CHAPTER 3 — THE GIRL WHO ALREADY KNEW
For a long moment, the only sound in the alley was my breathing — uneven, shaky, too loud inside my own head.
The girl crouched beside me didn't try to fill the silence. She didn't rush me, or soften her expression, or offer meaningless comfort.
She just stayed there.
Like she was making sure I didn't fall apart.
"Not crazy?" I finally repeated, my voice thin.
She nodded once. "Not even close."
Something twisted in my chest — relief, fear, confusion, all tangled together. When life starts making less sense, even a single sentence of certainty can feel like a hand on your back keeping you upright.
I swallowed.
My throat felt dry.
"I don't understand what's happening," I whispered.
She studied me — not with pity, but with a kind of quiet calculation, like she was checking if I was strong enough to hear the truth.
"What's your name?" she asked.
"…Arin."
She nodded. "I'm Risa."
Her voice was steady.
Like she'd introduced herself to people in situations like this before.
Risa leaned back slightly, giving me space without actually leaving my side.
"Arin," she said, "listen carefully. What you're experiencing… it didn't start today."
My heart stumbled.
She continued, voice soft but precise:
"It's been building for a while. You just didn't have the language to recognise it."
I stared at her.
Those words shouldn't have made sense.
But somehow… they did.
Because deep down, beneath all the fear and confusion, there was a painful truth I had been ignoring for years — the late-night moments when my senses felt too sharp, the strange instinct that told me to move before danger reached me, the way I noticed things people missed.
I always dismissed it.
Blamed stress.
Blamed imagination.
Hearing her say it out loud felt like someone turning on a light in a room I didn't realise was dark.
"How do you know all this?" I asked.
Risa hesitated.
Just for a moment.
Enough to show me that whatever she knew — it wasn't small.
"Because," she said quietly, "I went through the same thing."
My breath caught.
"And because," she added, "I'm part of the people who find… people like you."
A cold shiver rippled down my back.
"People like me?" I echoed.
She nodded slowly.
Her eyes softened — but not in sympathy.
More like recognition.
"Awakeners."
The word clicked into place inside my head like it had been waiting for years.
Awakener.
A person waking up to something the world wasn't supposed to notice.
I opened my mouth to speak — but a sudden wave of dizziness washed over me. The ground tilted slightly. My vision dimmed around the edges, colours draining like someone lowering the saturation on reality.
Risa immediately put a steadying hand on my shoulder.
"Hey. Look at me."
I forced my eyes to focus on her face.
"This is normal," she said. "Your senses are adjusting. Your body's trying to balance something that wasn't meant to awaken this fast."
"That doesn't make it feel better," I whispered.
"I know."
Her honesty was strangely comforting.
People always lie when someone is scared. She didn't.
It made her words feel heavier.
More real.
The Walk Home Felt Like a Lifetime
Risa didn't let me stay in the alley.
She stood up and offered her hand.
"Come on. You shouldn't be alone right now."
I hesitated.
Not because I didn't want help—
but because letting someone in felt like taking my hands off the steering wheel of my life.
But my legs felt unsteady.
And a part of me — the scared, quiet part — didn't want to face this alone.
So I took her hand.
She walked beside me, keeping pace with the slight tremble in my steps. The street outside looked normal. People laughed. Motorbikes honked. Children chased each other. No one had any idea that my world was quietly fracturing.
Risa didn't speak.
She didn't rush to explain everything.
She let the silence breathe, giving me space to process the new weight on my chest.
When we reached my building, she stopped.
"I'm not coming inside," she said.
"I don't want to overwhelm you."
I nodded slowly.
"But I need you to do something for me," she added.
"What?"
"Listen to yourself tonight. Not your fear — your instincts."
I frowned. "What does that mean?"
"It means whatever woke up inside you… it's not done yet. You'll feel things. Notice things. Maybe see things. Don't ignore it. Don't fight it. Just… acknowledge it."
"That sounds like a terrible plan."
She actually smiled.
A real one.
Small, tired, and genuine.
"Yeah," she said. "It is. But it's the only one that works."
Before I could say anything else, she stepped back.
"I'll find you tomorrow," she said.
"How?" I asked.
"You're loud now," she replied. "Anyone awakened can sense you from a block away."
That should've scared me.
Maybe it did.
But beneath the fear… something else stirred.
A feeling like standing on the edge of something huge — terrifying, vast, and inevitable.
After she left, I climbed the stairs to my apartment slowly, each step feeling heavier than the last. My hands shook as I unlocked the door. The moment I stepped inside, the world felt too still.
I leaned against the wall.
Closed my eyes.
And that's when it happened—
A sound.
A whisper.
Not from outside.
Not from someone else.
From inside me.
A voice — faint, like it was struggling to form words.
"Arin… stay awake…"
My eyes shot open.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
That voice wasn't mine.
It was something that had been waiting.
Something that had finally opened its eyes.