Drenched in blood, the small, numb figure of a little girl lies sprawled on the cold ground at the side of the road.
Her vision blurs, breath ragged and uneven. Her unfocused 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 skull 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 chest heaves heavily, lungs dragging in the air as she finds it too sharp to breathe.
Damp strands of curls cling to her sweaty forehead, while beads of moisture trail down, slicking the hollow of her neck.
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 against the lump knotting in her throat. She glances at the digital clock on her nightstand: 5:00 a.m. The red digits burn against the dimly–lit room.
Her eyes squeeze shut. A shaky sigh escapes her, her body still quivering with the pungency of fear.
---
By seven thirty, she steps out of her apartment, the morning chill grazing her skin. Her head is heavy, clouded, thoughts fogging the edges of her mind as she trudges past the wall dividing the compound from the street.
"Where you going, Angel?"
The familiar voice abruptly snaps her back to the present.
Her frown melts into startled astonishment.
That voice!
She sways slightly, turning just enough to catch a glimpse.
Why is it him?
Neva's thoughts immediately race 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, his figure more clearly now. The early morning sun skims the sleek strands of his jet-black hair, tinting them silver at the edges.
His nose is straight, tall and sharp.
His lips thin yet sculpted fine like a cupid, with a natural flush of mauve.
And those deep, coffee-colored eyes—staring into her, as though reading her soul.
Neva has to admit—he's quite handsome.
Dangerously so.
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 away, setting her sights on the café down the street.
But as she starts walking, his footsteps fall into rhythm beside hers, soft, steady.
She exhales sharply. "Why?"
"Hmm?" His almond eyes blink with feigned innocence.
"Why are you walking next to me?" she asks, looking straight ahead.
"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 so annoyed, she's this close to burrowing into a hole. The brightness in his eyes overwhelming, blazing.
Neva forces her gaze forward, straining for calm, brows deeply knitted in quiet fury.
Tumbling into chaos beside this man—with her thoughts already storming, 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 soft 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 with her heated cheeks puffed up—fuming, ignores him, her chest swelling with absolute frustration.
She marches ahead, putting an end to their little tête-à-tête—she's almost at the café.