THYME'S POV:
The day Sakda visited Aunt Ying's house had left a residue of fear that clung to me like a shroud. I hadn't slept, my mind a relentless loop of horrifying possibilities. What if that scarred-face Meta kills Aunt Ying? But she had returned, safe, her face etched with a weariness she tried to hide. Now, a full week had passed since I was ripped from my own time, and I was still a prisoner here. My notebook was filled with frantic calculations and failed theories, a testament to my own futility. I was so frustrated, so stressed out, that a dark, insidious thought had started to whisper in the quiet moments: what if I just gave up?
But Aunt Ying was always there. The kindness she showed me, the care of a mother, of a grandmother… it was a warmth I could feel in my very soul, a lifeline that kept me from drowning in despair. Still, the questions haunted me in the long, silent hours of the night. Is Meta looking for me? Does anyone even know I'm gone? The thought that my absence might go unnoticed was a colder, more profound fear than any monster. Maybe… maybe it was better to stay here, safe in this small house, a ghost protected by a shaman.
Aunt Ying went out for her morning errands, leaving me alone in the house. I decided to clean her statues, the repetitive, careful motion a balm to my frayed nerves. I felt a deep, burgeoning desire to learn from her, to understand this world she walked in so fearlessly. I was polishing the smooth, cool surface of an Anito idol when a loud, authoritative knock at the door startled me so badly I nearly dropped it.
Aunt Ying's warning echoed in my mind: "Look from the window. He can see you."
My heart began to pound a frantic, panicked rhythm. I crept up the stairs and peeked through the second-floor window. It was Sakda. My blood ran cold.
"Why is he here? Is Raj needing Aunt Ying's help again? What should I do?" I started to panic, my thoughts scattering like startled birds. What if he hurts her because she isn't here? What if this is my fault?
Just as my mind was spiraling, Sakda turned and walked away. The relief was so profound it made my knees weak. I leaned against the wall, sliding down to the floor, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I thought it was over. But then, a voice from downstairs, so close it felt like it was inside my head, made my heart stop.
"Are you there, Khunying? Khun Metharaj is here to speak with you."
It was Sakda. He hadn't left. He had let himself in. And Raj… he said Raj was here.
"Shit!" The curse was a choked, involuntary sound.
"Someone is upstairs, Sakda. I heard them," Raj's voice, cold and analytical, cut through the silence from the floor below.
Shit! Shit! Shit! I needed to hide. My mind raced. Sakda can't see me, it's fine. As long as Raj doesn't come up here, I'm fine!
"I will check, Khun Meta," Sakda offered.
"No," Raj commanded. "It may be Khunying. I will speak to her directly."
That motherfucking bastard was coming up here. I scrambled to my feet, my mind a blank wall of pure terror. I needed to hide. Not Aunt Ying's room, not my room. The storage room. It was cluttered, dark, perfect. I ran, my bare feet silent on the wooden floor, and slipped inside just as I heard his heavy footsteps reach the top of the stairs. The room was a maze of old cabinets and dusty shelves. I dove into the darkest, farthest corner, pulling an old, moth-eaten blanket over myself, praying he wouldn't see me. The air was thick with the smell of dust and old paper, and it immediately irritated my nose. Don't sneeze, Thyme. Do not sneeze.
"Are you in here, Khunying?" The storage room door creaked open. Raj walked inside, a terrifying silhouette against the light from the hallway. The urge to sneeze was a physical, burning pressure in my sinuses. I pinched my nose, my eyes watering.
"What are you doing in my storage room, Khun Meta?"
Aunt Ying. She was back. The relief was a wave that nearly made me sob.
"I thought you were inside," Raj replied, his voice still cold, but now tinged with something else… suspicion.
"You should not have entered," Aunt Ying said, her tone firm, authoritative. "This room is filled with cursed objects, remnants of rituals best left undisturbed."
"You are a strange woman, Khunying," Raj mused, a hint of dark amusement in his voice. "Most people discard such things. You collect them."
"Let us speak downstairs," she said, closing the door. But it was too late. The sneeze I had been holding back exploded from me, a loud, ridiculous sound in the sudden darkness.
"What was that?" Raj's voice was sharp, immediate.
"That," Aunt Ying said without a moment's hesitation, "is precisely what I was warning you about. An object in that room… it mimics sounds to lure people in. Once you touch it, it can possess you. Now, let us go downstairs before you invite something unpleasant to follow you."
He believed her. When they finally went downstairs, I let out the breath I hadn't realized I was holding. But then her words sank in. Cursed objects. Possessed. I remembered her warning to never enter this room. I was in the back of a dark, maze-like storage room filled with potentially haunted artifacts. I scrambled to my feet, panicking, and immediately bumped into a shelf. A heavy, book-like object tumbled from above and hit me square on the head.
"Arggg, shit, my head hurts," I mumbled, rubbing the sore spot. I grabbed the object—a photo album—and fled the room, my heart still pounding.
