PART I INEVITABLE
The voice came first.
"Try, if you like. You always do."
A whisper. A rasp. A sound that didn't belong to any human throat.
It was soft this time, too soft. Like the hiss of something pressed against my ear. My body jolted awake, but I couldn't move. My limbs were heavy, as if pinned beneath invisible hands.
I tried to open my mouth, but the air caught in my throat. All I managed was a dry, broken gasp.
The words echoed in my skull, bouncing again and again, sharper with every repetition.
Always do.
My heart stuttered. "A… always?" The word cracked from me like glass shattering. My lips trembled. My breath fogged in the cold air, though the night hadn't been this cold when I'd fallen asleep.
What did it mean? Always? This was the first time…wasn't it? It had to be. My brain clawed desperately at memory, but it was like tearing at a curtain of smoke. Every thought slipped away the moment I tried to grab it.
I should've remembered. Something inside me knew I should've. But I didn't.
And the worst part? A small, whispering corner of my mind told me this wasn't the first time at all.
The tent around me was swallowed by shadows. My lantern had gone out. The silence pressed against me like wet cloth. Then, faintly—so faintly I almost thought I imagined it…I heard breathing. Not mine. Not ragged. Not panicked. Steady. Calm. Right behind me.
I couldn't turn.
My skin crawled with the weight of unseen eyes.
And then…just as my lungs began to seize, the whisper unraveled into nothing.
No footsteps. No fading. It was just gone, leaving me with the awful realization that silence could be louder than sound.
The tent flap burst open.
"L...."
The name ripped through the dark, pulling me back into the world. Light spilled in from outside—the glow of lanterns, warm and almost blinding after the suffocating dark.
Alden stood in the entrance, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his temple as if he'd sprinted the whole way here. His outline was sharp against the glow, like a figure carved out of the night.
The tent was a mess, chair lay overturned, the small table nearly toppled. I was drenched in cold sweat, my shirt clinging to my skin. My heart thundered in my chest, so loud I swore he could hear it.
I blinked until Alden's face came into focus. He was reaching for me, hand steady, palm open.
I grabbed it like I was drowning.
The moment I touched him, the dam broke. The tears came hot, uncontrollable, streaming down my face in ugly, heaving sobs. My knees buckled, and I collapsed against him, clinging to his chest like a terrified child. My body shook so violently I thought my bones might splinter.
Alden didn't let go. His arms were solid, anchoring me to the ground I was certain I'd been slipping away from.
Julian and Clara rushed in behind him, their voices panicked, sharp with worry, but all of it blurred into a muffled haze. All I could hear was Alden's voice, low against my ear.
"Everything's fine… this time… it'll be alright."
His tone was calm, but his choice of words burned like acid.
This time.
Why… why did he say it like that?
I wanted to ask. I wanted to force him to explain. But my throat was raw, and my body was too tired, too wrung out. So I just clung to him, drowning in questions I couldn't voice.
And beneath it all, behind the tears, the shaking, the comfort; I still felt it.
That presence.
The whisper that shouldn't exist.
Everyone had gathered around the stall. Their voices overlapped, a flurry of questions crashing against my ears. I could hardly make out words anymore, just the pressure of sound pressing in from every side. My chest tightened. I wanted to speak, to explain, but nothing came out except trembling breaths.
Julian raised his hands, forcing a steady smile, his voice slicing through the panic.
"Everything's alright, guys. Nothing to worry about… he's just tired. You all can go back to your stalls."
Clara stepped forward too, her tone calm yet firm. "Yeah, don't crowd him. He just needs some air. Please, everyone."
The group hesitated, murmurs bubbling like uneasy water. Chatter clung to the air even as they reluctantly drifted back toward their stalls. But then something strange happened… something only I seemed to notice.
The sound dimmed.
At first, it was just faint, like turning down a radio. Then, suddenly, the voices vanished altogether. The flutter of footsteps, the rustle of bags, the crackle of lanterns, everything dissolved until silence folded over me like a suffocating blanket.
I froze, ears straining. My lips parted to ask Julian if he heard it too, but his hand was already gripping my shoulder, steady, grounding. Clara knelt in front of me, her face soft with concern.
"Breathe," she whispered. "Don't think about it. Just… breathe."
