Lost in the Northern Lights

Prologue

Eva didn't plan on having an icy-hot wake-up call in the shower. But fate had other ideas. The moment she turned on the water, it played games with her—first scalding, then freezing. She jerked back each time the temperature swung, totally uncomfortable. When she saw her dark hair scattered on the plastic grid covering the shower floor, she grunted helplessly. They looked slick and slimy, even though it was her own hair. Every day, she was consumed by disgust, even for the smallest annoyances.

The shower was her escape, a little oasis where the sound of water blocked out everything else, even the annoying questions from her partner in the kitchen.

"Eva, I've made some lunch for you. Looks like you're up at last. You hit the sack pretty early last night. Maybe you had no desire to leave your room? He spoke playfully, a smile touching his lips.

Eva involuntarily pulled a face and muttered his last words under her breath, a palpable sense of disgust etched on her features. "Maybe you had no desire to leave your room."

The man standing in the kitchen wasn't expecting a response, but he continued his monologue in his softest, most mellifluous tones.

"Shall I order some sushi for the evening? Told you yesterday about one the next train station, the prices are easy on the wallet. We can afford it."

Eva's heart sank at the suggestion, and she buried her face in her hands as if trying to shield herself from the reality of his voice. She knew it was time to exit the shower and save water. She donned her gown and slippers with agonizing slowness, draping a towel over her damp hair. The roots of her hair were very visible, her ashy blonde hair branching out a few centimeters, and the previously bright red ends of her hair turned a lifeless ginger.

"You know I can't have sushi now," Eva muttered through gritted teeth as she tiptoed through the narrow hallway, hoping to evade her partner's gaze.

"I'm sorry, honey, I forgot," the black-haired man with the elongated locks chimed in, his head peeking out from the kitchen. His face looked pale and lifeless, with tired, gigantic eyes standing out against his weary expression. Despite his drained appearance, his big, bright eyes remained striking, like two bottomless drops of light against the backdrop of his worn-out face. A hint of stubble had grown on his handsome yet fatigued face, adding to his overall worn-out appearance.

"Nevermind. I'll be in the bedroom." Eva retorted, trying to skirt past him as quickly as possible.

"I'll bring lunch to you in bed," he responded, his voice awash with enchantment and amorousness.

It appeared as though he was completely oblivious to the appalling treatment he was receiving, or perhaps he was putting up a facade. He took great care in arranging the chicken cutlets and mashed potatoes on a plate before placing it on a tray. He lacked culinary inclinations and resembled a rock star or celebrity who had previously been accustomed to living in luxury but was now abandoned without help in the wild, where nature should be understood as a small kitchenette. Marching solemnly, he muttered a barely audible tune to himself as he made his way to the bedroom.

Upon seeing the dish, Eva's face twisted in distaste as she saw the burnt chicken.

"It's burnt."

"Ah, sweetheart. It's just a little overcooked. You've already skipped breakfast, and I don't want you to starve. These are the best pieces I had for you and the baby. I'm not the best cook, but you both need to eat," the man replied apologetically.

There was no way to deceive the sensation of Eva's intensified hunger after a 15-hour sleep. She slowly shoved the blackened piece of chicken into her mouth, trying not to chew it too insistently, hoping she could trick her taste buds into not perceiving it as food. The man perched on the edge of the bed, staring at Eva contemplatively with his clear, crystalline eyes.