Kaya
I'm awake.
I know that because I feel it—the ache blooming across my entire body. That bittersweet soreness of overworked muscles, the deep stiffness that no amount of stretching can shake off.
Outside, the soft pitter-patter of rain taps against the window, slow and rhythmic, lulling me toward sleep again. I want to open my eyes, but my eyelids feel like they're made of lead.
Then, just as a cool, refreshing gust of wind brushes against my face, something rustles in the room.
I jolt upright—too fast, too startled.
"Awake?" Samantha's voice is soft as she reaches out and gently presses her hands to my shoulders, grounding me back to the mattress. "Don't move so suddenly. It's not good for you right now."
She's right. The moment the initial shock fades, the pain rushes back in like a tide. I melt into the bed with a groan, overwhelmed by the deep, dragging ache that feels like my bones are being pulled taut by invisible ropes.
