Apart from my sporadic sobs, the remainder of the car journey unfolded in silence. Mum repeatedly cast concerned glances my way; I could sense them from the periphery of my vision, but I didn't meet her gaze. I kept my eyes away from the mirrors, glued to the back seat; the fabric surprisingly interesting to mindlessly stare at.
"We're here, Kalak." She went around and opened the door to my right. "Come on Hun, let's see what Okapi says."
I reluctantly got out of the car, my legs unsteady beneath my weight.
"Look here." Gently, Mum lifted my chin towards the grey clouds. With a tender touch, she rubbed my face with a wipe, erasing the evidence of my tears that had cascaded down my cheeks.
"Hey, don't look so sad. You should be excited. You're getting your gift soon," mum said cheerfully. I didn't reply, unsure of whether I wanted whatever gift I was manifesting.
We began making our way towards a four tiered office complex and Mum began recounting her own experience with the change, how afraid she was when the world stopped moving, and how afraid her parents were when she froze midway through a mundane task.
"—shouldn't be afraid of your power." She then let go of my hand and took her phone out of her bag. "Right, I think this is the spot."
I averted my gaze to the ground while mum presumably called the doctor. The expansive glass panes showed our reflection: gloves, parka jacket, scarf, and despite the winter’s chill and the cosy image, I broke into a sweat imagining the apparition joining us. That fear, coupled with whatever this illness was, seemed to distort my world as my knees struggled to hold my weight and my feet floundered to find their proper position beneath me.
"— next to an empty podiatrist. Okay. Yes. We'll see you there." She hung up the phone. "Come on, Kalak, it's the big building on the left."
Her hand reached out for mine, tugging me gently along behind her, and though her instructions had suggested that we were heading to the left, my disoriented senses stubbornly insisted otherwise. In fact, moving left or right, forwards or backwards, in any direction felt reciprocally countered — unproductive, and nauseating. I closed my eyes to combat the rising bile, a docile doll for mum to drag about.
When the motion stopped, I found myself inside the musty, old tower block while mum approached the bored receptionist who shot me a quick, sympathetic smile; I must've looked like a mess. The lady gave us directions and a badge before we made our way through a labyrinth of twists and turns, as though our destination was intended to be hidden. In the end, we found ourselves in a narrow hallway leading to nowhere.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
"I was sure she said it's this way…" mum said quietly. "Kalak, do you see an elevator? A working one?" She clarified, as I pointed to a decrepit lift clearly not fit for use.
"Ah, ma'am!" The receptionist from earlier ran towards us. "I'm so sorry," she panted. "I sent you the wrong way… I'm new here." She gave an apologetic smile. "If you'll follow me… I'll take you up."
She maintained the steady stream of apologies throughout the brief journey, her words echoing in the confined space of the correct elevator to the first floor. The apologies made it feel like I had done something wrong.
"That was awkward," mum said when we were finally alone.
"Yeah."
My eyes swept across the small, unassuming, white room, reminiscent of a dentist's office, except without the diagrams of poorly maintained teeth next to shiny pearls. There were no posters at all. This room was just… bland: a solitary, grey, fabric corner sofa stood facing an unmanned reception desk with a modest glass coffee table in between, conspicuously devoid of the cups or magazines you would expect. It was like the unit was just purchased, a blank canvas waiting for its owner to give it life. That also explained why the lady guided us here — we would have walked past it given the absence of… well, everything. There was no other 'patient', no sign of staff, no presence of life.
It felt eerie, making me start a conversation so I didn’t feel alone. "Why isn't anyone else here?"
"Hmm… ‘might just be a quiet day,” Mum answered absently. “It's also lunch time."
I nodded in response, though it didn't help the peculiar unease I felt. I could only be glad that there were no mirrors here too, or I would have felt worse.
"Elara, ‘a pleasure to see you again," a voice called out, and Mum stood up, turning to greet a tall, slender looking woman who’d just entered the room.
"Chesil, ‘lovely to see you too." Mum reached in for an embrace before switching to a handshake midway as the doctor extended her palm. It was an awkward interaction, but Okapi remained indifferent, turning instead to regard me.
"And you must be Kalak." She gave a smile that didn't quite reach her grey eyes. "Let's go in, shall we?" Okapi produced a set of keys and unlocked the only door in the room before ushering us in.
Inside was almost as bare as the outside. There was a small bookshelf tucked in the corner of the room, a wooden desk with a pile of papers meticulously stacked, and in the centre of the room — the focal point — there was a reclined, padded chair, also like a dentist’s.
"Take a seat, Kalak." Okapi clicked her pen. "Let's talk about why you're here today."