𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐠𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐦 & 𝐇𝐚𝐲𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐦

Chapter 17

Apologies for the delay.

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Erum didn’t wake up with a jolt. There was no gasping, no sudden movement, no cinematic moment of realization. It was quiet — painfully quiet. Her eyes fluttered open slowly, as if even that required permission from the rest of her body.

The ceiling above her was pale, unfamiliar, and the light filtering through the blinds was too white. Her throat felt dry. Her chest was heavy. Her entire body ached in a way that didn’t feel new but felt deeper than before. Like pain had finally settled in and made itself at home.

For a moment, she just lay there, staring upward. Letting her surroundings exist without trying to understand them.

She was alive. Somehow.

Her mind knew that before her body did. She could feel the weight of a blanket over her, the dull sting of something in her arm — probably an IV — and the soft hum of machines that never stopped working. That never rested, even when she had.

She did remember the exact moment everything went dark. Blood. Voices. That unbearable pressure in her chest. And then — nothing.

Now, here she was.

Breathing.

She shifted her gaze slightly to the side. No one was there. Not yet. The room was still, almost peaceful. But her heart wasn’t.

Because being awake meant she had to start thinking again. And thinking meant remembering.

There were too many things she didn’t want to remember.

The emptiness of the surroundings.
The dagger in her abdomen.
The blood oozing out.
The desperation for help.

The word:

'Die.'

One thing she was sure about by now was — whenever that shadowy figure tried to kill her, it wasn’t just an attack on her body.

It was something else.

Something worse.

Her mind would record every detail.
Every movement.
Every shadow.
Every breath before the strike.

It didn’t matter how fast it happened — her brain would slow it down. Etch it into her memory like a cruel reminder. She’d remember the sound of her heartbeat. The way her breath hitched. The exact color of the sky — even if it was night both time.

It wasn’t just pain.

It was psychological destruction.

And every time it happened, it left her shaken in ways she couldn’t describe. Her body would heal, yes.

But her mind?

Her mind would keep replaying it over and over. Like it wanted her to relive the moment.

To fear it.
To surrender to it.

But Erum Zamurd never surrendered.

Not on the outside, at least.

Still… she knew the truth. Deep down, where no one could reach — it shook her. And this time… it had nearly broken her.

She turned her gaze to the side.

At first, her mind didn’t register what she was seeing. Everything was a little blur in her sight.

But then her vision cleared.

A small pot sat neatly on the table beside her. And in it were six white roses with their tips dipped in deep, dark green.

She knew those flowers. She had seen them before. Not in markets, not in casual hands but only in one place. From one person.