They didn't ask. Neither of them. Not a single question about why I had clutched Alden like my life depended on it. Not about why tears had spilled uncontrollably down my face. They just… calmed me. Their silence was almost worse than questions—it was as if they already knew asking would make it worse.
And slowly, my heartbeat steadied. My vision stopped shaking. My hands loosened.
But then…
Alden.
His words, spoken in that eerie, measured tone, seared through my mind like a brand.
"This time."
The phrase clawed at me. This time? What did he mean? Why this time, as if there had been others? What others?
The thought churned in my chest, coiling tighter and tighter—until the creak of doors snapped me back.
Our teacher walked into the gym, her shoes clicking against the floor in the hush. "Alright, everyone," she called, her voice brisk, echoing. "It's getting late. Pack up your stalls and head home. Tomorrow is the big day: we'll need everything ready."
The order broke the silence like glass.
Students moved instantly, collecting their props, folding cloths, stacking boxes. The room filled again with the sounds of shuffling and chatter, as if nothing unusual had happened at all. No one glanced at me. No one whispered about what I had done. It was as though the scene—my breakdown, my tears, my desperate grip on Alden…had been swallowed whole, erased from memory.
Why?
Why wasn't anyone questioning it?
Clara and Julian busied themselves packing too, neither making eye contact with me. Their silence pressed heavier than words.
Soon, the gymnasium was tidy again, stalls folded neatly, the festival skeleton waiting for tomorrow's skin of laughter and music.
Parents began arriving, their voices lively, calling out names. One by one, students left, guided out by warm hands and familiar faces. My parents came too; faces I knew, voices that anchored me.
Julian and Clara waved before slipping off with their own families. Their figures shrank into the dusk, safe, cared for.
But Alden…
He stood alone.
No parents came. No one called his name. He simply lingered by the exit until the crowd thinned. His eyes caught mine briefly… dark, unreadable, before he turned and walked out, his steps echoing like hollow knocks against the emptying hall.
It hit me then, sharp and cold.
I didn't know anything about him. Not his parents. Not his home. Not his life. Alden was with us every day, yet beyond that… nothing. A shadow in daylight.
We split paths at the crossroads, each of us peeling away into our own directions. I watched him disappear into the dark street, swallowed by silence. Alone.
That night, I lay in bed, but sleep never came. The scene replayed again and again in my mind—the whispers, Alden's words, his hands reaching for me.
I tossed. Turned. The air felt thick.
And then… the memory shifted. That same scene replayed, but this time… warmth lingered. Alden's hands, holding me, steadying me. For a reason I couldn't explain, a strange comfort seeped into my chest. The horror softened, blurring.
The night passed in a restless haze. I don't remember when my eyes finally closed, or how many times I jolted awake to the same scene replaying in my mind—Alden's hand, stretched out to me, his lips whispering something I could not grasp, something that gnawed at the edge of my thoughts.
"This time…"
But then, just as suddenly as it appeared, that memory blurred into warmth. His hand in mine. That smile. For a fleeting moment, the terror dissolved, like mist scattered by the morning sun. And in that haze of contradiction: fear and comfort, dread and reassurance; I must have drifted into sleep.
When I opened my eyes again, the world was painted in the soft gray light of dawn. Another day had begun. Not just any day—the cultural festival, the very day I had tried to avoid, had finally come crashing upon me.
For a while I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the faint hum of life outside my window: a bicycle bell, the distant chatter of neighbors, a dog barking at nothing. Everything felt… normal. Too normal. As if the world itself wanted to convince me that last night hadn't happened.
But memories don't lie. Dreams don't linger this strongly. My chest still carried that weight, that unease, like an invisible thread pulling me back to the gym, to the moment I clung to Alden in tears.
And yet, when I thought of their faces, Julian's calm voice, Clara's steady reassurance, Alden's smile; it softened something inside me. Maybe it was selfish, maybe it was foolish, but all I wanted now was to protect those smiles. To hold onto them, no matter what shadows pressed against me.
That thought alone gave me the strength to move.
I dragged myself up and checked the clock. Already 8:00 a.m. The festival wouldn't start until noon, but the hours seemed ready to slip away unnoticed.
In the bathroom mirror, I studied my reflection. My black curly hair, messy from sleep, clung stubbornly against my head. I splashed water on it, slicking it back, then rubbed shampoo into the curls until the faint citrus scent filled the small room. When I rinsed it out, the droplets clung to my cheeks like cold beads.
