The world was colorless.
Gray skies, gray ground, and a gray mist that curled around Choen's feet like something alive. She stood in the middle of an empty cemetery, but there were no mourners, no sounds. Just her—and the coffin.
Her mother's coffin.
It stood open.
Meena lay inside, hands folded gently across her chest, her expression calm, peaceful, as if merely sleeping.
Choen stood still, not crying. Not breathing. She just stared. Her legs felt heavy, her chest hollow. She didn't know how she got here. She didn't know what day it was. Time didn't exist in this place.
The only sound was the wind whispering through the trees. And then—
A twitch.
A blink.
Meena's eyes opened.
Choen gasped, stumbling backward. Her breath caught in her throat as Meena slowly turned her head and looked straight at her.
"Why are you crying, my baby?" Meena's voice was soft. Too soft.
"Mom…?" Choen whispered.
Meena sat up in the coffin, her white funeral dress fluttering like silk in water. She smiled, reaching a hand toward Choen. "Why are you so sad? I'm right here."
Choen took a step forward—then another.
But as soon as her fingers brushed Meena's, the world shattered.
A sound like glass breaking rang through the cemetery, and everything around her—trees, sky, ground—splintered like a broken mirror.
She jerked awake.
—
Her room was dark, lit only by the flickering orange glow of the hallway. Her heart thundered in her chest as she sat up, drenched in sweat, breath short and sharp.
It was just a dream. A dream.
But it felt real. Too real.
She threw off the blanket and ran—barefoot, breathless—down the hallway. She burst into her mother's room, heart in her throat.
Still.
Silent.
Meena lay there, just as before.
But she didn't move.
Choen dropped to her knees beside the bed, her hands reaching out to her mother's cold fingers. "Mom…" her voice cracked. "Please wake up."
Silence.
Choen buried her face in Meena's blanket, sobbing now, the grief erupting like a dam finally breaking.
"I can't do this without you," she whispered. "I can't live without you. You were all I had—you were everything."
Tears soaked the sheets as her shoulders trembled with every breath.
"I'm scared. I don't know what's happening. And I need you—I need you to tell me what to do. Please, Mom... just once more. Wake up. Please…"
But the room didn't answer.
Only her own voice echoed back—broken, small, and achingly alone