Page 41 of Rafi

Years later, Ofelia would grow into a woman of extraordinary strength, her parents’ courage and resilience etched into her soul. And though the story of her mother’s past was one of pain, it was also one of hope—a reminder that even in the darkest of tales, love could triumph over hate.

I wake with a start,my eyes unfocused as they flit around the room, trying to make sense of the shadows. My breath comes in sharp, shallow bursts, my chest heaving as if I’ve just run miles. My heart pounds against my ribs, a relentless, panicked drumbeat.

A dream. Just a dream. But it doesn’t feel like one.

The haunting melody of my mother’s voice lingers in my mind, weaving together fragments of a bedtime story she used to tell me. For a fleeting moment, her voice had been so vivid, so real, it was as though she were in the room with me. But now, reality comes rushing back, and the warmth of her memory is replaced by the icy grip of loss.

I scramble upright, my hands clutching at the blankets as if they can anchor me. The room is unfamiliar, the faint moonlight casting long, eerie shadows on the walls. My pulse quickens, confusion flooding my senses. Where am I? My mind claws for answers, the remnants of my dream tangling with reality.

Before I can steady myself, the door bursts open with a loud crash, and Rafi barrels into the room. His dark eyes scan the space, his expression a mix of alarm and determination. There’s a gun in his hand, which he lowers as he steps into the room and sees that I’m alone.

“Tayana?” His voice is low, steady—like a rope thrown to a drowning soul.

I can’t find the words. My body shakes as tears well in my eyes, the weight of my memories pressing down on me like a tidal wave. He’s at my side in an instant, his strong arms wrapping around me as I collapse into him.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice soft but sure. “You’re safe, Tayana. I’ve got you.”

I clutch at him as though he’s the only solid thing in a world that’s crumbling around me. My fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, and I bury my face against his chest. His warmth seeps into me, grounding me even as I unravel.

“It was just a dream,” I whisper, though the tremor in my voice betrays the truth. It wasn’t just a dream. It was a doorway to the past, one I hadn’t been prepared to walk through.

Rafi doesn’t press for details. He simply holds me, rocking gently as my sobs break free. The room fills with the sound of my anguish, a mournful symphony that echoes off the walls. For the first time in years, I let myself cry—not the restrained, quiet tears of someone trying to hold it together, but the guttural, raw cries of a little girl lost in the storm.

“My mother used to tell me a story,” I manage between shuddering breaths, the words tumbling out unbidden. “About a girl that lost her way… She said... she said the stars would guide her home.”

Rafi’s hand strokes my hair, his touch gentle and unhurried. “That’s a beautiful story,” he says, his voice thick with sleep.

“She believed it,” I choke out. “But my mother never found her stars. She never came home.”

The confession splinters something inside me, the weight of my mother’s plight crashing down on me once again. I feel Rafi’s arms tighten around me, his silence speaking volumes. He doesn’t offer empty platitudes or try to fix what can’t be undone.Instead, he lets me grieve, his presence a lifeline that keeps me tethered to the present.

When my sobs finally subside, I pull back slightly, my eyes meeting his. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something in his gaze—something steady and unwavering—that makes me feel like maybe, just maybe, I don’t have to carry the weight of my past alone.

“I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere, Tayana. Whatever you need, I’m here.”

For the first time in what feels like forever, I nod, letting his words wrap around me like a protective cocoon. It doesn’t erase the pain, but it makes the weight of it a little easier to bear.

Rafi stays until I drift back to sleep, his presence a quiet reassurance. And when I wake again, the memory of my mother’s story still lingers, but so does the steady rhythm of his heart as he lays beside me.

24

RAFI

The girl has secrets. I can see it in her guarded eyes, in the way her shoulders tighten every time someone gets too close. They’re the kind of secrets that weigh heavy, the sort you shouldn’t carry alone. But I’m a patient man. I can wait until she’s ready to unpack them. And she will—because I’ll be there when she does.

Tonight, I’m sleeping beside her. Notwithher, of course, but in the spare room Scar set up for me, right next to hers. It’s close enough to hear every sigh, every restless shift of the mattress. And I do. Every small sound she makes keeps me awake. The thought of her being right next door is like a live wire humming in my veins. But I’d never disrespect my brother by fucking my girl right under his roof.

My girl.The words are as foreign to me as the lick of fire that crawls through my veins, threatening an explosion every time I think about her.

When her scream pierces the night, I am out of bed before I can think. Barefoot and shirtless, I throw open the door and find her sitting upright, tangled in the aftermath of whatever demons haunt her dreams as she tries to catch her breath.

“Tayana?” My voice is sharp, enough to pull her back.

Her chest heaves as she gulps in air, her eyes wild and unfocused. She looks like a cornered animal, caught between fight and flight, until her gaze lands on me.

“I’ve got you,” I say, stepping closer, my hands raised as if approaching something fragile. For a moment, I think she’ll push me away. Her lips part, but no words come out—only a soft, broken sound that guts me. Then, like a dam giving way, she reaches for me, clutching my arm with a desperation that I’ve never seen in her before. “You’re safe, Tayana. I’ve got you.”

I don’t hesitate. Sliding into the bed beside her, I pull her into my arms, tucking her head against my chest. Her fingers curl into my skin, gripping me like I am the only thing keeping her afloat.

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