I handed the prescription to the pharmacist—the same one who had claimed there was no one else in the pharmacy but the two of us.
While a third stood clearly beside him.
As he struggled to decipher the cryptic handwriting, the refreshing chime of the doorbell rang. Someone else had entered. A woman stepped in and stood next to me, waiting her turn, while the pharmacist began preparing my medication—after assuring me that he did, in fact, have it.
Taking advantage of his brief absence, I leaned toward the newly arrived woman and whispered,
"Ma'am… do you see this product? I can't read its name. Could you read it for me?"
I pointed—directly—at the man with the bright, welcoming smile.
She narrowed her eyes slightly. I watched her lips move as if trying to focus on something.
"Do you mean that blue box labeled 'Devia'? It looks like a moisturizing cream."
"…"
"Anything else?" the pharmacist returned, holding three boxes.
"No, thank you." My voice trembled despite my attempt to steady it. I avoided looking at the imaginary man standing beside him.
"Actually—wait. Could I have a glass of water, please?"
I felt I might lose my mind completely if I waited until I got home to take the medication.
"Of course."
Fortunately, the pharmacist was kind enough not to throw me out. He must have noticed the blood draining from my face—the state I was in.
I stared at the three pills in my palm.
A comparison crossed my mind.
'If I must lose my mind…
Should it be because of chemicals?
Or because of the hallucinations that speak to me—
And the other that nearly killed me?'
I'll choose the first.
I swallowed the three pills and chased them down with the water.
Of course, I didn't expect the result to be immediate.
The imaginary man was still there.
"Thank you."
I hurried toward the exit.
As I turned to the glass door, raindrops were already streaking across it.
"Come visit us again!"
"We'll meet again soon!"
The two voices overlapped—but it was the second sentence that froze me in place.
I turned slightly.
"What did you just say?" My tone carried a sharp edge.
"Ah—I… I said, 'Come visit us again!'"
The pharmacist looked startled by the wild look I gave him.
But he didn't know—
I wasn't looking at him.
I was staring at the illusion beside him.
The bright, friendly smile had vanished.
In its place remained a malicious grin that never reached his eyes.
[I'll see you soon.]
This time, no sound came out.
But I read the words from the movement of his lips.
I didn't stay another second.
I fled.
My fingers instinctively brushed against my neck as I ran. I didn't even notice the barking of the dogs as I passed the pet shop again. I didn't notice the rain pouring over my head like a sudden flood.
I deliberately avoided looking at anyone rushing through the streets to escape the storm.
Nothing felt real anymore.
Everyone was an illusion.
An illusion.
Far from cities and living districts—far enough that you would reach an unnamed point in the heart of the desert—there was a particular region surrounded by barbed wire and yellow warning signs bleached and gnawed by the sun.
Red signs stood nearby, half their words erased by time. Once, they had read:
[Warning: Do Not Approach]
Another sign remained clearer:
[Minefield]
Imagine someone walking through that barren land, ignoring the half-erased warnings.
You would expect one of the buried mines to explode beneath them—reducing them to fattah
Do you know what fattah look like?
It's a dish exactly like what you imagined.
Yet the person walking carelessly through the center of that region told a different story.
If you were to look beneath the sand, you would realize the area was anything but ordinary.
Deep below lay layers of rock stretching for meters.
Then layers of reinforced steel just as thick.
Slowly, lights flickered on—illuminating the facility like the break of dawn.
Within that fortified underground complex, rooms lined both vertically and horizontally, each labeled for a specific purpose—like a complete military installation hidden beneath the earth.
In one of those rooms, a distinguished individual entered.
Why distinguished?
Because he was among the few who wore a white coat.
He accessed the room using an identification code. The door responded immediately, glowing green before sliding open.
In the center of the immaculate white room lay a man in hospital garments, stretched across a bed.
With the number of machines connected to him, one might assume he was dead.
Three or four others—like the man who had just entered—hovered around the monitors, ensuring everything functioned properly.
But the man was not dead.
*Haaah*hah*hah
His eyes flew open abruptly, and he gasped like someone returning from the other side.
Yet no one in the room seemed surprised.
No one rushed.
As though this were something they had grown accustomed to.
The man slowly sat upright on the bed.
The one who had just entered handed him a file.
"I don't know from where this unique specimen fell into our laps. Should I thank Suleiman for mediating, if I see him next time…?"
He opened the file and read.
"Mariam, is it… Hmm."
A crooked smile formed on his lips.
A familiar smile.
One that did not reach his eyes.
Yes.
It was the illusion from the pharmacy.