ONE WEEK AGO…
The jungle was dark.
Mayo ran through the trees,
branches slapping his arms, his breath raw and loud. He didn’t know where he
was going, but he kept moving.
He looked back.
The man with the smiling mask
was there, always smiling, always closer.
Mayo turned forward and ran
harder. His legs burned. His chest ached. When he looked back again, the masked
man was almost close enough to touch him.
Mayo’s eyes shot open.
He was in his room, his chest
rising and falling too fast in the silence.
The dream clung to him like
sweat—the mask, the smile, the feeling of almost being caught.
He lay still, breathing.
Then the alarm rang.
He kept staring at the ceiling.
Above him, a thin dark crack
ran from one corner toward the center like a vein. He stared at it every
morning, but today he stared longer.
The
entire house would collapse because of that crack.
He did not believe it. He just
liked thinking about it. It gave him something to focus on.
The alarm was still ringing. It
had been for a while.
He finally turned and looked at
his bag resting against the desk. Books stacked neatly, untouched since
yesterday. Everything in its place.
He reached over and switched
the alarm off.
He stayed in bed a moment
longer, then sat up and rubbed his face. The dream lingered at the edge of his
thoughts, but he pushed it down.
In the bathroom, he turned on
the cold water and splashed his face. The cold woke his skin, but not his mind.
Everything felt familiar, too familiar.
He looked at himself in the
mirror. Same face. Same tired eyes.
Then he went downstairs.
The smell of breakfast filled
the kitchen with the scent of eggs and toast, something warm and steady. The
same smell every morning.
“Good morning, world. Good
morning, Mom and Dad.”
His voice came out bright,
almost automatic, like it had been practiced a thousand times.
His mother, Mina Arasto, looked
up from the stove and smiled. “Good morning. Look at that smile. Someone’s in a
great mood.”
Mayo shrugged as he sat down.
“I just woke up feeling lucky.”
His father, Haruto Arasto, slid
a steaming mug across the table.
“That coffee smells amazing,”
Mayo said. “Did you work some magic, Dad?”
Haruto grinned. “Secret family
recipe. Mostly love and a little bit of not burning the beans.”
Mayo laughed and took a sip.
“I’ll take it. You two look happy today.”
“We are,” Mina said, placing a
plate in front of him. “It’s much better with you here.”
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Haruto chuckled. “It’s
breakfast that keeps us young.”
“Then keep doing whatever
you’re doing,” Mayo said. “I like seeing you like this.”
They ate and made small talk
about the weather and their plans. Nothing important. A neighbor. A joke. Mayo
laughed in the right places.
When he stood to leave, Haruto
grabbed his keys. “I can drive you to school.”
Mayo smiled. “It’s alright,
Dad. I’ll walk.”
Haruto nodded. “Okay, if you’re
sure.”
Mayo paused at the door and
glanced back at the kitchen. His parents were cleaning up, talking quietly.
Then he stepped outside.
The city was already alive.
Students walked in groups,
laughing. Shops were open. People moved with purpose. Mayo walked among them,
hands in his pockets.
He wondered what they were
thinking.
A man with tired eyes passed by
him. Maybe he hated his job. A woman on her phone looked excited, maybe meeting
someone important. An old man sat on a bench, watching the world, maybe he was remembering something from long ago.
Perhaps their lives were filled
with things Mayo could not
see.
He wondered if anyone looked at
him and thought the same.
A man suddenly stopped in front
of him, phone in hand. “Excuse me, do you know the way to Majeed Mall?”
Mayo nodded and opened his
mouth.
Nothing came out.
Something pressed against his
throat. Not pain, but resistance, as if the words weren’t allowed to pass.
He swallowed. The man waited.
Mayo raised his hand and
pointed down the street, then left. “That way,” he said quietly, the words
rough.
The man thanked him and walked
off.
Mayo stood there a moment
longer than necessary and touched his throat lightly. It wasn’t the first time.
It never made sense.
He dropped his hand and kept
walking.
The city moved around him.
Noise. Life. People.
Yet he felt separate from it
all, as if he were watching through glass.
School was loud, as always.
When he entered the classroom,
noise hit him from every side. Classmates talking, laughing, shouting across
desks. He went to his seat and sat down.
His eyes shifted to the empty
desk beside him.
He took out his books.
A boy approached him, grinning
as usual.
“Morning, Mayo. How are you?”
Mayo smiled. “Morning, Elon.
I’m fine. You?”
“Must be that good breakfast
with your family.” Elon leaned against the desk. “I borrowed a book from Elina
and promised to return it today, but she’s not here. Could you give it to her?”
Mayo took the book. “No
problem. I’ll give it to her.”
Elon slapped his back lightly.
“Thanks. You’re a good friend.”
Mayo smiled as Elon walked off
laughing with the others.
He always laughed like that.
With everyone.
He speaks nicely to me. Makes
me feel special.
Then he realized Elon treated
everyone the same way.
The teacher walked in.
“Morning, everyone. Today we have History. Take out your books.”
Mayo obeyed.
“Today we continue with
Eliezeth the Third,” the teacher said. “He ruled vast lands for more than nine
centuries.”
The teacher read aloud. “He was
powerful, but remembered most for his kindness. Justice mattered to him above
all. He had one son, but countless subjects who admired him.”
Mayo’s mind drifted. The voice
became background noise.
“To every guest who entered his
court, Eliezeth told a story. A tale older than his throne. Older than his
empire. The legend of the Star of Dominion.”
Mayo looked at the page but did
not see it.
“There was once a man,”
Eliezeth would say, “called the Star of Dominion. He conquered not through
cruelty, but strength of spirit. His justice was universal. Even his enemies
feared his name. When he walked upon the earth, the ground shook beneath his
steps. Nations rose and fell, but his legacy endured.”
A story written in books. A man
who may have existed, or maybe not.
Mayo looked at the page.
Then out the window.
An old tree stood outside, its
branches wide, leaves shifting gently in the wind.
A history. Is my memory a kind
of history too? Or just a story?
The tree brought to mind a
place with greenery—somewhere from the past.
He was younger. Sitting in the
backseat while his father drove and his mother sat beside him. Trees and small
houses passed by as a new city appeared in the distance.
He pressed his face to the
window. “The beginning of a new life. I’ll make new friends.”
His parents smiled at him
through the rearview mirror.
Then he stood by a river.
Sunlight shimmered on the water. Grass beneath his feet. Two children played
nearby, a boy and a girl.
He walked over, heart beating
faster.
“Can I play too?”
They looked at him.
The girl smiled. The boy
nodded.
They ran and laughed, simple
games without rules.
After a while, they stopped,
catching their breath, all smiling.
Mayo pointed at himself
proudly. “My name is Mayo. I’m five years old. What’s your name?”
The girl tucked her hair behind
her ear. “I’m Elina. I’m five too.”
She grabbed the boy’s hand. “This
is Aryan. He’s my bestest friend. He’s super old, one whole year older.”
Aryan crossed his arms, trying
to look serious, but a smile betrayed him.
Mayo grinned. The sun felt warm
on his face.
For a moment, the world was
simple.
The memory faded.
Mayo blinked.
He was back in class, staring
at the tree.
The teacher was still talking
about Eliezeth the Third. About legends and history.
The classroom door opened.
Mayo looked up.
“Aryan!”
