The letter—her only truth—now lay torn on the cold floor.
Her father's words still echoed, slicing through the silence like broken glass:
> "You breathe because I allow it."
She squeezed her eyes shut as if that could shut him out. But even in the dark behind her lids, pain had a shape—and it looked like him.
> No one to pick me up.
No mum.
No one.
But that wasn't entirely true.
Because in that suffocating silence… something flickered.
A face. A presence.
Not her mother.
Not Eliolor.
Him.
The boy from the market.
His eyes—deep, calm, sure. Like he had seen something in her that day no one else did. Like he had known pain and still stood anyway.
Why did he appear in her mind now?
She didn't even know his name.
But something in her soul whispered:
> Maybe he would understand.
Maybe he would see her.
Really see her.
"I'm not yours," she whispered hoarsely, her voice breaking like glass.
"To own. To silence. To shatter."
It wasn't loud.
It wasn't strong.
But it was hers.
And that… that was enough.
---
That night, while the world outside moved on—cars honking, birds nesting, lives continuing—Alex moved too.
Slowly. Painfully.
Her bruised arm trembled as she tries to get up.
Her body protested. Her ribs ached. But still—
She gathered every single pieces of paper in her hands tightly.
Then she pressed them to her chest and curled up on the floor.
And cried.
But this time… the tears were different. Not just pain. Not just fear.
There was fire now.
A spark.
A beginning.
---
The Mysterious Boy's POV
The wind shifted.
He felt it.
A tug—faint, haunting, undeniable.
Something had cracked in the dark.
He opened his eyes from the rooftop where he'd been meditating. The night buzzed below—flickering lights, sirens in the distance, mortal chaos. But above it all, he sensed one thing:
Her.
The girl from the market. The girl with sad, tired eyes.
He remembered her silence. How she'd looked at him like she didn't deserve to be seen. How she'd looked away, but something had lingered between them.
And now—now he felt her pain like a pulse in the air.
He rose to his feet, steady and quiet.
He didn't need signs.
He didn't need magic to tell him.
Something had changed.
She had changed.
He stepped off the ledge, landing without a sound.
"You're leaving again?" a voice drawled behind him.
He didn't turn. "Go home, Zeith."
Zeith emerged from shadow—his younger brother, his mirror in face but not in soul. "Still chasing fragile girls with broken hearts? It's pathetic, brother."
He didn't reply. He never did. Zeith always mistook duty for weakness.
Zeith scoffed. "One day they'll all break, and you'll be left picking up ashes."
Then he disappeared—vanishing into smoke and bitterness.
Alone again, the boy—whose real name no one here remembered—gazed at the sky. The stars were hiding. The wind had teeth.
A storm was coming.
And deep down…
he knew it wasn't just any storm.
She was going to be the center of it.
The girl with the broken letter.
The voice trying to rise.
The soul trying to burn.
And when they crossed paths again—
Nothing in this world would remain the same.