Destiny

Seeing is believing

I followed her down the hallway, and together we crossed the living room. The room had tall windows with white wooden frames and curtains. The Chesterfield sofas were cream-colored. On the rough-surfaced fireplace wall hung a flat-screen TV. The ash wood floor provided beautiful lighting to the house.

In the dining area, which shared space with the kitchen, I found my mom, Azael, and a woman with Native American features, similar to those of my paternal grandmother. Her black hair cascaded like shiny waterfalls halfway down her back. She had black eyes and cinnamon skin, but her facial features were soft and symmetrical. She didn't look like she had ever had a child. I was stunned when I saw her, recognizing that beautiful, youthful face.

She was the same woman who appeared in the newspaper photograph. A woman who hadn't aged in over 60 years. Ariana was right. But how was it possible that Rayen had not a single wrinkle since 1950? They couldn't be the same person... I was so confused, amazed, and frightened by what I saw that I couldn't speak. I looked at Colette and Azael, who were with her. Who were they? Why did this woman not age? So many questions needed answers, or I thought I would scream in panic.

"Bianca," my mom intervened, distracting me from my mental turmoil, "this is Rayen. You can finally meet her."

Rayen was truly beautiful, like Colette and Dana. She wore gray yoga pants and a white cotton shirt with sneakers. She approached me and extended her hand towards me, intending for us to shake hands. I hesitated before the gesture but eventually took her hand and forced a smile.

"Your mom talks a lot about you," Rayen said, smiling at me with joy. "Nice to meet you, Bianca."

"Nice to meet you too."

My mom came closer and put her hands around my shoulders.

"Bianca is sometimes very shy."

"Bianca, don't feel pressured here," Rayen said with an understanding smile. "Well, you already know Colette; she's our youngest daughter. Azael is Ibrahim's younger brother, my husband."

I nodded at each name mentioned, while Azael looked at me with a certain curious gaze. The truth was, I felt scared; I wondered if he was reading my mind or something.

"Shall we go out to the patio?" Rayen suggested, pointing towards the door on the left. "Ibrahim and Dana are preparing the barbecue."

"You have another child around Bianca's age, don't you?" my mom asked as we left.

"Yes, Matthew. He went out for a while. But he will be here soon," Rayen replied.

"I think Bianca and Matthew are in the same year."

For some reason, the mention of Matthew eased my tense body. I still couldn't believe that Rayen remained as young as she had been in 1950.

As I stepped outside, my eyes fell on a paved area, in the center of which stood a robust stainless steel grill. Ibrahim, Matthew's father, was there, facing away from us. Next to him was Dana; she and her father were laughing together.

I looked toward the forest behind them. Beyond the paved area, the landscape gradually transformed into a wilder setting. The patio gave way to a lush forest, where the trees stood in a dense community.

Suddenly, Ibrahim turned toward us, and then I recognized his face as well; he was the man standing next to Rayen in the newspaper photo. His black, wavy, short hair framed his face with an elegance very similar to Matthew and Azael. The flashes of his blue, perceptive, and deep eyes reflected wisdom and a warmth that came through his gaze. His facial features were firm and defined.

Panic surged renewed within me. Dana stopped smiling when she realized our presence. Not even a second passed before she glared at me.

"Bianca, this is Ibrahim, my husband," Rayen introduced him, wrapping her arm around her husband. "And our daughter, Dana."

Ibrahim observed me.

"It's truly a pleasure to meet you, Bianca. But Elizabeth has talked so much about you that I feel like I already know you."

My mom smiled.

"I'm happy to talk about Bianca; she's like my best friend."

"There's nothing that excites mothers more than talking about their own children," Rayen agreed.

At that moment, Dana mumbled something and went back into the house. I noticed the tension on Ibrahim and Rayen's faces. Something told me that Dana's dislike was personal.

My mom, Azael, and Matthew's parents started talking among themselves. Colette disappeared almost at the same time Dana left. I kept apart from the others and pretended to focus on my phone while letting the revelation that Matthew's parents didn't age continue to terrify me.

I watched Matthew's parents interact with my mom, their faces intact, their smiles perfect. An intriguing question began to form in my mind: What kind of humans are they if they don't age? Fear turned into curiosity as I tried to integrate this new information into my understanding of the world.

Had my comparison between Matthew and the wolves turned out to be more of a reality than just a comparison? Suddenly, I realized that instead of screaming like a lunatic, I was genuinely curious about them.

After lunch, I went back to the pictures at the entrance of the house. One of the paintings caught my attention. When I raised my hand to touch the painting, another hand grabbed my wrist in mid-air. I stifled a scream when I saw it was Dana. But she didn't let go; she just continued to look at me accusingly.

Dana was not only beautiful, but she was also strong and was hurting me.

"If you value your life, you won't touch that."

"I understand. I'm sorry."

Although I apologized, she didn't seem satisfied. Suddenly, the door behind me opened. I looked over my shoulder and saw Matthew looking at his sister with clear seriousness. To be honest, I had lost hope of seeing him that day, so I wasn't the only one surprised by Dana's reaction.

Matthew stopped between us and faced his sister.

"You told me you wouldn't come today," Dana complained.

"I changed my mind. Now, let her go," Matthew ordered.

Dana immediately released me.

"I hate what she's doing to you."

Finally, Dana left. I turned to Matthew.

"Your sister is so sweet," I joked.

He smiled, and that small movement made my legs wobbly.

"Dana is... complicated."

"I suppose having siblings is sometimes complicated. Honestly, I would have liked to have a brother."

"You would have been a good sister."

I smiled in response and looked at the painting I had been about to touch.

"Why does your sister hate me?"

"Dana needs something to hate to feel okay."

I frowned.

"Yeah, that makes a lot of sense."

Matthew let out a soft laugh, then walked to the door and opened it.

"You just arrived," I said.

"Come with me, Bianca."

I looked through the open door, seeing the blue sky and the greenery.

"Where to?"

"Trust me," he said, looking into my eyes solemnly and extending a hand in my direction.