The next morning, I said my goodbyes and folded myself into the back of a cab. The city shrank in the rearview mirror, its familiar faces and pressures dissolving with the distance. Grandma lived a hundred kilometers from the capital, in a world that smelled of damp earth and woodsmoke instead of exhaust fumes.
When I arrived, she was waiting on the porch, a silhouette of warmth against the rustic wood of her house. Everything about the place felt like a fresh start, a deep, cleansing breath. For the first time in months, I felt a flicker of something like hope.
It was one morning, about a week later, that the world tilted on its axis. I woke up feeling exhausted, a deep, cellular weariness. A hot shower, I thought, would shock me back to life. I turned the knob until the water should have been scalding, but as it cascaded over my skin, I felt nothing. Not hot, not cold. Just a strange numbness, a profound disconnect between my body and the world. I chalked it up to fatigue.
"Cass! Breakfast is ready!" Grandma's voice echoed from the kitchen.
I dressed and walked toward the sound, finding her at the stove with her back to me. She was still calling my name.
"I'm right here, Granny," I said, a smile playing on my lips. "You can't see me? I think your eyes are getting old."
"Cass, please be fast, dear!" she called again, completely ignoring me.
A prickle of unease ran down my spine. I reached out to touch her shoulder, to let her know I was there. My fingers made contact with the fabric of her blouse, but she didn't react.
"What is wrong with her?" I muttered. I gave the cloth a small, insistent tug.
She turned around with a gasp. "Oh, my Lord!" she exclaimed, her eyes wide as they scanned the empty space around her. "What was that? I felt like something pulled my shirt." She peered past me, down the hallway. "She must have gone out looking for work without eating. Oh, that poor child."
Anger and confusion warred within me. "What is wrong with you, Granny?"
I ran to my bedroom, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I stared into the full-length mirror on the closet door.
And saw nothing.
Not a reflection. Not a flicker of movement. Just the empty room staring back at me.
"No," I whispered, backing away. I stumbled into the bathroom and stared at the mirror above the sink. The same terrifying emptiness. The soap dish, the toothbrush holder, the floral wallpaper—but no me.
This is a dream. A nightmare. "Wake up, Cass. Wake up!" I slapped my cheek, but there was no sting, only the faint pressure of impact. The world remained stubbornly, terrifyingly real.
I ran back to the kitchen and threw my arms around my grandmother, pressing my face into her back. She didn't even flinch. I could feel the warmth of her body, smell her familiar scent of cinnamon and lavender, but for her, I wasn't there. I discovered I could grasp things—a doorknob, a pen—but my touch was weightless, imperceptible to others.
The truth crashed down on me with the force of a physical blow. My stupid, childish wish had come true.
I collapsed to the floor, tears streaming from eyes no one could see. "Please," I sobbed, my voice raw and desperate. "Please, Grandma, listen to me. See me. I'm right in front of you. Please!"
My pleas were answered by the tinny voice of an old television commercial echoing from the living room. "Go discover the world! Discover who you are! Know your purpose. Seize it!"
The words hung in the silent kitchen. Discover the world.
An idea, sharp and sudden, pierced through my grief. I grabbed a pen and a notepad from the counter. With trembling hands, I wrote a note, placing it carefully on the kitchen table where she would find it eventually, but not so suddenly as to frighten her.
Grandma and Mom,
I'm on a journey to find myself. Don't worry about me. I'm safe. I'll come back when I know my purpose.
The next morning, as the sun painted the sky in shades of rose and gold, I stuffed a few clothes into my backpack. I was a ghost in my own life, a silent observer. I walked out the door and into my new, undiscovered world.