Drenched in blood, the numb figure of a little girl lies on the cold ground at the side of the road.
Her vision blurs, breath ragged and uneven. Her gaze—faintly agape—fixates on the mangled bodies inside the overturned car, arms lifelessly dangling from shattered windows.
Her fingers twitch, the only part of her body that responds.
Her head throbs with a relentless pounding, drowning out every sound.
She wants to move, to save them—but her broken body betrays her. A single tear escapes, trailing down her cheek as her soul shatters in silence.
Blood mixes with gasoline, the air thick with its harsh, nauseating stench.
Inside the wreckage, her parents lie still.
The car, struck violently by a truck just moments ago, now rests upside down—crushed, ruined, silent.
Her hazy mind drifts back to the peaceful moments just before the crash.
She was there—laughing freely, joyfully—from the backseat, no seatbelt holding her in place.
Her father's voice echoed with a typical dad joke, and she broke out into hearty laughter.
Her mother shook her head, chuckling at her favorite duo, her eyes full of warmth.
Soft music played, weaving gently through the car.
They were barely three kilometers from their countryside destination.
Why such a twisted fate? What such a twisted game—
A deafening rumble tears through the stillness—metal twists, glass shatters, and orange-blue flames roar as the car explodes, erupting into the sky and lighting up the empty road flanked by silent woods.
The blast echoes into the forest, followed by the hiss of igniting gasoline and the low, relentless roar of flames devouring what remains.
---
Neva gasps, jolting awake. Her breathing is heavy, ragged.
Nightmares from eight years ago haunt her still—
a bloody reminder of a tragic start she wishes would vanish,
just as eight years of her life did.
She swallows the lump in her throat, her forehead damp with sweat. Trembling fingers rake through her long, messy hair.
She glances at the clock—5 a.m. it reads.
She sighs and closes her eyes.
Her body shuddering slightly still.
---
At seven thirty, she steps out of her apartment. Her class starts at 9 a.m. sharp.
Her head cloudy, she mindlessly trudges to the pavement beyond the wall dividing her apartment compound from the street.
"Where you going, Angel?" A familiar voice abruptly pulls her back to the present.
Her frowning features shift to astonishment.
That voice!
She sways slightly to glimpse the man behind her.
Why is it him? Neva wonders, her thoughts racing in the treasure of her mind.
These past few days, she encountered him none—her mystery man.
She had accused him of lying. That mortifying scene from a week ago crawls fresh into her mind.
She curls her lips in uneasiness.
She had nearly called the cops on him.
Why did he have to appear now?
The fresh daylight sharpens her vision; she can see his features more clearly now.
The early morning sun reflects off his jet-black hair, turning it a shade of silver.
A straight, tall nose.
Thin, yet sculpted like a cupid, with naturally rosy mauve coloured lips.
And those deep, coffee-colored eyes—staring into her, as though reading her soul. Neva has to admit, he's quite handsome.
She clears her throat, masking her thoughts with ease. "University."
He parts his lips into a silent oh, as though appreciating the new piece of information.
She turns around, planning to amble toward her favorite bakery café.
But as she starts to saunter, footsteps approach. Moments later, he's sauntering right beside her.
She exhales sharply. "Why?"
"Hmm?" His round, almond eyes blink with feigned innocence.
"Why are you walking next to me?" she asks, tearing her gaze away.
"Why, you ask?" he grins, a teasing sweetness dancing on his lips. "What kind of man would I be if I didn't escort the woman I'm dying to court?"
"I don't like you. Isn't that clear?" Neva glares at him, her tone sharp.
"Then I'll make you," he replies, his smile growing wider, brighter—like sunlight breaking through cloud.
Neva is this close to burrow herself into a hole. The brightness in his eyes is overwhelming, blazing.
The brightness is almost blinding. She shields her eyes with her lids, sighing—already vexed so early in the morning.
Peering ahead, she forces herself to calm down.
Tumbling into chaos beside this man, with her thoughts already stormy, wouldn't be so delightful.
"I don't even know your name, Angel. Will you give me the honor?" he asks, clearly determined to keep the conversation alive.
"Will you leave me alone then?" she replies, casually, hoping he'd take the hint and disappear.
He shrugs. "Maybe."
"I'm not telling you!" she huffs, firmly planting her feet in stubborn resolve.
"Then allow me to escort you… just as far as your lecture hall," he says, leaning in slightly, a playful glint in his eyes—pressing, nudging, teasing.
"Neva," she mutters at last, defeated, only hoping not for her first lecture day to be ruined because of him.
"What a beautiful name," he says with a smile.
She doesn't appreciate the flattery.
He's still glued to the spot.
"I told you—now leave me alone!" she snaps, glaring at him.
He squints, mischief dancing in his eyes.
"I said I'd escort you to your lecture hall—never your university." He remarks, grinning sheepishly.
Neva, fuming, ignores him.
Her chest puffed up with frustration, she marches ahead, putting an end to their little tête-à-tête—she's almost at the café.