PROLOGUE
Sitting at the forest's edge, watching the sun dip below the horizon, the river's roar a constant companion. It brought a fragile peace, a temporary truce in the mental war her naive mind couldn't grasp—a storm threatening disaster. It was an escape from the gnawing thoughts: the absolute certainty that she was the sole survivor on a lonely planet.
She had ensured no one else remained to steal her resources or her home. Nanem's warnings echoed in her mind: In a war for survival, humans become monsters. Trust no one, solitude is safety. Thus, isolation wasn't just her choice; it was her sanctuary.
Wiping away a lone tear that threatened to spill, Ayah refused to let the sadness ruin her day—her twentieth birthday, this cold winter. The day was a ghost of celebrations past. Nanem would make fruit pie; they would pick berries, share bread, sing songs, and make wishes.
Nanem's laughter at Ayah's strange wishes was a cherished memory. The last wish, however—to see the ruins of the city—had brought no laughter. Only anger. It had made Nanem mad. Real mad.
"Little Ayah, don't you ever say that again,'' she hissed, her eyes wide with a sudden, sharp terror. ''That city is a graveyard. The only reason death hasn't found us is because we stay hidden. Do you understand?'' I could only nod, paralyzed by her reaction. She gripped my shoulders, her voice desperate. ''Promise me, Little Ayah. Promise me you’ll stay away from that wretched place. Promise!'' I promised, the weight of the vow settling like lead in my chest.
That was the end of the conversation. I had given my word, sealing a promise about a place that clearly haunted her. Pulling me into a hug, Nanem softened. ''Oh, Ayah,'' she sighed. ''I promised your mother I would protect you with my life. Don't go doing something stupid when my back is turned; I'm too old to run after you, understand?'' I melted into her embrace, the unspoken fear lingering in the air.
I had always been a dutiful child; seeing her upset was a weight I couldn’t bear. Besides, what could those ruins possibly hold? Yet, a small, stubborn part of me clung to the hope that there were others out there—survivors just as lonely as I was. Maybe they weren't the monsters she feared. I pondered these thoughts as I turned to my left, my gaze falling on the mound of earth where Nanem now rested. She had left me, after all.
"When I'm gone, promise you'll remember me here,'' she had said, her voice soft as a whisper. ''Dig a deep hole, lay me to rest, and plant a flower that will make you think of me. Visit when the loneliness feels too heavy, alright?'' The unspoken truth hung in the air; her time was drawing near. ''We'll still share the sunset together. I'll always be looking out for you.'' Just days later, her final breath marked the end of her presence, leaving only the memory of that request.
In the end, her 'always' had an expiration date. She left me to face the silence alone, her promises nothing more than beautiful lies.
Cleaning off my pants, I stood and looked at the grave. Ants were already feasting on the offering of fruit pie I’d left behind. I turned away from the roar of the water and the fading light, heading back to the cabin. I moved quickly to beat the darkness, even though it didn't truly matter. No one was there to greet me. No one was waiting to pull my ears for staying out late or to check if I was safe. I was returning to a hollow house, accompanied only by my own shadow.
The sky deepened to a navy blue, the last light surrendering to the coming darkness. Ayah dragged her heavy feet along the beaten path toward her cabin. The forest was hushed, save for the homeward-bound birds and the sharp whistle of the wind. The crunch of snow underfoot was a lonely rhythm in the pervasive silence. Despite her warm clothes, the air was sharp, chilly, and frosty against her skin.
The smell of pine gave way to the comforting scent of woodsmoke, confirming her cabin was just ahead. Stepping into the warmth, Ayah shed her shoes and made a beeline for the fireplace. She shed her gloves and socks, holding her numb extremities close to the heat before tossing more wood onto the embers. As she set a jug of chamomile to brew, she sank back with a heavy sigh, finally letting the tension of the day melt away.
Spring was just around the corner, bringing the promise of new life for her garden. Drowsy from the tea and the trek back from the cliff, Ayah realized how exhausted she truly was. With no one to talk to and the pie sitting heavy in her stomach, she went to bed early. Her last thoughts were of the morning—of melting snow, hidden mushrooms, and the fruit she needed to gather for the coming week.
Ayah settled under her quilts, the silence of the cabin wrapping around her. A wave of longing for Nanem hit her, but she blinked back the moisture in her eyes, determined to stay strong. She reached out to touch the frame of the picture on her nightstand—a precious image of the two women who had loved her most. With their faces as her last thought, she drifted off, hoping that the dawn would break the monotony of her life with a spark of something unexpected.
What Ayah didn't realize was that her wish was already in motion. The universe was listening, and tomorrow would bring all the excitement she had asked for—and perhaps more than she was prepared to handle.
This was just a glimpse of the journey ahead! I would love to hear your thoughts, so please leave a comment—your feedback truly inspires me to keep writing. If you enjoyed this opening, don't forget to cast a vote. I'll see you all in the next chapter!🧡