I washed my face carefully, tracing the familiar planes of it with my fingertips, cheeks that still held a faint roundness of youth, a nose sharp enough to give my features definition, lips pale from restless nights, and eyes… those eyes. Light brown, almost amber when caught in the sun, glowing today with something I hadn't expected: excitement. Fear lurked behind it, sure, but it couldn't drown the flicker of anticipation. Not today.
I dressed in the outfit we had agreed on, the "costume" meant to give our fortune-telling stall a flair of mystery. A black suit tailored just enough to fit, layered with a dark cape that draped across my shoulders, its high collars making me feel like some gothic character from an old novel. The hat; a broad black thing with a slight tilt; cast a shadow over my face.
By the time I buttoned the last piece, I hardly recognized myself. I looked… theatrical. Strange. Like I belonged in the role.
Breakfast was waiting downstairs… my mother's voice calling me faintly from the kitchen. On the table, the usual sunny-side-up eggs gleamed golden, paired with toast slathered in butter and strawberry jam. A steaming mug of milk, just sweetened with sugar, sent tendrils of warmth spiraling upward.
The food settled me. Every bite was grounding, every sip pulling me further away from the nightmares of last night.
By 11:00 a.m., I was ready. I slung my small bag over my shoulder—a dark canvas sling bag, patched with a few tiny enamel pins I had collected over the years. Inside: a bottle of water, some snacks, and a small notebook I always carried, though I never knew why. Maybe habit. Maybe comfort.
The streets were alive with students and families heading toward the school. Banners fluttered on lampposts, announcing the festival. Excitement buzzed in the air, but to me, it all felt muted, like a film playing in slow motion. The thoughts from last night still looped in my mind like a video stuck on repeat. The gym. The tears. Alden's voice. This time.
And then—
"Yo! Good morning!"
His voice.
I blinked and turned. There he was, waiting at the school gate as though he had been standing there for me all along. Alden, grinning, his hand raised in a lazy wave. The sun caught in his hair, and for a moment, I forgot the heaviness inside me.
A smile, unbidden, spread across my face; wide, genuine, stretching ear to ear. "Yeah… good morning. Let's give our best today."
He laughed softly, that same quiet chuckle that always made me feel lighter.
Julian and Clara joined us soon after, both dressed in the same themed outfits. Clara's cape swirled dramatically as she walked, her confidence radiant enough to draw glances from passersby. Julian adjusted his hat with his usual calm expression, already scribbling something in his ever-present notebook.
Together, we stepped inside. The gym, once heavy with shadows and memories, now brimmed with the lively energy of preparation. Stalls stood half-decorated, students rushing to finish last touches, teachers overseeing with watchful eyes.
We reached our own stall, tucked neatly against one wall. The fabric drapes had already been hung; deep purples and blacks to give it an eerie, mystical vibe. Our props waited in boxes.
For the next two hours, we worked tirelessly.
Alden claimed his spot at the center… our "fortune-teller." He rehearsed with the tarot deck, laid out palmistry guides, and even polished the crystal ball we had borrowed. His presence there was magnetic, as if he had been born to play this role.
Clara, as expected, was the perfect host. She practiced her introductions with dramatic flair, her voice rising and falling with precision. She handled the special festival currency: small paper slips designed by the teachers and waved them like treasures before the air.
Julian sat at a side desk, his pen scratching across decorated sheets of paper. He wrote fortunes, horoscopes, even lucky numbers, each page an artistic keepsake. Occasionally, he would glance at us, offering calm suggestions, before diving back into his work.
And me,
I moved quietly around them, setting the stage. Candles flickered in safe glass jars, dim lighting casting long shadows across the drapes. I burned incense, letting the smoke curl like ghostly fingers through the air. I arranged props; skulls that gleamed faintly under the light, glowing orbs that hummed with eerie colors, cards scattered in neat but ominous patterns.
It was my world to create, the atmosphere that would pull people in, and for once… it suited me. I didn't need to speak. I didn't need to smile. I only needed to build the illusion, to let the shadows whisper for me.
And when I looked up, seeing the three of them in their places. Alden with his grin. Clara with her charm. Julian with his quiet focus; I felt it. That warmth again, fleeting but undeniable.
Maybe today… maybe, just for today… things would be alright.
–S. Yusuf