She could hear her again. 

Her voice echoed through her dreams from somewhere beyond her reach. Lately, she was always here, haunting the last hours just before her waking moment, whispering words beyond Daliya’s understanding. Sometimes, the dreams would be vivid, and instead of the hazy fog that accompanied the woman’s whispers, there were dazzling pictures of a snowy mountain, a lonely forest only illuminated by the moon’s soft glow. Sometimes, she could hear the sound of the woman’s steps, the snow crunching under her boots as she slowly wove her way through the snowy fields and saw the white fog float gently in front of her face.

But nothing this vivid and clear.

Daliya could hear her heavy breaths echoing against the cave’s crystal walls. She watched through the woman’s eyes as she held her sword up, pointing right at a man’s heart. 

Suddenly, she was no longer Daliya. She was no longer someone watching from the sidelines—a disembodied guest looking through the eyes of someone in a hazy dream. No. At that moment, she was that woman.

She didn’t even know what she was doing inside a dimly lit cave, the only light source being the flame hovering over the man’s palm. The flame reflected against the crystals hanging from the ceiling, growing haphazardly on the walls and ground.

The man’s eyes shone a bright red. A black dagger, the blade coated in a thin film of fire, materialized in his hand. He held out his other hand, his stone-cold eyes boring into hers.

“Hand it over,” he commanded.

“No,” she hissed.

He lunged at her, the dagger twisting in the air, a fiery arc following its path. She stepped back and away from the weapon, her movement smooth and graceful, as if she had trained her whole life for this.

They danced around each other, her slender movements keeping her out of the weapon’s reach. But one wrong step and her back connected with the cave’s wall. There was no way for her to go. He launched himself, dagger pointing at her chest. This time, the black steel would reach its target. She lifted her hand, blue steel clashing against black. Daliya blinked, only then noticing the broken sword in the woman’s hand.

She pushed him away and raised her hand toward him. Snow lifted upward, floating in the space between them, then stilled, as if frozen in time, before shaping into thin, sharp spears. They flew towards him, tearing into skin and leather and leaving trails of blood in their wake.

The last thing Daliya saw before wakefulness pulled at her consciousness were his blood-red eyes glaring daggers at her.

The coldness of the floor was the first thing that registered on Daliya’s tired mind. Her body ached as she lifted herself from the ground, massaging her numb arm that must have cushioned her fall. She sighed. Despite her few hours of sleep, she was still tired. And those dreams didn’t help either. She had started having them a couple of days ago.

She glanced at her phone, cursing at the numbers displayed on the screen.

She had slept in.

Wasting no time, she donned her clothes and hurried out the door, silently mourning her missed breakfast. Her hurried steps only slowed once she reached the bus station. Good. At least she hadn’t missed the bus.

“It's such nice weather today, " the old woman beside her–one of her long-time neighbors–said, her smile pulling at the wrinkles on her face. She looked up at her, her posture long gone with age and manual labor.

“Indeed.” Daliya smiled back.

“I hope we won’t get sudden rain. He always forgets to take an umbrella with him, no matter how many times I remind him.” She looked up at the sky, a small frown flickering over her features before her usual smile returned.

It wasn’t the first, nor would it be the last, time she would talk about her son. She shared more about her personal life than anyone cared to ask, and Daliya didn’t fault her. God knows the poor woman was in dire need of a listening ear. For all the time Daliya had known her, she had yet to see her genuinely happy, despite the smile the woman always forced on her face, worn down by time and hard work.

She was an honest and kind woman, unlike her useless son–an alcoholic who relied on his poor mother to feed him while he lazied around, waiting for the day to end to drown himself in poison.

The woman smiled weakly at Daliya’s look. “He’s a good person. He’s just going through some bad times.” 

A scowl pulled at Daliya’s lips. A fool was what he was. He destroyed not only his own life but also his mother’s. Always coming late, shouting, yelling obscenities till his poor mother ushered him inside, pleading with him not to wake the neighbors. Stirring trouble with gangs and getting arrested–not once, not twice–and having his poor mother bail him out with her hard-earned money from her cleaning job. 

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

It reminded her of someone whose existence she would rather forget about. Someone who drowned in alcohol after the death of his wife, abandoning his daughter and turning to the wretched drink like he would find his reason for living at the bottom of the bottle.

He just left one day, then never came back. 

Good riddance. She didn’t need someone like him.

