Author: Inky Whisper

Awakening heart …………….fantasy romance

“What’s this journal doing here? I don’t know why, but this story sounds so fake….almost as if someone is hiding another secret,” Lyra muttered, closing the book as a strange unease settled over her. For some odd reason, the name felt familiar, yet she was certain she had never met a girl named Layla.

When she glanced at the clock, she realized it was past midnight. With a sigh, she placed the journal on the shelf and got up. After changing into her nightwear, she climbed into bed, but sleep refused to come.

She didn’t look back at the journal. If she had, she would have seen the cover darken to an inky black. Had she opened it again, she might have found the answers she desperately needed. But she didn’t.

Restlessness gripped her, though she couldn’t say why. As thoughts of the journal swirled in her mind, her eyelids grew heavy, and before she knew it, sleep claimed her.

When she opened her eyes, she was no longer in her room. A sprawling military camp, unlike any she had ever seen, stretched before her. The tents were made of rough, dark canvas, adorned with unfamiliar symbols, and the soldiers wore armor that seemed both ancient and futuristic.

In one section, wounded men rested as healers hurried between them, tending to their injuries. Farther away, near the outskirts of the camp, fires crackled under iron pots, where a few soldiers took turns stirring the contents. The scent of burning wood and simmering stew mixed with the sharp tang of blood and metal an odd contrast that unsettled her.

The air crackled with an energy that felt both magical and technological, a strange fusion that made no sense.

Am I dreaming? Lyra wondered, her heart pounding as distant voices caught her attention.

“Look out!”

She jumped at the voice and turned, but the warning wasn’t meant for her. No one was looking at her. Confused, she stepped closer, drawn toward the heated argument taking place. But as she laid eyes on the girl speaking, a chill ran down her spine.

She froze.Staring back at her was… herself. Or at least, someone who looked exactly like her.

The other girl was too busy arguing to notice her presence. Facing her stood a man, his broad frame and warrior’s stance unmistakable. Though she couldn’t see his face, something about him reminded her of a Viking soldier.

“You want me to trust you, Rowan?” the girl spat, her voice shaking with anger. “You expect me to betray my father for you?”

Rowan. So that was his name. But with his back still turned, Lyra couldn’t read his expression.

Then he spoke….his voice rough, yet strangely captivating.

“I’m not asking you to betray your father. I’m asking you to trust me. Can you do that?” His voice, firm at first, softened into something almost pleading.

“I am leaving,” the girl said, seething with anger. But the man caught her wrist, spinning her around and pulling her flush against him.

“No, you’re not. They don’t know you’re the enemy’s daughter, Lyra. When they find out, they will come after you…”

Lyra froze. Not only did this girl look exactly like her, but her name was also Lyra.

Before she could process it further, the man lifted the girl into his arms, carrying her effortlessly despite her protests. Still, Lyra couldn’t see his face. She was about to follow them when a distant voice echoed her name being called.

“Lyra, Lyra, wake up, honey. It’s morning.”

She slowly opened her eyes. Sophia was looking at her, as if waiting for her to wake up, her expression unreadable. The images from the dream lingered in her mind, particularly the girl who looked like her and the sound of that name—Rowan. It felt… significant, somehow, like a memory trying to surface.

“What happened, Mum? Why did you wake me up?” Lyra yawned and fell back onto the bed as if she were going to sleep again.

“Uh-uh, you are not going to sleep again. It’s hard for you to even come here, and now you want to waste the day sleeping? It’s already 10 in the morning.” Sophia pulled the comforter off her.

Lyra woke up dejectedly. “Alright, I’ll get up.” She got up, feeling downcast, and entered the washroom.

Sophia’s face paled. Without another word, she turned on her heel and hurried out of the room.

In the garden, Olivia and Wren sipped their tea, their conversation halting as Sophia rushed toward them, her face tight with worry.

“What is it, Sophie?” Wren asked.

“It’s Lyra. I heard her say the name Rowan. She’ll remember her past in no time. I just don’t understand one thing—her powers are sealed, so how come…?” Sophia stopped, not completing her sentence.

“I hope nothing goes wrong. She’s only twenty-five. Her powers, a force both potent and volatile, were sealed for her own protection—a measure that was supposed to last until she was thirty…” Olivia’s expression hardened.

“Hello, what’s going on?” Lyra’s voice cut through the conversation as she walked toward the garden.

“Um, nothing. We were just waiting for you. Come have breakfast with us.”

