Ara woke up screaming.
She bolted upright in bed, gasping for air, her hands clutching her chest. Her heart raced, pounding so hard it hurt.
Sunlight streamed through the curtains.
Birds chirped outside.
She was alive.
Again.
Ara pressed her palm against her chest, feeling the steady rhythm of her heart. No wounds. No blood. No shadows.
Just another morning.
She laughed weakly, dragging her hands through her hair.
"Still here," she muttered.
But something felt… wrong.
She glanced at the desk beside her bed. A framed photo sat there—her, smiling between her parents.
Ara stared at it.
Her chest tightened.
She knew those were her parents.
She just couldn't remember their names.