As Sumendu rose from his bed, his mind drifted back to the night before. Every thought circled its way back to Nima. A faint ache bloomed in his chest each time her name passed through his mind. He could not shake away the last image of her — his Nima — the dusky, breathtaking figure who had rushed toward him, wounded and in agony, yet with a beauty that even pain could not diminish. Her round face, even in that moment of distress, remained etched in his memory with haunting clarity.
He could still see her, running toward him as though she meant to dissolve into his arms—to escape the chaos around her and find refuge in the shelter of his heart, never again to be troubled by the agony of life. She wasn't merely running to him; she was running into him — forever — and that realization had shaken him to his core as he now stood before the mirror.
He wanted answers desperately, but the only thing staring back at him was his own reflection, and the thoughts of Nima in which he was completely lost. A soft knock at the door pulled him out of his trance. It was his cousin Dia — almost the same age as him — who was forever pulling pranks on him and somehow always succeeded in getting him blamed for them. She was a handful in every sense.
She barged into the room and caught him staring at himself. Her mischievous inner child woke instantly; even though he braced for it, he still couldn't escape the tiny, teasing pinch on his arm as she asked, "In whose thoughts are you so lost that you don't even seem like yourself?"
He was about to blurt out Nima's name when her eyes fell upon the injury on his head. The smile faded from her face instantly as concern replaced mischief. She reached out gently, touching the mark that hadn't been there the day before.
"What happened?" she asked softly.
"Dia," he replied, "I want to tell you something — but not now. Let's have breakfast first. Then I'll tell you something you won't believe."