The office was drowning in artificial light.
Cold, sterile, humming from above like it could burn the soul right out of your bones. The air was thick with the stench of stale coffee, printer ink, and the faint metallic tang of stress. My fingers flew over the keyboard, the rhythmic clack of the keys the only thing keeping me grounded, tethering me to some semblance of reality. But it felt more like a futile effort, each stroke of the key a reminder of how meaningless it all was. Reports, spreadsheets, targets—numbers that meant everything to someone else but nothing to me. What I needed was the numericals which I was taking care of in the pc.
The building around me had gone silent. A few late stragglers sat hunched behind glass partitions, their eyes glazed over, their bodies bent at awkward angles, as if they, too, were beginning to question the purpose of this place. The hum of fluorescent lights was deafening now, a constant buzz that seemed to vibrate in my bones. Outside the window, rain lashed against the glass, streaking the city lights into abstract blurs. The world outside was swallowed in gloom, just like I was.
I was alone in my cubicle, drowning in numbers and memories.
Right in front of me, pinned to the partition, was a worn photo. My mom—Flora Woods—flour smudged on her cheek, laughing like the world hadn't broken her yet. And beside her, Garry, my little brother, smiling like he hadn't learned how cruel the world could be.
I stared at it like it could anchor me.
But it couldn't.
Because they weren't here. They weren't safe. And I was running out of time.
I didn't chase money for dreams or vanity. I didn't even have the luxury of thinking about those things. I chased it because the world made justice expensive. Because in court, truth needed receipts, and freedom came with legal fees. Mom had tried to escape my father's grip for years. The long custody battles. The endless court hearings. The dirty tricks. I had promised her I would fight for Garry. I promised I would win. But what did that mean if I didn't have the money? If I couldn't afford the best lawyer? If I couldn't make it all work?
My chest tightened as the familiar anxiety crept up, squeezing me like a vice. I had been working for months, draining myself—no, draining my soul—for one more step toward freedom. For one more chance to save them.
I needed it.
I needed to win.
So, I sold myself—my sleep, my health, my time. Every night, I traded pieces of myself for just one more bill paid. One more lawyer appointment. One more brief.
And still, the odds stacked up against me. But I kept pushing forward. Because there was no other choice. There was no other way.
I could make it. Just a little more.
"Still here?" Clara's voice startled me.
I jerked my head up. She stood in the doorway, her tired eyes peering in. Her features softened in sympathy as she glanced at the chaos on my desk. Her coat was already on, ready to leave.
"Deadline," I mumbled, not bothering to fake a smile.
"You should eat something," Clara urged, her voice thick with concern.
"I will," I said, but I didn't believe it. Neither did she. She lingered for a moment, as if trying to decide whether to say more. But in the end, " Good night. Eat early. " She said and turned away with a quiet sigh and disappeared down the hall.
And then—I was alone again.
The hum of the fluorescent lights seemed louder now. My heart beat in my ears. I couldn't focus. I couldn't breathe. I stared at the screen, at the endless rows of data, at the reports that would never end.
And then, in the midst of it all, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I froze, my body stiffening like a wire pulled too taut. My mind immediately screamed no. My throat tightened.
Sixth sense?
I couldn't answer it.
But I did.
"Hello?"
"Is this Miss Sneha Woods?" A man's voice. Cold, formal.
"…Yes. Who is this?" My voice came out weaker than I'd intended. The dread swelled in my chest, choking me.
"This is Inspector James Keller from the Central District Police Station. I'm… very sorry to inform you—"
No.
"—there's been an accident on Lane 5. A truck collided with a two-wheeler."
My mind went blank. The words didn't connect. My pulse pounded in my ears, drowning out the rest of his sentence.
"The victims have been identified as Flora Woods and Garry Woods."
A sharp intake of breath. My world snapped in half.
"They were transported to Mercy General Hospital, but… they didn't survive the impact."
My hand went numb. The phone slipped from my fingers and hit the desk with a sickening clack.
Mom and bro... gone?
The phone skittered across the desk, falling to the floor with a hollow echo.
But the voice on the other end continued, faint and distant.
"Hello? Sneha? Hello…? Are you alright? Miss Woods…?"
I couldn't answer. I couldn't move. I couldn't think.
The words kept spinning in my head, but none of them made sense. The whole world seemed to crumble beneath me. I couldn't feel the ground. I couldn't breathe. My lungs had forgotten how to work.
My body moved without my permission. It was as if someone else was in control. My legs carried me out of the cubicle, crashing into the chair beside me. It toppled over, papers spilling onto the floor.
