Fate of deception

Chapter 46 - Umaizah's POV

The silence that followed felt thick, like a living, breathing thing. It pressed against my skin, sliding cold fingers down my spine. Amir's hand was in mine, grounding me in a way I hadn't felt in a long time—like he was pulling me back from the edge of a precipice I'd nearly tumbled into. But even as he held me, something deep within me thrummed with unease. I could still feel the weight of that pendant, its chill lingering in my fingertips, a mark I couldn't see but felt as surely as a bruise.

He squeezed my hand, and I looked up to find his eyes on me, searching. There was a question there, one he wasn't asking aloud but one that I could feel, pulling at the edges of his gaze, tugging at the places he wasn't willing to go. And yet, as much as he feared it, I knew he was prepared to dive into the depths of whatever darkness I carried, if it meant understanding.

But I couldn't let him. Not fully. There were things even I wasn't ready to see. Shadows in my mind that lurked just beyond reach, memories that felt close but would scatter the second I tried to catch hold of them.

"Umaizah," he murmured, breaking the silence, his voice soft, barely touching the air. It was a question, a comfort, a plea.

And I didn't have an answer. How could I explain the sense of familiarity, the strange comfort I felt in this cursed place? Or the way the woman's words—"She belongs here, just as you do"—had resonated somewhere deep within me, as if I'd known it all along, as if I'd been carrying the weight of it long before I'd ever stepped foot in these halls.

"Amir, I..." I faltered, my voice fading like a whisper lost in the night. There was too much I couldn't say, words that would only sound empty in the face of everything I felt.

His gaze softened, his hand tightening slightly, an anchor, a vow. "I'll find a way out for us," he said, voice firm, as if it were a promise he'd etched into stone. But his certainty only made me ache. I could feel his fear, pulsing just beneath his strength, like the tremor of wings in a cage. He was fighting for me, against forces he couldn't see, forces that had claws in both of us, though he didn't know it yet.

I wanted to tell him that he didn't need to do this, that I could bear the weight of whatever curse hung over me, over us. But the words felt hollow, like trying to wrap my arms around a storm, an endless sky, and pretend it could be contained.

The shadows pressed in, wrapping around us as we walked, whispering secrets only I could hear. They spoke of places I remembered, half-glimpsed dreams, and faces that flickered at the edge of memory, like smoke curling through my mind.

We came upon a door, half-rotted and broken, hanging like a warning from rusted hinges. I reached out, feeling the cold seep into my skin, and pushed it open, the sound tearing through the silence. Inside was a small, forgotten room, empty save for a cracked mirror hanging crookedly on the far wall. The glass was clouded with age, but as we stepped closer, I saw a flash—a shadow that shouldn't have been there, a face that wasn't mine staring back.

I froze, feeling the world tilt, that familiar pull drawing me closer to the mirror, to the reflection that felt more real than the one I wore. For a brief moment, I felt her—some version of myself I couldn't remember, someone who had walked these halls, who knew their secrets, their darkness. She looked at me, eyes filled with something I couldn't name, something haunting and ancient, as if she'd been waiting for me.

I felt Amir's hand on my shoulder, grounding me, pulling me back to the present. "Umaizah," he whispered, his voice breaking through the haze. "What is it?"

How could I tell him? How could I describe the sense of inevitability that had settled over me, like a storm cloud, heavy and inescapable? The fear that this place wasn't just cursed—it was a part of me, and I of it. I tore my gaze away from the mirror, swallowing back the bitter taste of dread. "It's nothing," I said, barely managing to keep my voice steady.

But he looked at me, seeing through the cracks, past every wall I'd tried to build. And for a moment, his gaze softened, understanding flickering across his face, as if he knew exactly what I was feeling. The pull, the weight. He didn't ask anything more. Instead, he reached for me, wrapping his arms around me, drawing me close.

I buried my face in his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of him, letting his warmth seep into my skin. The shadows seemed to recoil, retreating at the strength of his embrace, like his presence alone was enough to ward them off. For the first time, I felt something other than the endless tug of dread—I felt safe.

But safety here was an illusion, one that would crumble the moment we let our guard down. I could feel it in the way the shadows shifted, watching, waiting. They knew something we didn't. They had seen this all before. Perhaps that's what terrified me the most—that this was a story already written, one we were merely playing our parts in.

"Amir," I whispered, pulling back to look at him. "What if... what if we're meant to be here? What if we belong to this place?"

He shook his head, his gaze fierce, defiant. "I don't care what this place thinks it has a right to. You don't belong to anyone, Umaizah." His hand found mine, fingers lacing through mine, warm and steady. "We'll break whatever binds you here. Together."

There was a conviction in his voice, one that made my heart ache and hope flutter weakly in my chest. But as we left the room, that shadowed reflection lingered in my mind—a version of me trapped in the glass, watching us leave. It was as if she knew something we didn't, as if she held the secrets we needed but could never reach.

The corridor stretched before us, winding and dark, filled with secrets that seemed to call to me. I could feel them pressing in, memories I couldn't quite touch, voices just out of reach. They whispered my name, soft and insistent, filling my mind with a dark melody I felt I'd known all my life.

As we walked, I squeezed Amir's hand, grounding myself in the warmth of him. But the whispers only grew louder, the shadows deeper, coiling around us like smoke. And I knew, with a certainty that felt like a knife in my chest, that this was only the beginning. The darkness wasn't done with us yet.

I could feel it waiting, patient, watching. The story wasn't finished—not yet.

And somehow, deep within me, I knew: this was only the first verse of a song that would haunt us forever.