“Of course, I was going to,” Lyra said, sitting with the three ladies. Something felt off. The tension in the air was almost tangible. But before she could ask, Olivia started talking about something else, steering the conversation elsewhere.

*******************

He stood at his post, patrolling, but his heart pounded faster than usual. He could feel something…something he had been waiting for.

“Rowan, hey man, what are you doing here? I think your duty ended two hours ago.”

Rowan composed himself, turning to his teammate with a serious expression.
“Yeah, I was just here to clear my mind,” he replied. “I’ll be going.”
Without another glance, he walked away, his eyes dark with determination.

“I have to find you. Wherever you are, I’ll find you,” he murmured to no one in particular.

Midnight came, and Rowan lay in his bed, staring into the darkness. His room was void of light…just like his life. Sleep was a battle he didn’t want to fight. The moment he closed his eyes, that agonizing scene would return to haunt him.

He was a born warrior, never one to back down from a challenge. But somewhere along the way, he had mistaken his life for one, and in doing so, he had lost her.

He remembered her face, the way she looked at him before… before he let her go. He’d convinced himself it was for her own safety, but now, the memory was a knife twisting in his gut.

Sometimes, he wished he could turn back time. Rewrite the past. If given the chance, would he still make the same mistake? But deep down, he already knew the answer.

Finding her again was his only hope. But he had to do it without alerting her.

How would I even find her? For a moment, the warrior’s mask slipped, revealing the raw vulnerability beneath. What if he never found her? What if it was too late?

That was his final thought before exhaustion pulled him into dreamland… where, if only for a little while, he could be with her again.
His thoughts began to blur, the edges of reality dissolving into a swirling vortex of memory and longing, pulling him under.

************

The orange and pink hue had completely overtaken the sky. Light shied away, welcoming the oncoming darkness. It was evening, and mist had covered everything. Autumn is coming.

Rowan sat in his tent, checking some letters the king had sent. The message was clear, hurry…a command that enraged him, for he was being forced to do something he didn’t want to do. In frustration, he slammed the table.

“Tsk, tsk, my dear. It won’t do you any good to pour your anger on a poor, wooden object, now will it?”

“And who are you again?” Rowan seethed, not surprised by the visitor.

“I am Wren. In a sense, I’m Lyra’s governess. I’ve been with her since birth…to protect her.”

Rowan cut her off, his voice laced with disbelief.
“To protect her? You lied to her mother. Do you think I’m interested in your games? Lyra is nothing but a pawn to me, so you..”

A quiet whimper stopped him mid-sentence. He turned sharply, only to see the woman they had been discussing, Lyra standing there, her face frozen in devastation.

“Rowan…” Her voice trembled, broken.

And just like that, Rowan jolted awake. His heart pounded violently in his chest, his breath uneven. His hand was outstretched, as if grasping for someone who had already slipped through his fingers.

A dull ache settled in his chest as his own words replayed in his mind, cutting deeper than any blade.

“Why did I say that?” he whispered, his voice raw. “Will she remember all of this when we meet?”

With a heavy sigh, he lay back down, letting the weight of regret press into him once more.

****************

There was a stench in the room, a mix of dampness and something acrid, clinging to the air. The only light came from the moon filtering through a window, casting eerie shadows on the walls.

A silhouette in a black robe stood in the darkness, chanting spells in a low, rhythmic murmur. The hood concealed her face, casting it in deep shadow. Only the gleam of her eyes and the occasional flash of a twisted scar hinted at the fury within.

Suddenly, she stopped chanting and opened her eyes, narrow slits of danger lurking in the black depths. The right side of her face appeared burned, the scars twisting her expression into something even more menacing.

“Oh, so the seal is weakening. In no time, she will remember her past, and then it won’t be good for us. I’m afraid this time… we will be no match for her.”

“My lady, what should we do?” her minion asked, eyes downcast, avoiding her piercing gaze as if terrified of what he might see.

“We will wait until she recovers her memories.” Her voice trembled with hatred.

“She stole my birthright, the power that was promised to me! And Wren… that bitch turned her back on me. Choose her over me. But this time, I won’t let her off so easily. Because of her, I was cast aside, left to rot in the shadows while she basked in glory. But not anymore. Keep an eye on her.”

“Yes, my lady,” the subordinate replied, bowing before disappearing into the shadows.

She smirked, the expression making her face even more hideous.

“Layla, you’ve been reborn just for me. The power you hold…I’ll take it back, because it was mine to begin with. And that bitch Wren… she betrayed me for you. I’ll give her the most miserable death.”

