The day dawned, but not a bird chirped. I suddenly heard a faint scream from Laila's room, and everything she had done started to connect in my mind. A sense of urgency surged through me as I rushed to her.

There she was, trying to walk as she fell down. "Oh dear," I gasped, "What's happened to my daughter?" I cried out, reaching for her. Her parched lips and swollen hands made my eyes well up with tears. Words failed me, and my hands trembled as I looked at her in this inexplicable state. "Sarah, fetch the first aid kit" I signed

She hugged me, and in that embrace, all my overflowing emotions began to pour out. But I reminded myself that I am her mother, and I quickly regained control, holding my feelings in check. "Laila, you must have been sleepwalking again," I gently said, pointing to the disheveled bathroom. The sight of it brought me some relief.

Yet, deep down, I still sensed something was terribly wrong. As she clung to me tightly, I could feel the worry in her eyes and knew she was in some kind of trouble. My heart ached with concern, but I stayed strong for her, determined to protect and comfort her as only a mother could.

My husband tried to offer explanations for how she got hurt, but I couldn't shake the feeling that he hadn't been there when she needed him most. Everything and everyone seemed out of place. With a heavy heart and a mind weighed down by worry, I got up and gently told her to freshen up and join us for breakfast. As I headed downstairs, the burden of my thoughts pressed on me, each step tingling through my nerves, reminding me of my deep responsibility as her mother.

As I saw her coming, I brought breakfast over, hoping to start a conversation. "Good morning, love, here's your breakfast," I said warmly.

But she didn't respond. She stood there, staring at the plates, lost in her thoughts. As I moved closer, she suddenly shouted, "I will!" The force of her words made me step back, trembling.
Her eyes filled with tears as she seemed to snap back to the present. "What happened, dear?" I asked softly, holding her shoulders, concern gripping my heart. Just then, Sarah rushed in, drawn by the noise. Sensing her sister's distress, she asked, "Why did you shout 'I will'?"

Laila hesitated, her voice tired and strained. "I don't know, Mom. I just feel exhausted. It must be the lack of sleep," she said, trying to brush off the real issue. But as her mother, I could sense there was something deeper she was hiding, and my worry only grew.

I wanted to stop her from leaving, so I gently said, "I've been watching you, and you haven't been yourself for the past three days. Get some rest, and you can go to college tomorrow." I looked into her eyes, hoping she would understand.

But she contradicted me, "Let me go to college. I need some fresh air," she insisted, standing firm. Her voice grew tense, as if she were trying to hide something, and it only deepened my concern.

I felt an overwhelming urge to shake her, to make her answer my questions. But before I could act, her sister intervened, saying, "How can you, sister?" Her voice interrupted my rising anger, grounding me."The latest weather news says all colleges, schools, and even offices are shut due to the heavy snowstorm," she continued. Those words gave me the strength I needed, buying me time to talk to her and get to the bottom of what was really going on.

As I stepped toward Laila, the sharp chime of the doorbell echoed through the house. I paused, glancing toward the entrance just as Sarah walked past me to open it.

A gust of cold air swept in as the door swung wide, revealing a tall boy standing on the doorstep. His black hair was slightly tousled, and a sports tee clung to his lean frame. Around his neck, a silver pendant gleamed under the dim porch light.

"Hello, Mrs. Evelyn Davison. I'm Sheeran Kalpanav," he said smoothly, his gaze shifting past Sarah, locking onto Laila.

Behind me, Laila stiffened. Her reaction was instant—a sharp breath, hesitation flickering across her face.

"Sheeran?" she whispered, his name slipping from her lips as if she had spoken it a hundred times before... and yet, not like this.

Sheeran offered a polite smile, seemingly unbothered. "It's cold out here. May I come in?"

Sarah hesitated, glancing back at me. I studied the boy—his steady posture, his unnerving calmness, the way his pendant caught the light as he shifted. Something about him unsettled me, but I pushed the feeling aside and nodded.

"Come in," I gestured.

"Please, sit," I said, handing him a glass of water once he settled in the living room.

An uneasy silence stretched between us, thick and heavy. Sarah and I exchanged glances, while Laila avoided my gaze entirely. The air felt charged, brimming with unspoken words.

Finally, Sheeran cleared his throat. "Eh... the weather is really harsh."

His attempt to break the silence felt forced, unnatural. Awkward. I turned away, my mind stirring with unease, and retreated into the kitchen.

As I stirred the soup, I heard them moving upstairs. My stomach twisted. Who was he?

I called my husband, my voice low and urgent. "David, come here."

He entered, brow raised. "A boy," I whispered, gripping his hands. "She's never mentioned him. Not once." David chuckled, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Dear, she's growing up. It's just part of life. Can't blame her for that."

I frowned, the uneasy weight in my chest refusing to lift.

"What's cooking here?" he teased, peering into the boiling pot. The steam curled into the air, thick and restless—like my thoughts, stirring, bubbling, refusing to be ignored.

"I should check on her," I said, gently pushing my husband aside. An uneasy weight pressed against my chest, a feeling I couldn't name—but it was there, persistent, gnawing. Something wasn't right.

"I don't know, David, but I feel... off. I can't tell if it's about the boy or something else, but..." I hesitated, my voice barely a whisper. "It feels like Laila is hiding something. I met his gaze, hoping he would understand the dread settling deep inside me. But instead, he chuckled softly.

"Leave it, dear. You're overthinking," he said, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "It's nice to just look at the mother of my children for a moment. Maybe we could—"

"Not the time, David." My voice was firm, unwavering. "This isn't just in my head. It's my instincts, and I can't ignore them."

Without waiting for his response, I turned away, my feet carrying me toward Laila's room.

The hallway felt heavier with each step, the air charged with something unseen yet undeniable. As I reached her door, a sound stopped me—a faint chuckle, soft yet unsettling.

My fingers tightened around the doorknob. "Let's play the good mom," I murmured under my breath, masking my unease with forced lightness.

I pushed the door open slightly. "Nice chuckle," I said, my voice carefully measured.

Laila barely acknowledged me. Instead, she let out a low groan, "Mom..." her tone laced with something I couldn't quite place.

And in that moment, standing in the dim light of her doorway, the unease inside me twisted into something deeper.

Fear...