As the first light of dawn crept through the window, the rising sun spilled a gentle radiance across the room, its golden rays weaving through the glass to bathe her chiseled features in a warm, ethereal glow.
She rubbed the sleep from her eyes as the soft glow of early morning slipped through the curtains, painting golden lines across the room. The world outside was still quiet, wrapped in the hush of dawn.
She pushed the covers aside and sat up slowly, her heart beating a little faster, She stood motionless, eyes fixed on the horizon, looking as divine as a god carved from ancient stone. The icy, violent aura that had lain dormant for over three years stirred faintly beneath her calm exterior, like a storm whispering at the edge of a quiet sea.
The world outside was waking—birds trilled in the distance, and the faint hum of life began to pulse through the bustling town beyond the walls. Yet, in this fleeting moment, she was alone with the dawn, a young woman caught between the serenity of the morning and the shadows of a past she could not outrun.
Today was Divine first day back at school, Three years. That's how long it had been. Three long, fragile years since the fire… since she watched her mother burn in that car, helpless and screaming. the accident that shattered her world, The memory of that night clawed at her.
flames licking the twisted metal of her mother's car, the screams that weren't hers but felt like they were, the helpless weight of watching life burn away.
Three years of depression had followed, a fog of grief so thick it nearly drowned her.
The mental scars lingered, raw and unhealed, manifesting in visions that blurred the line between reality and nightmare.
The memory came like smoke—quiet, curling around the edges of her mind, even when she tried to push it away. Her mother's face haunted her, Sometimes it visited her in dreams, vivid and sharp, soft and smiling, whispering words of love; Other times, it came in broad daylight, a fleeting figure in the crowd or a shadow in the mirror, her mother's face flashing before her, smiling or crying or silent, like a ghost floating just out of reach. her eyes pleading or accusing. Even now, as the sunlight warmed her skin, she half-expected to see her mother's silhouette in the glass, her voice echoing in the quiet.
The air carried the scent of dew-soaked earth and blooming jasmine, a reminder of the life she'd fought to reclaim here, far from the wreckage of that night.
Her fingers traced the edge of the wooden windowsill, worn smooth by years of quiet mornings like this one. But today felt different.
The light seemed sharper, the air heavier, as if the universe itself was holding its breath. Somewhere deep within, that old, restless energy flickered—a spark of defiance, or perhaps fear, threatening to ignite the carefully buried rage she'd carried since the accident.
She straightened, her jaw tightening, as the first rays of sunlight glinted off the small, silver locket on the table behind her, a keepsake from her mother, its weight both a comfort and a chain.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for her uniform folded neatly on the chair. It felt like she was putting on armor. Her body still carried the weight of the pills, the therapy sessions, the nights she screamed into her pillow.
But normalcy felt like a betrayal when her mother's absence still burned in her chest. She glanced at the locket again, her heart racing. Was she ready to face the world that had moved on without her?
The other students, the teachers, the pitying glances—they'd all be waiting. And what if her mother's face appeared again, in the middle of a crowded hallway, her voice louder than the chatter? She took a deep breath, the morning air cool against her lips, and whispered to herself, "You can do this, Divine." The name felt foreign, like it belonged to someone she used to be.
After a long breath, she managed to walk herself downstairs, each step deliberate—like learning to walk again.
"Uhhhn, finally, Divine is here," Kingsley said with a grin, carefully placing a plate on the table. He looked up as she entered, and his smile softened.
"My daughter looks like something out of a fairytale. Come, have your seat. You're getting late—and it's your first day back. You should avoid being late."
"Yes, that's true," Lara chimed in, appearing from the kitchen with a bowl of dessert in her hands. Her voice was gentle, like it always was when she was trying not to make things feel too heavy. "And I made your favorite—custard with cinnamon. Just the way you like it."
Divine managed a small smile. Her body felt present, but her mind floated just a little behind, like it hadn't fully caught up with the moment. Still, she walked over, pulled out her chair, and sat down.
The dining table looked the same as it always had. But something about today made it feel different—warmer, maybe. Or maybe it was just the way Kingsley looked at her, like he'd been waiting for this day for a very long time.
She picked up her spoon, hands still trembling slightly. Lara and Kingsley pretended not to notice. It was their silent agreement—to make things feel normal, even when they weren't.
Just as Divine picked up her spoon, Joseph slid into the dining room with a devilish grin. He was already dressed for school but had his backpack on backward and a banana tucked behind his ear like a phone.
He pointed at her with wide, dramatic eyes.
"Oh my God... it's alive."
Divine blinked at him, unimpressed.
"What?"
Joseph gasped like he'd seen a ghost.
"You. You actually came downstairs. I was starting to think you turned into a bed ghost. Or maybe you were secretly growing roots in that room like a potted plant."
"Joseph," Kingsley warned lightly, though the corner of his mouth twitched with amusement.
Lara tried to hide her smile as she stirred the custard.
"I come in peace" Joseph declared
"You know, I told my friends I had a sister. They thought I was lying. I even showed them a picture and they said, 'She's probably AI-generated.'"
He leaned in close, squinting at her face.
"Wait… are you real? Blink twice."
Divine rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched.
"Leave her alone, Joseph," Lara said gently.
"I'm just saying," Joseph said, raising his hands innocently. "She better not go to school and scare the juniors. She's all pale like a vampire. I mean, don't bite anyone, okay?"
"I'm not pale," Divine muttered, half-smiling.
" really You're glowing," he replied, mock serious. "Like a lightbulb with anxiety."
This time, Divine actually laughed—a short, surprised one. Joseph smirked, pleased with himself.
"There it is," he said triumphantly. "Mission Cheer-Up: Complete."
Lara chuckled as she set down the bowl. "Joseph, let her eat in peace."
"She needs joy more than cereal," Joseph said solemnly, pulling out the chair beside her and sitting with a proud smile.
Divine looked at him, really looked this time, and gave a real smile—small, but honest.