At the end of her sentence, she laughed maniacally, the sound echoing through the dimly lit room, thick with the weight of unspeakable malice.

**********

“Mama, is there something I need to know?” Lyra wanted to ask directly about the strange story she had read, the one about Layla. But deep down, she knew no one would tell her the truth.

Still, after thinking about it all day, her curiosity had become too heavy to carry. So instead, she chose to ask Sophia in a roundabout way.

Sophia looked at her for a long moment, then sighed. “Why would you think that?”

Lyra looked away, biting her lip. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself. But… sometimes I feel so different from everyone else. The world outside feels like a blur in my mind. I don’t know how to make friends. It’s like something is missing.”

Sophia’s eyes softened, but they held something Lyra couldn’t quite name…a mix of longing and something heavier.

“Why would you think that? Everything happens in its own time. Even if we want something, that doesn’t mean it will happen the way we want it to.”

“I don’t know,” Lyra whispered. Then, after a pause, she added,

“But Mama… you never told me about my father. We live in such a quiet, faraway place. There aren’t many houses nearby. It’s like… we’re living all alone.” She trailed off, the words getting tangled in the lump rising in her throat.

Chapter 4

Awakening heart………fantasy romance

Layla sat in front of her parents, her eyes downcast. She didn’t want to face them, knowing they would dismiss her words just like before. Each time it happened, she clung to the fragile hope that they might finally believe her. But once again, that hope shattered.

She met their accusing gazes one last time before rising to her feet and retreating to her room. A hollow emptiness settled inside her as she walked away, each step heavier than the last. She couldn’t believe this was happening to her.

It had all begun when new people moved into their neighborhood. Their community was warm and welcoming, always ready to embrace newcomers. When Layla’s mother heard about them, she turned to her daughter with a bright smile.

‘Let’s visit them with some homemade food,’ she said enthusiastically. ‘They’re new here, so adjusting must be hard at first. They need some friendly neighbors.

Layla didn’t want to go meeting new people, which made her nervous and self-conscious. Her mother hoped this visit would finally help her break out of her shell. But Layla wasn’t ready.

When her mother insisted, she reluctantly got ready. Now eighteen, she found herself withdrawing from everything, which worried her mother. But without realizing it, her mother was only making things worse, forcing her into situations that felt suffocating.

Layla longed to spend time with the other girls in the community but her mother always found a reason to keep her inside. When she wanted to wear a specific color, her mother would say it didn’t suit her. These constant restrictions weighed on Layla, but she never complained. Her father was always working, and by the time he came home, he was too tired for her to disturb him.

Day by day, she spoke less, retreating to the quiet of her room. She only emerged when summoned, feeling more like a guest in her own home than a daughter. With each passing day, her mother felt more like a stranger. And her father? He had never truly been there at all.

Meeting Mrs. Stewart was a surprise; she was nothing like Layla’s mother. She had two daughters, Tania and Lora, and a warmth that had always been missing from Layla’s life. At their first meeting, she even insisted Layla’s mother call her by her first name.

“Oh, Catherine, please call me Eve. I don’t like being called Mrs. Stewart; it makes me feel old,” she said, laughing. Catherine joined her, something Layla rarely saw her do.”

Tania was Layla’s age, and Lora was three years older. Unlike the other girls in the community, they made her feel included. Soon, the families began gathering almost every weekend. Their fathers became friends, talking about everything from politics to work. But Layla’s father barely acknowledged her, speaking to her only when necessary. Their dinners remained silent, as if no one was really there.

Layla counted the days until she could see the Stewarts again. Their home felt lighter, warmer like she could finally breathe.

One weekend, during a gathering at Tania’s house, she pulled Layla aside. They climbed to the rooftop and settled into the chairs. The autumn breeze carried a slight chill.

“Layla, can I ask you something?” Tania hesitated before continuing, her voice laced with concern. “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but it feels like you rarely get to make your own choices. It’s like… your mother decides everything for you. I don’t mean to offend you, but after meeting so often, I see you as a friend. Every time I asked if you wanted to go out shopping, a picnic, anything your mother refused before you could answer. And whenever I insisted on asking you directly, she wouldn’t let me. Are you and your mother not getting along?”

Layla froze. No one had ever asked her what she wanted before. Her throat tightened, and her eyes stung with unshed tears. She had spent so long enduring in silence. But now, for the first time, she wanted to tell someone.

Lyra was so absorbed in Layla’s story that she didn’t notice the pages were no longer blank.

