To remain only a human is a comfort. To accept the divine is a burden. What the heart desires and what the spirit demands are never the same.
~~~~~
Her shoulders still ache as if Ayani's grip remains. In her bones, the echo of Ayani's scream trembles.
What was that? she wonders. Sweat on her skin, her breath heavy, nerves fraying. She stands from her bed, slips out of her room, and runs to the stairs, towards the kitchen, desperate to drink water.
In the kitchen, she finds the man who claims to be her distant uncle. She ignore his presence and goes straight for the water bottle.
"Did something happen?" he asks.
"Nothing," she answers, clutching the bottle and walking away.
"You can share with me… I might be able to help," he offers.
She does not reply. She leaves.
The night drags itself to an end.
Morning spills in, pale and quiet. Ahmaya steps out of the house and stands before the sandalwood tree. She looks at its rough bark as it is the only thread to unravel her questions.
You are the only clue I have, she whispers inwardly.
Her hand shakes as it reaches for the trunk. Her heart hammers in her chest, a restless tide. But just as her fingertips are about to touch the bark, another hand catches hers, firm.
"Grandma…" Ahmaya breathes.
Without a word, her grandmother drags her back into the house.
Ahmaya pulls her hand free, anger burning hot. "Amma, what is your problem?"
"I told you—you are not allowed to go outside the house!" Grandma's voice rises, sharp, angry.
"You don't even know what I'm going through right now." Ahmaya cries "There's an ocean of questions around me, and every day I drown deeper, unable to find even one answer. And you…..you don't even care to ask! I'm so, so disappointed."
She turns and flees upstairs, breaking in tears. In her room, she throw herself onto the bed, crying into the pillow. Frustration chokes her. She skips dinner. She refuse to come out of her room.
Downstairs, her grandma sits in silence at the table, a plate of food before her. Opposite her, the man eats calmly.
"We're doing it today," the man says.
She only nods.
Night folds over the house.
Grandma warms a glass of milk and carries it to Ahmaya's room. Entering softly, she finds Ahmaya turned away, her face hidden from her.
Her grandmother's voice tender, almost pleading. "Are you still angry with me?"
No reply.
"I'm sorry," she says quietly. "I should have listened. Tomorrow…. we'll sit together, and I'll hear everything—everything you want to tell me, from beginning to end. I promise."
At that, Ahmaya turns to look at her.
Grandma takes her hand gently and presses the cup of milk into her palms. "Please forgive your old grandmother. Drink. You didn't eat all day. Sleep well tonight, and tomorrow, with a calm mind, you'll tell me everything."
Ahmaya nods faintly, holding the cup. Her grandmother pats her head softly before leaving the room.
Relief washes over her—at last, her grandmother will listen. Maybe, finally, some questions will be answered.
Sleep usually resists her, but tonight it takes her swiftly. She sleeps, deeply and soundly.
And then—she opens her eyes.
Everything around her is white. Endless white, stretching without horizon. Her body feels absent, weightless. Before her, a translucent screen flickers, she feels as if she is standing into her subconscious, and watching everything through a window. She can see her room, and everything around her.
She sees the middle-aged man, seated, eyes closed, chanting in low tones, his hands over Ahmaya's head.
Beside him, her grandmother stands silently.
"What are they doing?" she whispers.
A voice calls her name.
"Ahmaya."
She turns sharply. "M… mom?"
Her mother stands there, smiling softly.
Tears blur her eyes as she rush forward, falling into her mother's embrace.
"My baby…." Her mother's hand cups her cheek, the other holding her hand tight. "We don't have much time."
"What are they doing?" Ahmaya asks, her voice trembling. "And how… how am I seeing this?"
"You're sleeping," her mother explains gently. She taps the space between Ahmaya's eyebrows.
"This is your third eye. Through it, you are seeing them."
"They're erasing your memories."
Ahmaya stares at her in shock. "Memories? What memories?"
"Everything you've learned and know about the Aokmas."
"But… why? I don't—"
Her mother interrupts softly, "If it's too much for you, if it's too heavy… it may be better to forget."
Her mother places a hand over Ahmaya's heart.
"Ask yourself, baby. What do you want? To forget it all, and live like a normal human? Or to keep it, and live as an Aokma? Whatever your heart chooses… that is your path."
For a moment, Ahmaya stood still, her heart pounding against the silence.
Maybe it would be easier, she thought—to stay a human, oblivious of this Aokma world. A simple life. A career. A family untouched by destiny.
The life she had always wanted.