THE UNSEEN THREAD

PART 17

The next day, Areeba woke up in her own bed, but her head throbbed as if it might split open. She groaned, pressing her palms against her temples, trying to ease the pounding pain. The room felt unusually quiet, almost oppressive, and she noticed the faint scent of citrus lingering in the air.

What happened last night? she thought, squinting as she tried to recall. Her memory was fragmented. She remembered drinking the juice—someone handing it to her, the cold glass in her hand—but after that? Nothing. A blank void.

She glanced around her familiar bedroom, her heart racing despite the comfort of her surroundings. The curtains were slightly ajar, letting in a muted morning light. Her bedside clock read 10:23 AM, much later than she usually woke up.

Areeba swung her legs over the side of the bed, her movements heavy and sluggish. The floor felt cool beneath her feet.

Areeba dragged herself to the bathroom, the cold tiles under her feet jolting her slightly awake. She splashed her face with cold water, hoping it would wash away the lingering fog in her mind. The chill stung her skin, but it didn’t do much to ease the ache in her head. After brushing her teeth, she stared at her reflection in the mirror for a moment. Her face looked pale, her eyes dull, and her temples throbbed mercilessly.

Sighing, she left the bathroom and made her way to the kitchen. The aroma of something cooking filled the air, and she found Maha by the stove, humming softly as she prepared breakfast.

"You woke up?" Maha asked, glancing over her shoulder.

Areeba clutched her head and mumbled, "Hmm."

Maha frowned, noticing her sluggish demeanor. "Are you okay?"

"No," Areeba replied, her voice tired. "My head’s hurting as if someone is hitting it with a hammer."

Maha turned off the stove and faced her fully, concern etched on her face. "You missed Fajr too. I tried to wake you up, but you wouldn’t budge, so I left it. Now you look kind of sick. You need coffee."

"Yeah, coffee, please," Areeba murmured, lowering herself into a chair at the dining table. She pressed her fingers against her temples, hoping the caffeine might offer some relief.

As Areeba sat at the dining table, waiting for the coffee, her mind wandered back to the strange dream she had. Or was it even a dream? It felt so vivid, so real. Fragmented images flashed in her mind—dark shadows, muffled voices, and a sense of being trapped.

Her headache worsened as she tried to piece it together. Should I tell Maha about it? she thought, biting her lip. Maybe she could help me make sense of it. But what if it was just my imagination? She hesitated, unsure if bringing it up would make her sound ridiculous.

Maha placed a steaming cup of coffee in front of her, breaking her train of thought. "Here," she said, her tone gentle. "This should help."

Areeba wrapped her hands around the warm cup, the aroma calming her slightly. She looked at Maha, who was now setting plates on the table. Maha had always been the practical one, the one who made sense of things when Areeba couldn’t.

Taking a deep breath, Areeba debated whether to open up. Maybe sharing the dream would ease the unease that clung to her like a shadow.

"Maha," Areeba called softly, her voice tinged with unease.

Maha turned to her, her brows knitting together as she noticed the tension in Areeba's expression. "What is it?" she asked, her tone gentle yet curious.

Areeba hesitated, her fingers tracing the rim of her coffee cup. "I... I saw a dream last night," she began, her voice shaky. "But it didn’t feel like a dream. It felt... too real."