The Shinning One

The morning air on the mountain was crisp and fragrant, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. Sunlight filtered through the scattered clouds, glinting off the dewy leaves. Lyla adjusted her scarf over her head and tightened her abaya around her shoulders, glancing up at her father as he smiled.

“Let’s take a look down the valley, Lyla. It’s a beautiful day,” he said gently, his hand brushing a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. Excited chatter rose from her little cousin, who tugged at Lyla’s sleeve, eager to see the shops and stalls below. Her mother and grandmother followed closely, their steps careful on the winding path.

They reached the small parking area, the car glinting under the soft light. Lyla’s father opened the door for her, gesturing toward the road below. “Come on, beta, let’s see what the town has today.”

As they walked down, the town seemed alive with colors: vibrant dresses hung neatly in shop windows, flowers spilled from baskets, and the scent of fresh vegetables mingled with the crisp mountain air. Lyla stopped in front of a boutique, her gaze catching on a young woman browsing the racks, quiet and graceful, accompanied by her parents.

Her father noticed her pause. “Do you want to buy anything, Lyla?” he asked, a soft smile in his eyes.

“No, Appa. I’m just looking,” she replied, her voice gentle. She stepped a little closer to the window, her fingers brushing against the glass as she observed the woman. Her father chuckled, patting her head. “Shukar to Allah… He blesses everyone with a good family.” He glanced around at the lively market, satisfied.

They picked up some vegetables, exchanged small greetings with neighbors, and began heading back to the car. Clouds rolled over the valley, dark and heavy, blotting out the sun. Within minutes, rain began to fall in heavy sheets. Lyla and her father climbed back into the car, umbrellas in hand, the storm driving them forward.

Meanwhile, on the winding road above, another car moved smoothly through the rain. Inside, Shin-hye was laughing softly with her parents, the warmth of their voices cutting through the storm outside. She reached for her phone as it rang, the sound barely audible over the patter of rain and the hum of the windshield wipers. Kang’s name flashed on the screen. She smiled faintly and picked up, answering the call.

Before words could pass, a truck appeared through the downpour, its headlights piercing the rain. Tires skidded against wet asphalt. A violent impact shook the car, metal screamed against metal, and the vehicle spun uncontrollably before sliding down a narrow alley and colliding with a tree. Rain hissed against the hood, and then there was silence. Shin-hye and her parents lay unmoving, the storm washing over them as the truck lurched forward and disappeared into the night.

Moments later, Lyla and her father were driving along the same road. Lightning reflected off the slick asphalt, and something caught their eyes—flashing lights near the roadside. Lyla’s hand gripped the umbrella tighter. “Appa… it’s an accident,” she whispered.

Her father parked the car and stepped out, his shoes sinking slightly in the rain-soaked dirt. Lyla followed closely, holding her umbrella over them both. As they approached the wrecked vehicle, Lyla froze. The woman she had seen in the boutique—the same calm figure—lay among the bodies, pale and still. Her breath hitched.

“Beta… do not go too close,” her father warned, grasping her hand firmly.

“I… I just want to see if they are okay,” Lyla murmured, her voice trembling.

Her father shook his head, but another surge of instinct drove her forward. The car’s mirrors were broken, glass glinting in the rain. They were all dead. Her father’s jaw tightened. “This… this is… we should not touch anything. The ambulance will take care of them. Let’s move back.” He held Lyla close for a moment, grounding her as the world seemed to tilt around them.

Soon, the ambulance arrived. Paramedics wrapped the bodies carefully, their movements calm, professional, almost surreal against the storm. At the hospital, the nurse answered a ringing phone.

“Hello?” Kang’s voice came through, urgent and tense.

“Sir… are you her husband?” the nurse asked. “There’s been an accident. Your wife… and two older adults… are here. They didn’t survive. Please come to the hospital. We can provide the car number.”

Kang’s hands shook violently as he held his three-month-old daughter, her small weight the only thing keeping him upright. “No… it can’t be… there must be some mistake,” he whispered, but the nurse’s calm insistence gave him no escape.

When he arrived, the hospital seemed strange and unreal, almost cruel in its silence. He showed the staff photographs, and they led him to Room 13. Each step felt heavy, every breath labored, as if the air itself resisted him. Inside, three bodies lay motionless, covered in white sheets. He held his daughter close, feeling her warmth, her fragile life anchoring him to reality.