His family had wanted nothing to do with her nor anything that had to do with her mother, they had said. She had stayed with her maternal grandmother till death tore her away, too.

The old woman opened her mouth–certainly to defend her sorry excuse of a s son–when the sound of the approaching bus grabbed her attention. She glanced at the approaching bus, a relieved sigh escaping her cracked lips.

Daliya’s day was like any other: lecture after lecture, never-ending words sounding like jibberish to her tired ears. She had nodded off in class but thankfully awoke before the professor took notice.

No one invited her to the weekend outing she had heard her class plan for the last month. Not that she would have gone. Still, it would be nice to be asked once in a while if she was willing to attend–what with her part-time job and all. But she understood. She had turned them so many times that they had given up on her ever showing up.

A small part of her–the crazy part she kept hidden–thought about showing up dressed as one of those fairytale witches, asking where her invite got lost.

After classes came her part-time job.

She was late yet again. Not by her design. It was hard to juggle her classes and her part-time job. She could barely get a couple of hours of sleep in between.

Daliya smiled sheepishly, trying her best to avoid her boss’s disapproving look. Darim’s lips pulled into a displeased line, and his brow furrowed into a disapproving frown.

“Stop dawdling and just get to work,” he sighed. 

“On it, boss.” She gave him a crooked salute and hurried inside. 

“About time you showed up.” Laila, their restaurant’s only cook, raised her eyebrow at Daliya. “Your favorite customer is already here.” She gestured outside. 

Daliya barely stopped the scowl from showing on her face. She nodded at Laila, who had long returned to her stove.

Favorite customer was one way to call him. The bastard was almost a regular in the restaurant. Always looking for trouble. Always trying to wrestle a free meal out of them. 

Getting a free meal wasn’t the problem. It was how he was trying to get it.

She headed towards the staff area and changed her clothes, her scowl deepening at the thought of dealing with the bastard.

Her favorite customer had already finished his meal and was waiting for a waiter to complain. She glimpsed Saad hiding behind the counter, wiping the surface every second and then, trying to appear busy.

It was up to her then.

She veered towards the table, her practiced smile clicking into place.

“Can I get you something?” she asked.

“Ah, finally,” he huffed, like the thought of making him wait was deserving of capital punishment.

“Look at what I found in my food.” He motioned to his polished plate where a lonely dead cockroach rested. “Is this what you give to your customers to eat?”

She eyed the poor insect, wondering for a second how unfair it was to die for this bastard’s nefarious plans. It deserved better.

“I thought you promised this wouldn’t happen again. And yet.” He threw his hands in protest.

Patience, she reminded herself. A word she had repeated so much it had turned into a mantra. Patience, she repeated. If he thought he would play her for a fool, he was mistaken.

Her smile was strained as she stared at him. “Did you know? With the sudden influx of thievery around the area, we have decided it would be wise to install a surveillance camera inside the restaurant.” She motioned up in a general direction towards the ceiling. “If you want, we can take a quick look to determine where that insect came from,” she announced with false cheer, smacking her hands together in a loud clap.

He startled. His eyes bulged in his head. He looked at her with sudden alarm. “You did?”

They didn’t.

She nodded, her grin widening.

He shot to his feet. “Nevermind. Maybe another time.” He threw money on the table and hurried outside like the hounds of hell were at his heels.

“Make sure to come back again,” she called after him.

Come back never, bastard.

Saad gave her a thumbs-up. She grinned and made a note to update him on the new additions to the restaurant.

It was a whole hour’s walk till she got home. She trudged down the familiar streets and thought for the millionth time how unlucky and unfortunate she was. But not for long. Soon, it would be payday, and she could finally get a whiff of good, sweet money bills. She felt giddiness swell in her chest. Nothing could lift her mood better than the numbers on her paycheck.

She glanced at the pile of books she had yet to open for next week’s exam and groaned, an overwhelming feeling of despair flooding her. She was going to fail if this kept up. She needed to catch up on her studies. But not today. Today, she was tired, and the best thing she could do was get some much-needed sleep. She almost looked forward to her dreams, no matter how weird they were. Anything but the impending doom next week.

Without wasting another second, she pulled herself under the shower, put on her red and brown pajamas, and face-planted on her bed.

She fell asleep as soon as her head hit her pillow. The old, hard mattress dug into her sore bones, and a voice chased her into her dreams.