Amina's mother's voice tore through the quiet morning like a sharp slap.
"Come over here!" her mother shouted, frustration echoing in every syllable. "You should be at the dining table now, taking your breakfast! Amina, you play too much. How many times have I warned you not to be running around early in the morning?"
Amina froze where she was, hands covered in the fine sand she had been packing and sprinkling over her arms. She had been giggling to herself just moments before, enjoying the warm touch of the morning breeze on her face, but her mother's tone quickly erased the smile.
Slowly, she stood up and dusted her palms, watching grains of sand fall off her skin. "Mom… I'm sorry," Amina murmured, her voice small and soft. "I won't do it next time."
Her mother exhaled heavily. "That is what you keep telling me every time. Just go inside the room, take your bath, and then go to the dining table to eat. When you finish eating, come and let me know. And stop playing outside, Amina—you're too young to be running around like this so early."
Amina lowered her head and nodded quickly before heading inside. She didn't want her mother's anger to rise any further. She did exactly what she was told—bathed, dressed neatly, and walked to the dining room where a warm plate of food awaited her.
As she began eating, she suddenly felt a strange sensation ripple through her body—like something rolling quietly beneath her skin. It wasn't painful, but it was unusual. The feeling crawled from her stomach to her arms and then back again.
She paused, her spoon suspended in the air.
"What was that…?" she whispered to herself.
For a moment, she wondered if she should call her mother, but then she shook her head. Maybe it's just because I ate too fast, she thought. Or maybe I played too early today. I'm fine. It's nothing.
But deep down—very deep—Amina sensed something wasn't right. Still, she brushed it off and finished her meal.
When she stepped outside again, the morning sun was brighter, warming the compound. She felt lighter, happier, as though she had forgotten all about the strange rolling feeling. She ran to the open space near the trees—only to stop abruptly when she saw a tall figure approaching from the dusty path.
It was her father.
He was returning from hunting, his clothes carrying faint traces of the forest's smell—earth, leaves, and something else she couldn't identify. Amina's eyes brightened immediately, and she ran to him.
"Good morning, Dad!" she greeted, smiling widely.
Her father nodded, adjusting the hunting bag on his shoulder. "Good morning, Amina."
But something felt different about him. His voice was deeper than usual, and he didn't look as tired as he normally did after spending a night in the forest. Amina blinked, trying to understand it, but she pushed the thought aside.
"Dad, where did you sleep last night?" she asked curiously.
"Don't tell me you slept in the forest all in the name of hunting."
Her father exhaled and gave her a side glance.
"Amina, you know that already. There's no sense in asking me again."
But the way he said it made her uneasy—not angry, not frustrated… more like he was hiding something.
He cleared his throat. "Anyway, how did your morning go?"
Amina shrugged. "It was fine… but Mom nearly beat me this morning because I played too early."
Her father gave a small smile and shook his head. "Ah, Amina… you play too early. Next time, be careful—even when I'm not around."
She nodded, though she noticed his eyes drifting toward the house, scanning the doorway as if checking whether someone was watching. That wasn't like him. Not at all.
"Come. Let's go inside," her father finally said.
But the way he said it was different—lower, almost urgent. Amina hesitated for a moment. She looked at him, realizing that something about his posture, his voice, and even his expression felt… off.
Still, she followed him toward the house.
Just as they reached the entrance, that strange rolling feeling returned to her—stronger, sharper, like something inside her was responding to something around her.
She gasped softly.
Her father paused and looked down at her.
"Are you okay?"
Amina opened her mouth to answer, but before she could speak, she noticed something—something small but chilling.
For a brief second, her father's shadow on the ground didn't move the same way he did.
Her breath caught in her throat.
She blinked again—hard—and suddenly the shadow looked normal, perfectly matching his movements. Amina swallowed, unsure if she had imagined it or if something truly strange had just happened.
Her father's voice broke the silence.
"Amina… come inside."
But this time, his voice sounded almost like two voices overlapping—just for a moment.
A cold shiver traveled down her spine.
She stepped inside slowly, her hand brushing against the doorframe as she entered. Something about this morning was not normal. Not the strange rolling in her body. Not the way her father was acting. Not the shadow that didn't match.
And as her father closed the door behind them, she felt—without knowing why—that something was beginning.
Something she wasn't prepared for.
Something she couldn't name yet.
But whatever it was…
it was already inside the house.
And maybe, just maybe—
—it was already inside her.