But I didn't stop.
I couldn't.
I didn't even remember running. I didn't remember the elevator doors or the stairwell. All I could feel was my heart hammering in my chest, the blood rushing in my ears, and the overwhelming, suffocating need to run. To get away. To escape this horrible reality.
I burst out of the building.
Straight into the storm.
The rain fell in sheets, heavy and unrelenting. It hammered against me from all sides, cold and biting. The air was thick with moisture, pressing down on me like the weight of a thousand regrets. My blazer clung to my skin. My skirt, heavy with water, felt like lead. My shoes were already soaked, squelching with every step as I stumbled into the street.
But I didn't stop.
I couldn't.
I kept running, past the blaring horns, the people huddling under broken umbrellas, the neon signs flashing indifferently above me. The world felt so far away, so detached. I couldn't feel it. I couldn't feel anything. It was like I had become a ghost, moving through the storm, invisible to everyone.
Lane 5.
Hospital.
Accident.
Mom and Pipsqueak....
The words kept looping in my mind, over and over, like a broken record. I couldn't make sense of them. I couldn't make sense of anything.
And then, my legs gave out.
I collapsed onto a bench in the park, gasping for air. My hands trembled uncontrollably. My chest felt like it was being crushed from the inside. The rain drenched me completely. I shivered, but it wasn't from the cold.
I was drowning in grief.
They're gone.
I reached into my pocket, hands trembling, and pulled out a soggy, broken cigarette. My fingers were too numb to grip it properly, but I shoved it into my mouth anyway. I tried to light it, but my hands were shaking too violently. The lighter clicked uselessly, the flame flickering and dying with each try.
Click.
Fail.
Click.
Fail.
Click. Click. Click.
Fail.
I laughed—at first, a soft, bitter chuckle. Then louder. Wet, desperate laughter. My throat burned, but I couldn't stop.
Of course it wouldn't light.
Because the fire inside is dead. It's dead. It's dead...
So...of course it wouldn't.
I tilted my head back, staring up at the sky. The rain poured down, soaking every inch of me. My body was drenched, my clothes clinging to my skin, but I didn't feel any of it. I was numb.
A soft vibration.
Ping.
I glanced down at my wrist. The smartwatch screen lit up, flashing with a new notification.
Client Notification: "Good job, Sneha! You nailed the report."
A dry laugh tore from my throat. The tears wouldn't come. They had all drained away a long time ago.
"Good job," I whispered bitterly, "Mother...fucking nailed it. Hahaha--"
I didn't even have the strength to give a middle finger to the sky.
I tilted my head back further, letting the rain pour into my face, mixing with the salt of tears I had shed?
Nope. Not my tears. It's amino acid rain.
Nothing mattered anymore.
Not the reports. Not the deadlines. Not the fight for custody. Not even the legal fees.
I closed my eyes. The cold seeped deeper into my bones, wrapping around me like a shroud.
And then—I let go.
Light.
Huh?
Warm, golden light.
Huh? Eh...
It pressed against my eyelids, pulling me from the darkness.
I blinked.
Rows of desks. A massive window letting in sunlight. The air smelled fresh, crisp. Clean. No stale coffee, no printer ink. Just the faint scent of chalk dust, paper, and something unfamiliar—something otherworldly.
I gasped and sat up sharply.
Where…?
The world around me was different. This wasn't the city. This wasn't home.
A classroom.
I looked around. Wooden desks. Students sitting in rows, each wearing a uniform—neat vests, collared shirts, skirts and trousers. Simple. Refined. No fancy gold trim, no elaborate embroidery. Just clean and orderly.
But none of the faces were familiar.
I turned my head, confused, my mind reeling as the world shifted around me. The teacher at the front was talking, but the words didn't make sense. She spoke with a calm, deliberate tone, but the language was foreign yet I could understand. It was melodic, fluid. She was writing something on the board. Diagrams. Elegant shapes that seemed to pulse with energy.
The blackboard was covered in strange symbols and text written in cursive. It looked like an entirely different alphabet.
Elves of Ardio? Importance of Soul bond?
I blinked again, trying to make sense of it all. But the words were tangled in my mind, swirling together, slipping away before I could grasp their meaning.
This couldn't be real. This couldn't be happening.
A voice whispered inside me, You're not dead. You're not dead. But then, what is this?
And the panic rose again. My heart raced.
No one noticed me.
No one looked up.
I sat frozen, lost, confused, and in utter disbelief as the world continued on, as if nothing had changed.