"Screeech."
The door creaked open, breaking the silence of the dimly lit room, and a girl stepped inside.
She reached for the switch and flicked it on. Light spilled across the floor, chasing away the shadows and revealing her form—tall, poised, and unnaturally graceful.
As the light shone, her figure was outlined; she looked to be in her twenties, though something about her felt older. With black hair that shimmered like polished obsidian under the light, her eyes were black, not merely in color but in presence, like voids that swallowed the world, drawing the gaze in and refusing to let go. Looking into them felt like staring into an eclipse.
Her skin was smooth and pale, like carved jade, glowing faintly beneath the warm light, and her figure-graceful, unreal, held a beauty that felt alien, as if she didn't belong to this world.
She wore a plain T-shirt and pajama pants—nothing more—but the fabric clung tightly to her curvaceous figure, leaving little to the imagination. Every movement seemed effortlessly seductive, her body radiating a quiet, intoxicating allure that made it hard to look away—even in something so casual, she looked devastatingly attractive.
She stopped beside the bed at the center of the room.
There, a man lay sleeping.
His breathing was calm. Unhurried. He looked utterly at peace—like the world could end outside those walls and he would still sleep soundly. His features were unremarkable—plain, even—with tousled black hair and dark lashes resting against pale skin. But in the way he slept, there was a quiet confidence. Like everything was going exactly the way he wanted.
She leaned down, her movements graceful, and gently pinched the man's nose between her thumb and forefinger. In a voice so soft and ethereal, it felt as though a goddess herself had spoken, she murmured, "Wake up already."
The man's eyes opened gently. He looked at her and smiled.
A smile that spoke of contentment, of quiet joy. A smile that said he already had everything he needed.
Still groggy and half-asleep, the man mumbled, "Five more minutes," as he reached up to gently remove her fingers from his nose. But her grip was firm—he couldn't budge them.
He gave up with a sleepy chuckle. "Okay, okay... you win. I'm awake."
She grinned as if she'd claimed some great victory. Then she leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.
"Good morning, Kaelion," she whispered, her voice warm and full of affection.
"Good morning," the man replied, his voice still laced with sleep. A faint blush crept across his cheeks, betraying the warmth blooming quietly beneath his calm facade.
....
I felt someone gently pinching my nose, followed by a warm voice whispering, "Wake up already."
My eyes fluttered open, and despite the sleep still clinging to me, a small smile crept onto my lips.
"Five more minutes," I mumbled, my voice heavy with drowsiness. I reached up to remove the hand from my nose, but her grip was firm—unyielding.
Defeated, I let out a sleepy chuckle. "Okay, okay… you win. I'm awake."
The girl in front of me smiled, victorious, before leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to my lips. Her voice was a gentle whisper, full of affection.
"Good morning, Kaelion."
I met her gaze and smiled back, still flushed from the kiss. "Good morning."
I sat up on the bed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. The girl—my wife—straightened with a smile and looked down at me.
"Go freshen up. Breakfast is ready," she said, her voice warm and affectionate.
"Alright, Amelia," I replied with a quiet smile.
She turned and left the room, her movements graceful and familiar, like a rhythm I'd known all my life. After a few moments, I climbed out of bed, stretched away the last traces of sleep, and headed into the attached bathroom.
Once I'd changed out of my sleepwear and freshened up, I stepped out of the room. The hallway was bathed in soft morning light, and the faint aroma of breakfast pulled me toward the dining area.
There, at the table, sat my mother—quiet as always—listening while Amelia chatted lightly beside her. They both looked up as I entered.
"There he is," Amelia said, flashing me a grin. "Ten years of dating, four years of marriage, and I still have to drag you out of bed every morning."
I chuckled as I walked over and took a seat beside her. "You knew what you were signing up for."
My mother offered me a small smile, saying nothing, but the warmth in her eyes said enough.
After breakfast, as we were clearing the table, Amelia gently reminded me, "Don't forget—you have to drop your mother at the airport today. Her flight's in a few hours."
The moment she said it, something heavy settled in my chest. I turned to look at my mother, who sat quietly at the table, sipping her tea. Her long, silver hair fell neatly over her shoulders, and her eyes—just as silver—were calm, deep, and unreadable. Her skin, flawless and pale, bore no signs of age. If one didn't know better, they'd never guess she was nearing her late forties. She looked ethereal—timeless, almost—as though untouched by the passing years.
It felt strange. Final, even. As if this goodbye wasn't just for a trip, but for something more.
Amelia, who was always the one to brighten a room with her warmth, didn't say anything. That, in itself, said everything. Normally, she would've squeezed my hand, offered a reassuring smile, or made a light-hearted joke to lift the mood—but now, she simply watched me, eyes soft, lips pressed into a thin line. It was unlike her… and that made it worse.
I helped my mother with her bags, packed everything into the car, and after a brief goodbye to Amelia, we left the house.
My mother sat beside me in the passenger seat, silent, composed. The station was only three miles away—barely a ten-minute drive—but the journey stretched in my mind.
I tried to talk. Small things. Nothing too heavy. She nodded in response, occasionally replying with a "Yes" or a "Hmm."
It didn't bother me. That was how she had always been—quiet, reserved, never one for long conversations. Her presence was calm, like still water. Just being near her had always been enough.
When we arrived, I helped her unload the luggage. The boarding time drew closer, and I knew the moment was coming. I turned to her and pulled her into a hug.
"Take care, Mom," I said softly. "Goodbye."
She hugged me back. Then, unexpectedly, she leaned in, placed a gentle kiss on my forehead, and whispered, "I love you."
For a heartbeat, I froze.
My mother had never been the kind to say those words. She had shown her love in gestures—in making my favorite food when I was sick, in staying up late during my exams, in watching over me silently—but to hear it spoken aloud, in her voice...
I was stunned.
But then I smiled. My throat tightened, and I whispered back, "I love you too."
She gave a soft nod, picked up her bag, and walked toward the boarding gate. I stood there for a while, watching her until she disappeared into the crowd.
Then I turned and made my way back home, the silence of the car somehow different than before.
....
But as Kaelion drove away, unaware and lost in thought, something strange began to unfold.
His mother never entered the terminal.
She stood at the edge of the platform, her suitcase by her side, unmoving. Her silver eyes, once calm and deep, now stared blankly ahead—lifeless, hollow, like mirrors reflecting nothing at all.
Behind her, the world began to shift.
The vibrant lights of the airport dulled and flickered. The bustling crowd seemed to slow, their movements becoming sluggish, smeared like wet paint on glass. And then, like paper catching fire at the edges, the scene around her began to unravel. Buildings twisted, melted into the air. Cars dissolved into dust. Colors bled from the sky.
The world... was crumbling.
Piece by piece, it folded into nothingness. Streets vanished. Voices fell silent. Even time seemed to falter, suspended in that one infinite moment.
And yet—she stood untouched.
Timeless.
Unmoving.
Unblinking.
Like a statue cast in still silver, she remained the only thing solid in a collapsing dreamscape.
Far ahead, Kaelion's car drove on—oblivious. The road beneath his wheels remained firm, reality holding steady just long enough for him to be carried away. He didn't look back. He didn't feel it. He didn't see the way time broke down behind him, or the way his mother watched him with eyes that no longer belonged to the world.
And then, as if even gravity itself gave way, she began to rise—slowly, weightlessly—her silver hair drifting like threads of light.
She whispered something, barely audible, as though carried by a wind that no longer existed.
But no one heard.
No one, except perhaps the crumbling world itself.