Raya's POV
Morning light spilled through the curtains, soft and golden, brushing my face like it was trying not to startle me. I blinked awake, disoriented. My chest felt heavy—but quieter than usual, like the storm inside me had stepped back just enough to watch.
I sat up slowly.
8:03 a.m.
My head throbbed faintly. Too much thinking. Too little rest.
I crossed the room and pulled the curtain aside. Outside, the world carried on with careless precision—children walking to school, a man roasting corn at the corner, laughter drifting through the air. The kind of morning that pretends nothing ever breaks.
I exhaled.
"Just another day," I whispered. "Right?"
After prayer, I forced myself through routine—washing up, brushing my hair, tying it back. I dressed carefully, deliberately: a black crop top, beige shorts. Normal clothes. Normal girl. I made the bed. Folded laundry.
Ammi peeked in, watching me like I might vanish if she blinked.
"You look better today," she said gently.
"I guess I am," I replied, unsure whether that was a lie or a wish.
Breakfast passed in silence—scrambled eggs, toast, orange juice. Just the soft clink of spoon against plate. Ammi kept glancing at me, hesitation written all over her face. Maybe she was afraid to ask. Maybe I was afraid to answer.
Later, I sat in the living room with my notebook open, pages blank. My mind felt empty—not sad, not angry. Just… still.
Then the doorbell rang.
Ammi went to answer it.
And I heard his voice.
"Assalamu alaikum, Aunty."
My stomach dropped.
No.
Not him.
I turned just as Aaqib stepped inside, wearing the same calm smile—as if yesterday hadn't happened. As if words hadn't been broken between us.
"You look surprised," he said lightly.
"I am," I muttered, closing my notebook. "You weren't supposed to be here."
"I came to apologize," he said, hands in his pockets. "And then I thought… maybe we could start over. Just for today."
"Start over?" The words tasted fragile.
"There's a fair by the old park," he continued. "Lights, food, noise. You need air, Raya. You need something that isn't silence."
I should have said no.
I should have reminded him of his words—There never was an us.
But instead, I nodded.
Maybe I just wanted to remember what it felt like to be human.
The fair was loud and alive. Music drifted from rides, laughter tangled with the smell of sugar and oil. Children ran past us clutching balloons like pieces of the sky.
Aaqib walked beside me, pretending we were normal.
"You remember this place?" he asked.
"My school used to come here," I said. "I hated it."
He laughed. "You hate everything that tries to keep you."
He bought me cotton candy, teased me into riding the Ferris wheel. As it climbed, the world below shrank into glittering dots.
"Can I ask you something?" I said quietly.
He nodded.
"Why do you love life so much?" I asked. "Doesn't it ever disappoint you?"
He laughed at first, then stopped when he saw my face.
"I guess loving life is my default," he said softly. "The same way wanting quiet is yours." He hesitated. "And… you're part of why I hold on. I don't want to lose you."
His words wrapped around me like warmth I didn't deserve.
At the top, I looked down at the lights. "It's beautiful," I murmured.
"It makes you forget," he said.
"That's the problem," I replied. "I don't want to forget forever. Just… rest."
He didn't answer. He just watched me—afraid, hopeful, helpless.
For a few hours, I let myself pretend. I laughed. I screamed on rides. I let him win me a toy.
But illusions always crack.
By the time we got home, dusk had painted the sky purple. The house felt wrong the moment I stepped inside.
Too quiet.
Four girls sat in the living room.
Zaitun. Sumayyah. Afrah. Ilham.
My classmates.
The ones who whispered.
"Raya…" Zaitun said softly.
Memory slammed into me—me crying in a school washroom, her sitting beside me, listening as I spoke words I thought were safe.
My heart pounded.
"What are you doing here?" I asked.
"We were worried," Afrah said. "Zaitun told us—"
"You had no right," I snapped, turning on her.
"I was scared for you," Zaitun whispered. "I didn't want you to disappear."
Ammi's footsteps approached.
Panic surged.
I turned and fled to my room, slamming the door, sliding down until the floor caught me. My chest burned.
They knew.
The secret I had guarded so carefully was no longer mine.
Tears came fast and hot.
"I just wanted peace," I whispered. "Why does it always turn into chaos?"
Voices murmured outside.
Inside, silence closed in.
I fell asleep on the floor.
Underworld
Pain tore through him.
Not physical—something far worse.
The Prince staggered back from the orb, a raw sound ripping from his chest. Raya lay curled on the floor in her world, grief shaking her small human body.
"Not again," he whispered. "Not her."
He reached for the orb, palm glowing dark with forbidden magic.
Black smoke poured out—gentle, careful—wrapping around her form like a vow.
"I will take it," he murmured. "Give it to me."
A sharp hand struck his wrist.
"Sire!" a female demon hissed. "Stop this. If Lord Hades discovers you've crossed the veil—"
"I don't care," he snapped. "I vowed to protect her."
"You're unbalancing everything," she warned. "You're binding her to you."
He looked at the image of Raya, tears drying under his influence.
"She was mine before she was human," he said quietly. "And she will be mine again."
The demon cupped his face, sorrow in her eyes. "You're condemning her to choose."
"Good," he said softly, dangerously. "Let her choose me."
As she turned away, she whispered, "Love like yours always demands payment."
The Prince returned his gaze to the orb.
No matter the cost.
Back in the human world
I woke with a sharp breath.
The room felt… altered. Quieter. Heavier.
My grief was dulled, like someone had pressed a hand over it.
And somehow—I knew.
I wasn't alone anymore.