In the summer of 2028, two years before the catastrophic Sanguis-30 virus outbreak, I, Mandane Esfahani, at the age of 16, went on vacation to Greece with my parents.
As we drove to Schiphol Airport, my parents once again complained about my apparent lack of enthusiasm.
"You're about to see your motherland for the first time, and yet you look as bored as ever," my father grumbled, casting a quick glance at me.
"Come on, honey," my mother interjected, her voice softening in an attempt to soothe him. "You know Mandane. She's never excited about anything. She was born that way. Let's just try to be a little understanding."
My father sighed, his frustration palpable. "Didn't those scientists say there was a chance to change her personality extremity with proper upbringing?"
He paused for a moment, reminiscing. "We've tried everything—museums, sports clubs, activities of every kind. Writing, music, dance, singing, arts, science, linguistics, history, philosophy, theology... You name it. We've exposed her to it all."
But none of it worked. Nothing sparked the slightest interest in me. It wasn't that I couldn't excel—I was perfectly capable. But I had no desire to go beyond the bare minimum. I intentionally kept my efforts at an average level, never pushing myself too hard.
There was also Maeve's command to me—not to reveal my true potential. And honestly, I didn't see the need to. There was no point in trying harder than necessary.
At last, my father spoke again, his voice tinged with weariness. "At this point, I wonder if she even likes being alive."
"Don't say that!" My mother's voice snapped in defense.
The radio droned on, breaking the tension. "A meteorite has impacted the Atlantic Ocean. Scientists are gathering samples and hope to find evidence of alien life."
We soon arrived at the airport, and I boarded the plane with my parents. To my dismay, there were only two seats per row. My parents sat together, leaving me to take the seat behind them.
I chose a window seat, eager to gaze at the sky as we flew. As I settled in, a young man, dark-complexioned, took the seat next to mine.
I turned my head toward him just as he did the same, and I immediately noticed that he resembled my sister Benesha.
"Good morning," he smiled.
"Hey," I replied, offering a brief smile before turning my attention back to the window.
"I would've liked that seat," he chuckled. "Someone with blue eyes and white hair—just like you—told me there was a free window seat here. So we swapped places. Turns out she was mistaken, and the seat was taken by you. Do you like looking out during the flight?"
"I neither like nor dislike it," I answered flatly.
"Then why do you want the window seat?" he asked, clearly puzzled.
"This is my first time on a plane."
"Really? That's crazy!"
"Under normal circumstances, I would've switched with you, but since I've never had the chance to look out of a plane window..."
"I get it, don't worry about it," he smiled, a look of understanding in his eyes. I turned my face back toward the window.
"Wouldn't it be interesting to see outer space?" he asked after a moment.
"I don't know," I replied, mildly intrigued. "Would it?"
"Seeing other planets, maybe?" He sounded genuinely curious.
"Not particularly," I yawned. "Should it?"
"What would interest you then?"
"I don't know..." I shrugged.
There was a brief silence—maybe a minute or two—before I turned to face him again. He looked utterly baffled. "Well, I didn't expect that kind of response," he chuckled.
I turned back to the window as the pilot's voice echoed through the cabin, informing everyone that the plane was about to take off. We were instructed to return to our seats and fasten our seatbelts.
As the plane soared higher into the sky, the boy spoke again. "You seem to be interested in the outside view, though."
"I guess so," I muttered.
"Maybe your interest lies in experiencing things you've never seen, heard, or felt before?" he suggested.
I paused. I'd never considered that. Still, it didn't feel quite right. "Maybe," I replied noncommittally.
"It's worth thinking about," he encouraged.
I sighed, partly from boredom. "Have you not figured it out yet? I have apathy."
"Apathy? How come?"
"I was born this way."
"Well then," he said with a grin, "aren't you apathetic about being apathetic by now?"
I couldn't help but chuckle at how absurd that sounded.
"Did our daughter just chuckle?" my mother's voice drifted back from the row in front of us.
"Nah, that's impossible," my father replied.
The boy raised an eyebrow. "Are your parents sitting in front of us?"
"Yes," I confirmed.
"Hmmm... So you're not the type to chuckle?"
"Apparently not," I said. "I don't tend to show much emotion."
"Why's that?" he asked, clearly intrigued.
"Because I barely have any to show," I answered bluntly.
"What do you mean?"
"I feel apathetic and anhedonic most of the time."
"So you can't really experience fun or pleasure?"
"Correct."
He leaned back in his seat, a determined glint in his eye. "Hmmm... I'm going to change that. This holiday, I'll make sure you have a good time."
From the row ahead, my father let out a hearty laugh. "Good luck with that, son!"
That was my very first encounter with this boy. Never had I met anyone like him. He managed to follow along with my ramblings and even made me chuckle—a rare feat.