“Well, my mother…” Layla hesitated, then took a deep breath. “My father is always working, so she’s lonely. All her attention is on me like she’s afraid I’ll leave her. And my father…” Her voice wavered. “Let’s just say he’s obsessed with money. Even though we have enough, it’s never enough for him. They used to fight about it, but after a while, my father started leaving for weeks. My mother doesn’t bring it up anymore.”

Layla trailed off. She opened her mouth to say more but stopped herself. Tania didn’t push her, waiting in silence.

“Like they don’t want me in their lives. Not my mother, of course. She needs someone to control, after all. But my father… he never speaks to me, never looks at me, never even remembers my birthday.”

Layla let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know… I feel like a puppet. And if this keeps up, I don’t think I’ll last long, you know.” Her voice cracked as tears spilled down her cheeks.

Tania, who had been listening silently, stood up and wrapped her arms around Layla, holding her tightly.

Unbeknownst to them, Layla’s parents had arrived to call her home. Hearing their daughter’s words, they froze. They exchanged guilty glances but said nothing, the weight of their own choices pressing down on them.

In the days following that conversation, Layla noticed small but strange changes. Her father, who had always been distant, now watched her quietly. Her mother, usually quick to instruct or scold, remained uncharacteristically silent. She didn’t say anything to Layla, but the shift in the air was undeniable.

She didn’t know what to make of it, but she didn’t dwell on it too much until something unexpected happened.

A study tour was coming up at school, and Layla desperately wanted to go. But deep down, she already knew what would happen. She would ask, her mother would refuse, and her father would stay silent. Just like always.

Except this time, it didn’t happen that way.

During dinner, her father cleared his throat and said, almost hesitantly, “If you want to go on that study tour… you can.”

Layla’s fork froze midway to her mouth. For a moment, she thought she had misheard. Her father never cared about things like this. And yet, here he was, giving her permission. She turned to her mother, expecting her usual disapproval, but instead, her mother remained silent.

Layla stared at them in shock, but they both avoided her gaze.

That night, as she was getting ready for bed, her phone buzzed. It was Tania.

“Hey, guess what? I kind of convinced your parents about the trip.”

Layla blinked, then clutched her phone, a lump forming in her throat. Her voice wavered as she whispered, “Tania… thank you.”

Layla was buzzing with excitement that Saturday morning. She had skipped school to prepare for the study tour, carefully packing her bag, her heart light for the first time in ages. She didn’t know that in just a few moments, everything would come crashing down.

The doorbell rang. Layla barely paid attention, folding her last outfit neatly into her bag. But then silence. A heavy, suffocating silence. She frowned. Something was wrong.

She stepped out of her room and froze. Her parents stood in the living room, their eyes locked onto her with something she had never seen before. Accusation. Disgust.

“Mom?” she asked, her voice small, hesitant.

Before she could react, something flew through the air and struck her cheek with a dull thud. She winced, stumbling back as the object fell to the floor. A gift box.

Layla’s mind reeled. What?

“So, this is why you want to go?” Her mother’s voice cut through the air like a blade. “Because of some boy?”

Layla’s breath hitched. “What?”

“Is this why you resent my influence? Because I stop you from running around meeting boys?” Her mother’s face twisted with anger. “I should have known.”

Layla stood frozen. She had never faced anything like this before. A boy? What was her mother even talking about?

She turned to her father, silently begging for support. But he only looked away, his jaw tight, his expression unreadable. The betrayal stung just as much as her mother’s words.

She sank onto the couch, struggling to form a sentence. What could she even say? The gift wasn’t hers. She had no idea who sent it. But would they even believe her?

The silence stretched.

Then, without another word, she stood up and walked to her room, her vision blurred by tears.

It was over. The little freedom she had grasped slipped through her fingers like sand. There was nothing left to say.

Lyra frowned. Something about this story didn’t sit right with her. Why were Layla’s parents so conservative? So what if she had met a boy? Wasn’t she supposed to make friends?

She turned the page, but a strange unease crawled up her spine, making her grip the book tighter.

Layla’s gaze landed on the kitchen knife. She had considered packing it for protection just in case. But now, as her world crumbled around her, it felt like the only thing she could control.

Her fingers trembled as she picked it up, her vision swimming with unshed tears. A hollow numbness settled in her chest.

Then, before she could think, before she could stop herself she pressed the blade to her skin and dragged it across her wrist.

Blood welled up instantly, trickling down her arm in warm, crimson streams. She stared at it blankly, feeling nothing. No fear. No pain. Just… nothing.

