Chapter 1 - I Was Born Out of a Tantrum (and Unfortunately I Stayed)
Ailín knew the answer.
She could feel it clearly—right there, at the tip of her tongue, like a word waiting to be born.
Her hand began to rise.
And that’s when I had to intervene.
“What if you’re wrong?” I whispered sweetly.
Her fingers froze halfway in the air.
Twenty-five students turned their notebooks. Someone coughed. The professor waited.
“Imagine their faces,” I continued helpfully. “All those eyes staring at you while you confidently say something completely stupid.”
Her hand slowly dropped.
Ah.
Balance restored.
You’re probably wondering who I am.
Fair question.
My name is Oscurita, and I specialize in ruining perfectly good moments.
Technically speaking, I’m Ailín’s anxiety.
Her fears, her insecurities… and a small but dedicated collection of emotional complexes.
But if you ask me, I prefer the title Emotional Risk Management Consultant.
If you’re going to be someone’s psychological defense mechanism, you might as well have personality.
…
It all started on a rainy afternoon.
Ailín had just finished arguing with her mother. Tears, slammed doors, dramatic sighs—the usual ingredients of a teenage emotional storm.
She was curled up on her bed, convinced no one in the world understood her.
And that’s when I appeared.
Small. Shaky. Newly formed.
Made of hurt feelings, stubborn pride, and the urgent desire to hide from everything.
I didn’t exactly choose to exist.
I simply… did.
Like dust floating in a beam of light.
Except far more charming.
…
“We don’t need her,” I said, testing my voice for the first time.
Ailín raised her head, startled.
“Who… said that?”
“I did,” I replied, floating in front of her.
Well, floating is a nice way of saying walking through the air without bones.
“Your… emotional support. Yes, that.”
She looked at me with red eyes and a swollen nose.
“Emotional support?” she repeated hesitantly.
“Exactly. I’m here to keep you from hurting yourself again.”
“And how do you plan to do that?”
“Easy. By reminding you that the world is a dangerous place and that everything will probably go wrong.”
“That doesn’t sound very supportive…”
“Of course it does,” I said. “Realistic support.”
She sighed, exhausted, and sank back into the sheets.
She didn’t kick me out.
That was my first victory.
…
A few minutes later, her grandmother came in with a cup of tea.
The steam smelled of jasmine and patience.
“Here, sweetie. Jasmine calms the soul,” she said softly. Then, as if speaking to me too, she added,
“Darkness only has power if you fear it. Name it, and you’ll see it’s not as big as you think.”
Ailín listened in silence.
I was mildly offended.
Darkness without power?
What spiritual disrespect.
Honestly, grandmothers have terrible job security policies for shadows.
…
Over time, Ailín gave me a name: Oscurita.
And although it sounded adorable, make no mistake—
I was her chaos with a bow.
I appeared when she was nervous, when she doubted herself, when she felt she wasn’t good enough.
And believe me, those moments were my fuel.
But Ailín grew up.
And like any stubborn human, she began to question my authority.
Especially when she started college.
…
It was her first day of volleyball tryouts.
The sun was blinding, and her legs were shaking more than her hands.
I, of course, was in my usual spot—glued to her left shoulder.
“Are you sure about this?” I asked as she adjusted her knee pads.
“Look at you. You can barely coordinate your thoughts, and now you expect to coordinate your arms?”
“Shut up,” she muttered under her breath, not looking at me.
“I can’t. I’m literally your thoughts.”
Think of me as your internal risk assessment department.
Very pessimistic.
Extremely efficient.
She took a deep breath, ignoring me.
There was something different in her gaze—
a calmness I didn’t like at all.
Then, just before the tryouts began, she paused for a second and closed her eyes.
And I heard that voice again.
Her grandmother.
“Yes, you are enough.”
And I… felt it.
As if someone had turned down my volume.
As if the light itself was pushing me back.
Me, silenced by a corny phrase.
How humiliating.
Ailín smiled.
And for the first time, she left me behind.
…
It didn’t last long.
Confidence, like most human decisions, has a very short lifespan.
…
That afternoon, she walked alone down the university hallway, her bag slung over her shoulder, her gaze distant.
I followed beside her, as always.
But this time, I said nothing.
Until she spoke.
“I’m not going to keep quiet anymore,” she said softly.
“Uh-huh. Sure. Say it louder so your insecurities can hear you.”
“I’m not going to let you win again.”
“Win? This isn’t a competition, human. It’s self-protection.”
“No, Dark One. It’s fear.”
And that’s when she disarmed me.
So simple. So direct.
Me, the master shadow of sarcasm—speechless.
…
That night, I saw her writing in her notebook.
The lamp lit her face, and her hands moved slowly, carefully.
I approached her.
“What are you writing?” I asked, pretending not to care.
“A promise,” she said without looking at me. “Tomorrow I’m going to raise my hand.
Even if you tremble with me.”
I stood still.
I didn’t know whether to feel pride or fear.
So I played it cool.
“If you stumble, I’ll laugh,” I said.
She smiled.
“Deal.”
And then, without anyone seeing, I sat beside her—right under the light.
Because even though I am a shadow,
that night,
I didn’t want to hide.
…
The next morning, she walked into class.
Same room.
Same professor.
Same question floating in the air.
And once again—
she knew the answer.
Her hand began to rise.
I leaned closer to her ear.
“Well,” I whispered, “this should be interesting.”
For the first time in years,
she didn’t lower it.
…Well.
This might be a problem.