Most people either cut me off or never speak to me again after attempting to socialize with me. They don't like my attitude, and I can't blame them. But this boy seemed different. He seemed... amused by me.
"What's your name?" I asked, breaking the momentary silence.
He blinked, surprised. "Huh? Doesn't being apathetic mean you aren't interested in anything?"
I hesitated, searching for the right words. "I can't explain this feeling... But I am interested in you. I've never felt this way about someone before."
His face flushed a deep red. "W-what...?" he stammered. "You're interested in me? In what sense?"
"You're quite fascinating," I replied, tilting my head slightly.
"O-oh..." He glanced away, suddenly shy for reasons I couldn't comprehend. "Sansula. My name is Sansula."
"That's an exotic name you've got there, Sansula," I said with a small smile. "I'm Mandane."
"Your name's exotic too!" he replied, recovering his composure.
"It's Persian," I explained.
"What does it mean?"
"It's derived from 'delighting' or 'cheerful.'"
He chuckled, clearly unable to resist pointing out the irony. "Isn't that a bit... contradictory?"
"What do you mean?" I asked, narrowing my eyes in mock offense.
"You're the exact opposite of cheerful!" he teased.
I playfully punched his arm. "Ouch!" he yelped, laughing.
"Don't exaggerate! I didn't hit you that hard!" I protested.
"Oh yeah? Want me to hit you the same way to find out?" he challenged with a playful grin.
"I dare you to try!" I shot back, smirking.
There was something magnetic about him. I felt naturally drawn to him, and it seemed like he felt the same about me. As the flight went on, the conversation between us slowly faded, and we drifted off to sleep, our heads resting against each other.
When the plane began its descent, the jolt woke us both. Realizing how close we were, we sat up quickly, avoiding each other's gaze, cheeks tinged with embarrassment.
"W-where are you staying in Greece?" he asked, clearing his throat.
"Salonika," I replied. "I'll be at my grandmother's place. You?"
"Athens," he said. "But we're planning to visit Thessaloniki next week. So I guess we won't see each other during our stay in Greece."
I couldn't help but smile at his cluelessness. "Thessaloniki and Salonika are the same place, silly."
"How was I supposed to know that? I'm not Greek!" he exclaimed defensively.
"Not my problem," I teased.
"Well, sorry for not being Greek!" he retorted.
"Apology rejected!" I quipped, enjoying the banter.
As we continued, my mother appeared beside our seats, smiling warmly. "You two should exchange phone numbers," she suggested. "Mandane, I'm so glad you've made your very first friend!"
"Mom!" I groaned, my face heating up. "Don't say that in front of him! It's embarrassing!"
"Oh, I'm sorry!" she laughed, clearly enjoying herself.
Despite my embarrassment, Sansula and I exchanged phone numbers. As he stood to leave, he gave me a soft smile.
"I'll see you next week in Salonika, Mandane."
"See you next week..." My voice had already reverted to its usual monotone.
The moment he walked away, I felt the spark of liveliness I'd experienced disappear. The warmth of our interaction faded, and my familiar listlessness returned, filling the space he had left behind.
Sansula walked up to a girl who appeared to be about our age. She had a stunning dark complexion, deep gray hair, and piercing blue eyes. My heart skipped a beat—it was unmistakably Benesha, my sister.
Our eyes met briefly before she turned away and walked off with Sansula. The two seemed close, their familiarity undeniable. And yet, something didn't sit right with me. Sansula bore such a strong resemblance to her—how could this be?
I reasoned that they must be siblings. But how? Weren't Benesha's parents infertile? Sansula had black hair and ordinary eyes, nothing like a homunculus. Could it be that her parents had a miracle child after all? That thought lingered, unsettling and strange.
As I stood to leave the plane with my parents, an inexplicable unease washed over me. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a girl with a wheat-colored complexion, cascading white wavy hair, and striking blue eyes walk past me.
Could it be Haniya? My mind raced. What would she be doing here? Benesha was here too—it didn't make sense. Without thinking, I broke away from my parents and hurried after the girl.
"Mandane? Mandane!" My parents called after me, their voices tinged with concern as they tried to keep up.
I couldn't shake the sinking feeling in my chest. That girl—could it really be who I thought it was? My heart pounded as I pushed forward, but she slipped away into the crowd, leaving me breathless and anxious. I stood frozen, scanning the terminal, but she was gone.
A dark thought crept into my mind: Could it be Lilith? The ominous presence I felt... could it mean she was here, already making her move against me, as she had sworn to do?
But no, I reasoned with myself. It couldn't be her. It had to be my imagination. Still, the lingering dread stayed with me as I reluctantly rejoined my parents, my mind clouded with uncertainty.