With trembling hands, he lifted the cloth from one face—his wife—then another, his mother, and finally his father. His world collapsed silently, a sob rising in his chest as he knelt beside them, cradling his daughter. The storm outside echoed the grief within, rain pounding against the hospital windows as he mourned the lives he had lost.

The next morning, the sky was gray and heavy, as if the world itself mourned. Kang stood by the graves, holding his three-month-old daughter close. Her tiny body fit against his chest like a fragile weight, yet the warmth of her life did little to ease the hollow ache in his heart. His eyes, swollen and red from hours of weeping, traced the freshly turned soil, lingering on the three graves that marked the lives of his wife, mother, and father. Tears streamed freely now, slipping down his cheeks, and he could not stop himself from trembling as he whispered their names, the sound barely audible over the quiet rustle of the wind through the cemetery.

With a heavy heart, he lifted his daughter and carried her back to his apartment. The familiar walls felt unbearably empty. As he stepped inside, his eyes immediately fell upon the anniversary cake and decorations he had prepared just days before the tragedy—a small reminder of happier times. The sight made the tears fall harder, and his chest tightened with grief. His feet dragged as he walked through the apartment, each step echoing in the quiet rooms. He paused by the living room couch and looked down at his sleeping daughter. Her chest rose and fell gently, unaware of the world that had collapsed around her.

His gaze shifted to the walls, to the family photos and his wedding pictures. Each smile captured in those frames now felt like a cruel mockery, a stark reminder of what he had lost. Anguish tightened his throat. He knelt, brushing his fingers over a frame, lingering on his wife’s smiling face. Then, reluctantly, he set it aside and prepared to leave.

After putting his daughter to sleep with a bottle of milk, Kang carefully packed a suitcase. Into it went the photographs of his wife, his parents, and other essentials: clothes for himself and his daughter, a few cherished items he could not bear to leave behind. The baby slept quietly in his arms as he zipped the bag closed. Every movement felt heavy, deliberate, as if the act of packing could somehow contain the grief surrounding him.

Finally, with a swollen, tear-streaked face, he opened the apartment door. It closed behind him with a soft but final thud, marking the end of one life and the reluctant beginning of another. He placed the suitcase in the car, the engine roaring to life beneath him. As he drove away, a dark thought crossed his mind, chilling in its intensity: I will bury you in soil with my own hands. The weight of loss pressed against him, yet he gripped the steering wheel tightly, carrying the only life that remained with him—the fragile, sleeping daughter in his arms.

Lyla and her family descended from the mountains after their brief outing. The rain had stopped, leaving the air crisp and earthy, and the small town below was alive with the gentle bustle of everyday life. Her little cousin skipped ahead, chattering happily, while her grandmother and parents followed at a slower pace, their arms loaded with small purchases and vegetables from the market.

“Eoma… do you know what happened?” Lyla asked softly, glancing at her mother with a mixture of curiosity and unease.

Her father’s hand rested lightly on her shoulder, steadying her. “Shh… don’t speak of it. Ever. Who knows if it was an accident, or something worse,” he said firmly, his eyes scanning the surroundings as if to ward off unseen dangers. “Now… let’s go inside.”

They gathered their luggage and walked toward their home, the familiar streets and the small apartment buildings offering a comforting sense of normalcy. As Lyla stepped onto the front porch, a familiar voice called out.

“Lyla!”

Her college friend, Kim Seojong, ran up to her, arms outstretched. Without hesitation, Seojong hugged Lyla tightly, squeezing her as if afraid to let go. “Where’s my gift?” she asked playfully, teasing beneath the warmth of her embrace.

Lyla smiled, reaching into her bag. She pulled out a delicate pink watch, knowing how much Seojong loved anything pink. “Here,” she said softly, placing it into Seojong’s hands. In return, Seojong handed her a small Quran, its cover gleaming under the morning sun. Lyla’s eyes widened, emotion swelling within her, and she hugged Seojong again, tightly, overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness of her friend.

Her mother stepped forward, pressing a gentle kiss to Seo-jongs forehead. “Go on, dear. Go inside,” she said warmly.

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love from KF 🥀.

I hope you like my Novel.. IT was my first attempt of my imagination. If you like it.. please comments down.. It will make me feel happy ^^.