief.
"You can't do that!"
"Oh, I sure can," he says, a playful grin tugging at his lips as he slips his hands into the pockets of his black hoodie.
She presses her lips together,
her nose flaring as a sharp breath escapes her in irritation. "Neva," she mutters at last, surrendering the name.
"What a beautiful name," he murmurs, a soft, genuine smile brightening his face.
"Will you leave me alone now?" she asks, lifting her gaze to meet his.
He squints, a glimmer of mischief dancing in his eyes. "I never said anything about not walking you to your college."
Neva plants her foot firmly on the ground, her chest swelling with absolute frustration—and just ahead, the warm, cozy glow of the Bakery Café awaits her.
A shame, truly—her favorite place,
and yet the scene of their second fateful encounter that day.