I didn't dare eavesdrop. I went straight to my room and locked the door. I wiped the thick layer of dust from the photo album's cover and opened it. It was a family photo of Aunt Ying. She had a sister and a brother, and they all looked so happy. I felt a familiar pang of jealousy. I had never had a family photo like this.
I flipped the page, and the air was stolen from my lungs. "H-How… how can this be here?" My eyes blurred with tears. It was a picture I cherished above all others, a memory I thought was lost forever. My chest ached with a grief so profound I hugged the album tight.
"Grandma…" my voice cracked. It was a photo of her in her mid-thirties, her smile as warm and radiant as I remembered. "Grandma, I missed you so much." The only copy I ever had was burned by my mother years ago. And now, impossibly, she was here, in my hands.
I wanted to go downstairs, to demand answers from Aunt Ying, but Raj's cold, menacing voice still echoed in my mind. He was still in the house. I couldn't risk a confrontation. Trapped in my room, I clutched the photo album, the images a blessing and a curse all at once. My grandmother smiled up at me from every page, her warmth so tangible I could almost feel it. She was so happy, so vibrant, and the sight of her was both a balm to my soul and a fresh, agonizing wound. My mother had stolen every photo of her, had burned them in a cold, resentful fury. And now, impossibly, here was a family photo album with my grandmother inside it.
The more I looked, the more impatient I became. The need to understand how this was possible was a frantic ache in my chest. When I finally heard the soft click of the front door and the sound of Aunt Ying guiding Raj out, I let out a silent breath of relief. I gave them a moment, my heart pounding with a desperate hope that she wouldn't leave before I could talk to her. But just as I reached for the doorknob, a noise from inside Aunt Ying's room made me freeze.
Someone was in her room.
I tiptoed toward the door, my heart thumping against my ribs like a trapped drum. I pressed my ear to the polished wood. A faint, hushed sound from within—a rustle of fabric, the creak of a floorboard. Then, a low, familiar whisper.
"Where does she hide it?"
The voice was gone as quickly as it had come, but the cold dread lingered. I threw the door open, my body tensing for a fight. The room was empty. The scent of sandalwood and old paper was all that greeted me. I checked behind the small altar, under the bed, in the closet. Nothing.
Was I hallucinating? Was the stress finally making me lose my mind? No, it was impossible. Aunt Ying's home was a fortress of guardian spirits. No malevolent ghost would dare to enter. But I knew what I had heard. The sound, the voice, the strange, fleeting sense of familiarity. It wasn't a ghost. It was something else.
Shaken, I finally went downstairs, ready to explain everything, to confront Aunt Ying with the photo album and the voice I had heard. But the house was silent. Empty. Aunt Ying had left. A small, cruel note from the universe, it seemed.
Dejected, I collapsed onto the couch. Time stretched on, a heavy, silent weight, until a flash of movement outside caught my eye. It was a woman, her back to me, her hair a cascade of dark silk. Something about her silhouette, the way she carried herself, made my breath catch in my throat.
She looked exactly like my sister, Ratchanee.
I told myself I was hallucinating, that the stress was finally getting to me. The thought that she was here, in this timeline, was a terrifying impossibility. But I had to know. I immediately left the house, a silent, invisible shadow, and followed her. She was heading toward a temple, the air around it thick with the scent of incense and the low hum of chanting. I hesitated at the gate, knowing that my spiritual form was no match for the perceptive eyes of a monk. But the woman stopped, turned to speak to a monk, and for a brief, heart-stopping moment, her face came into full view.
It was her. It was Ratchanee. The same almond-shaped eyes, the small mole on her cheek. There was no doubt. "How… how are you here, Ratchanee?" I whispered, the words a raw, broken thing in the quiet air.
She and the monk disappeared inside the temple. I was about to follow them, to demand answers, to touch her just to be sure she was real, when a firm hand clamped down on my arm, stopping me dead in my tracks.
"Child, what are you doing here?" Aunt Ying's voice was a low, urgent whisper in my ear.
My head snapped around. "Aunt Ying?" My mind short-circuited. She was here, not with Meta, as I had assumed. "I thought you went with..."
"That was not your sister, Thyme," she cut me off, her eyes fixed on the temple's entrance. "That woman you saw is the sister of Khun Metharaj. Her name is Thanya Chaiya."
"But... no," I stammered, the words tangling in my mouth. "Thanya Chaiya is Meta's sister. In my timeline. The woman I just saw... she looks exactly like my sister, Ratchanee."
Aunt Ying's face tightened with worry. "Stop being confused, child, and listen to me. Khun Metharaj is inside. He might have been alerted to your presence by the monks. He cannot see you, but he can feel your energy. You must return home immediately."
She pulled me away, her grip surprisingly strong, guiding me back toward the house. I had no choice but to follow. I returned to the quiet house, my mind a blank, terrified slate. I sat there, utterly lost in a labyrinth of my own thoughts. In my world, Meta's sister was named Thanya. In this world, the woman who looked exactly like my sister was named Thanya. And the Meta in this world was named Metharaj. The names were right, but the faces were all wrong. I felt like a ship that had lost its anchor, drifting in a sea of names and faces that had no home.