As the first rays of dawn lit up the mess of papers and notes scattered across my desk, they crept into my room and gently nudged me awake. Each one was a silent herald of today's daunting challenge: my final attempt at the magic affinity exams. Dreams of traversing enchanted realms, of casting spells and uncovering mysteries, all hinged on this pivotal day. Yet, without triumphing in these trials, such wonders would remain just beyond my grasp.
I lay there for a moment, taking in the smallness of my room, its simplicity a constant reminder of where I started. The lone window allowed the morning light to play across the sparse setup: a wooden dresser, crooked and empty, stood against one wall, while my study corner – a humble table and chair – held guard over an open, time-worn book. My bed, a modest cot with its thin mattress and patched blanket, was the only haven in this cramped space.
On the mirror, I did see a rather resolute stare. I ran my hand through my unruly locks and readied myself against the day. My usually untamed hair seemed to cooperate, framing my face with an air of resolve. With each strand I tucked back, my confidence swelled.
I quickly dressed in my well-worn tunic and trousers and took comfort in their familiarity. Next to occupy my attention was the rapier passed down through generations on my father's side of the family. With an intrinsically etched silver hilt, this weapon glowed very faintly in the faint morning light. I fastened it at my waist, feeling connected to my lineage—a silent vow to uphold our legacy.
I swung my old cloak behind my shoulders; deep blue, faded yet full of dignity, it wrapped itself around me like an armor. I covered my head with the hood.
My mother was in the kitchen, cooking, her back to me, and the smell of breakfast filled the air as I stepped inside. In contrast to the chaos inside of me, I took comfort in the familiar scene and said, "Morning, Mom." The worn but inviting kitchen table seemed to provide a moment's relief from the nerve-wracking storm that was building inside.
My mother set a steaming bowl of porridge in front of me, her warm smile tinged with a hint of worry. “Morning, dear. Sleep okay?” Her gaze, full of motherly concern, met mine, searching for signs of the anxiety I felt. “Big day today, huh? How’re you holding up about the exams?”
I paused, staring at the vapor trails dancing over the bowl. "You know, it's a jumble in my head," I said in an attempt to come across as more assured than I actually was. “Nervous, for sure. But somewhere in there, there’s this little buzz of excitement. Feels like today could really be it.”
Her smile wavered as the creases around her eyes betrayed her worry. “You know, your dad and I have been talking... We just want what’s best for you. These exams... they’ve got us all on edge.”
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
Her words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of expectations. I nodded in response, though I doubted she could see it. My attention drifted to the frayed edges of my robe, a testament to our modest life. The impending conversation, the one I had been dreading, loomed on the horizon.
She sighed, a soft sound filled with mixed emotions. “Look, Mina, if things don’t pan out today, maybe it’s worth considering a plan B, you know? There’s more to life, other dreams to chase.”
A deep sigh escaped me as I pushed the bowl of porridge away; suddenly, my appetite faded like a memory. My tummy twisted in frustration and disappointment. I couldn't stand the taste of food in my mouth. What my mother said continued echoing in my mind, an unrelenting torment which I longed to be able to silence. "Mom, please! Not this again. Not now. Can we just not do this right now?" I snapped, my voice tinged with irritation. I could see the hurt in her eyes, her understanding a silent plea for forgiveness.
She reached out, her hand stopping mid-air, a bridge I wasn’t ready to cross yet. “I didn’t mean to upset you, Mina,” she said softly, her voice heavy with care and concern.
My anger flared as I thought about my father's absence. He had vanished without a word, leaving my mother to bear the burden of these conversations on her own. No words of encouragement, no sign of support. He had simply gone about his "work."
Turning my gaze back to my mother, I demanded answers. "Where's Dad in all of this? He sends you to talk to me, disappears without a word of encouragement before going off to so called work he claims to be doing." My voice was resolute, a reflection of the determination building within me as I sought clarity in the midst of our family's turmoil.
The kitchen, our family's longtime heart, felt confined and charged. Mom looked more tired than usual, her fingers tracing the edge of her old mug, a silent testament to her inner turmoil. “Your dad, well, he's doing what he can,” she replied, her voice laced with a touch of defensiveness. “He’s out there every day, working hard for us. He believes in you, Mina, just maybe not in the way you’re hoping.”
My frustration, simmering beneath the surface, bubbled up. “How, Mom? By not being here when I need him? By pushing for that marriage plan he thinks is best for me?”
Her hand, still hovering, finally rested gently on the table. “We're just looking out for you, thinking about your future,” she murmured, her eyes reflecting a mix of love and worry.
I stood up, feeling boxed in by the kitchen walls and the weight of our conversation. “I need some air,” I muttered, a silent resolve forming within me. I was going to prove them wrong, carve my own path, no matter what.
The shadow of an arranged marriage hung over me like a silent specter, a stark reminder of what was at stake in today's exams. It wasn't just about chasing my dreams anymore; it was a battle to claim the future I had always envisioned for myself, one where magic and freedom intertwined.
Each step towards the door felt like wading through a sea of molasses – a mixture of reluctance and pressing need. The remnants of our heavy conversation clung to me, a tangible weight on my shoulders, anchoring me down. I lacked the strength for dramatic gestures, so I just left, the door closing softly behind me.
As I crossed the threshold, my mother's voice, tender and fraught with concern, followed me. "Good luck, honey," she called out. Her words attempted to cut through the chaos in my mind, a whirlpool of hope and fear, but they only brushed the surface, barely making a dent in the maelstrom of my thoughts.