Darkness crept in from the edges of her vision. Then, everything turned black.

Meanwhile, in the living room, Layla’s father was pacing, his hands clenched into fists. “You shouldn’t have scolded her like that!” he snapped. “She’s just a child, Catherine. It was just a gift!”

Catherine’s face paled. “But she didn’t tell us about it! How could I have known?”

“You overheard her conversation with Tania,” he shot back. “Maybe she didn’t feel comfortable telling us but if we had trusted her, maybe she would have!”

Catherine swallowed hard. A sick feeling settled in her stomach. “I think you’re right. I….I shouldn’t have scolded her like that.” Her voice wavered. “But she is our only child. What if something happens to her?”

Ding dong.

The doorbell rang, sharp and sudden.

Catherine flinched. She glanced at the clock. It was noon. Who could be visiting at this hour?

Tania smiled as Catherine opened the door. “Hello, Aunty. Sorry to disturb you at this hour. Oh Uncle is here too.” She stepped inside, unaware of the tension that thickened the air.

“Actually, my cousins sent me a birthday gift, but it was delivered to the wrong address. We tracked it and found it was sent here. Thank God, otherwise, it would have been really hard to retrieve.”

She paused, frowning. “Aunty, are you okay? You don’t look well. And where is Layla?”

Catherine’s breath caught in her throat. Her vision blurred, heart pounding violently in her chest. Without a word, she bolted past Tania and ran to Layla’s room.

Catherine’s world tilted as she pushed open the door.

The sight before her sent a piercing scream ripping through her throat.

Layla lay crumpled on the floor, her arm slick with blood. The knife lay beside her, its blade stained red. Her pale face was eerily still, her lips parted slightly as if she had tried to call for help. The room smelled of iron and something worse…regret.

Catherine stumbled back, her hands trembling violently. “No… no, no, no!” she choked out as she rushed forward, shaking Layla’s shoulders. “Layla, wake up! Please, baby, wake up!”

The hospital halls blurred as they wheeled Layla through the emergency doors.

“Help her! Please!” Catherine sobbed, gripping her husband’s arm so tightly that her nails dug into his skin.

Layla’s father stood frozen, his face ashen. He tried to say something, anything, but no words came. His daughter, his little girl, was barely clinging to life, and it was his fault.

Hours dragged on in agonizing silence. Catherine clutched her hands together, whispering desperate prayers between choked sobs. Layla’s father paced, running his fingers through his graying hair, his eyes red-rimmed and hollow.

Then, finally, the doctor emerged. Her face was grave.

“She lost a significant amount of blood,” the doctor said quietly. “We managed to stabilize her, but… she’s slipped into a coma.”

The words hit them like a sledgehammer. Catherine swayed, her knees giving out. Her husband caught her just in time, his own body trembling as the weight of their mistake crashed over them.

During the long months of waiting for Layla to wake up, Layla’s father learned what true helplessness felt like. No amount of money, no business deal, no social status could change the fact that his daughter lay unmoving, trapped in a world he could not reach.

Every night, he sat by her bedside, whispering regrets into the sterile hospital air.Catherine, too, was a ghost of herself. Guilt clung to her like a shadow.

When Layla’s eyes fluttered open, the harsh white light of the hospital room blurred her vision. A dull ache pulsed in her wrist. She blinked slowly, her body heavy, her mind clouded.

“Layla?”

Her mother’s voice wavered, thick with tears. Layla turned her head slightly, her gaze landing on Catherine’s tear-streaked face. Her father sat beside her, his hand clutching hers like a lifeline.

Then, like a dam breaking, the memories crashed over her: the gift, the accusations, the crushing loneliness that had driven her to that desperate moment. Her heart pounded as she pulled her hand away, the pain of betrayal fresh in her chest.

At first, Layla kept her distance. She answered their questions with short words, avoided their eyes, and turned away when they reached for her hand. She wasn’t sure if she could ever trust them again.

But then she saw her father, the man who had never spoken much to her, now sitting by her side every night, telling her stories as if trying to piece back all the years they had lost. She saw her mother, once controlling and harsh, now tentative, unsure, afraid to break her again.

And slowly, ever so slowly, something in Layla’s heart softened.

“I’m still angry,” she admitted one night, her voice raw. “I don’t know if I can forget.”

Her father’s grip tightened around her fingers. “You don’t have to forget,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “But if you can… please give us a chance to make it right.”

And for the first time in a long time, Layla thought that maybe, just maybe, she could.

Chapter 3