the sound was her voice
The room was an ocean of infinite whiteness, where every surface—walls, floor, and ceiling—seemed to merge into a seamless whole. There were no shadows, only an ethereal and homogeneous light that bathed everything, without a visible source emitting it. There were no lamps, no light bulbs, no windows, but the brightness was perfect, as if the room itself breathed clarity.
The air was imbued with an enveloping serenity. A murmur of distant breezes, the echo of a nonexistent stream, and subtle notes of a harmonic chant floated in the air. There were no speakers or devices in sight, but the sound was there, suspended in the air, as if it were born from the very air itself or from the thoughts of whoever was inside.
The sensation was unreal, almost dreamlike. A room without origin or destination, where time dissolved into whiteness and sounds embraced silence without disturbing it.
In the center of the room, where the light seemed to concentrate with greater intensity, lay an immobile figure. His silhouette contrasted slightly with the infinite whiteness that surrounded him. Then, a slight tremor coursed through her form. First, a barely perceptible twitch in the fingers, then a subtle movement in the chest, as if the air were filling their lungs again after a long slumber. His body, once merely a shadow in the light, began to define itself little by little.
As he sat up, the individual's features began to become distinguishable: his shaved head, his chestnut eyebrows, and those light brown eyes that looked at her with a mix of curiosity and fear. He touched his nose, prominent and slightly curved, as if he wanted to make sure it was real. The small ears seemed to hide, as if they didn't want to be seen. He turned his gaze to her thin, almost fragile body, wrapped in a white jumpsuit that seemed too big for her frame. The gray sneakers, too new to be real, made him question how long he had been there, unmoving, not walking. And then he saw the orange bracelet on his wrist, glowing with a faint light. He didn't know exactly what it was, but at that moment he thought he had more important matters to attend to.
The light was becoming more and more intense, burning his eyelids even with his eyes closed. A high-pitched buzzing resonated in her ears, mixing with the accelerated beating of her heart. She tried to move her hands, but something held her firmly. Each thought was like wading through thick fog, and the pain in her head worsened with every attempt to sift through her memory.
The pain in his head began to subside, as if an invisible hand had flipped a switch. The individual took a deep breath, feeling the cold air of the room fill their lungs. It was then that he heard a distant, almost whispering voice, repeating over and over something that sounded like... 'Amiba... Amiba... Amiba...' Upon becoming aware of the words, he frowned in confusion. What is Amiba? Something about that word gave him a strange sense of familiarity, as if that word were tucked away in some deep corner of his memory.
The light in the room seemed to vibrate subtly, as if the very air contained an imperceptible heartbeat. In front of the individual who was beginning to move, something new started to materialize. It wasn't an abrupt change, but a slow and elegant birth, as if reality itself were delicately sculpting it.
A soft sound, similar to the whisper of the wind among crystals, filled the space. It didn't come from anywhere in particular, but its presence was clear, an almost tactile melody that caught his attention.
And then, in front of the figure, the whiteness fragmented into subtle reflections. A mirror emerged, not from nothing, but from the light itself. Its surface was perfect, without frame or visible edges, as if it had simply decided to exist at that moment.
The blurry image of the person was drawn in him. At first, only shadows and diffuse shapes. But as the figure came to life more, the reflection did too, waiting to reveal the hidden truth in its unfathomable shine.
He approached the mirror with hesitant steps. The reflection he saw was both familiar and strange at the same time. His hair, his brown eyebrows, and those brown eyes were not entirely familiar to him; after several minutes of observing all parts of his body, he adopted a pose and expression of disbelief.
The mirror disappeared suddenly, as if it had never been there. There was no transition, just a moment when the reflected image existed, and the next, only the infinite whiteness remained. The light flickered subtly, momentarily disrupting the stillness of the room.
So, he listened to it again.
"Amiba".
The voice—or whatever it was—had no clear origin, but it resonated within the room, within his mind, like an echo without a source. It wasn't a scream, nor a whisper, but something in between, like a fragment of an incomplete message.
Her voice was soft, melodic, but something about it didn’t quite fit. There was no coldness or aggression, but neither was there authenticity. It sounded... fabricated. As if imitating a tenderness that she didn’t really feel.The man did not look away. His presence continued to convey peace, but now that peace had strange nuances, like a breeze too perfect before a storm.
