Shadows and Wings

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Mira dreamt of her mother standing at the ledge, watching her fall. Not trying to stop her—just watching. Behind her, eyes gleamed in the dark, cat-like and unblinking. Then, her mother fell, and blood splattered everywhere—on Mira, on the terrace walls, on the tree branches.

There were those watching eyes again, big and bright amidst the red canvas.

She woke up gasping. The cat-like eyes from the dream lingered around her, shadows that refused to disappear. The walls of her apartment felt unfamiliar, closing in as if to bury her.

By day, birds filled the balcony with cheerful chirps, blending with the loamy scent of the nearby park. But at night, the quiet left room for shadows to creep in and settle over objects that no longer felt like hers. Her life didn’t feel like hers.

If she stripped away everything that didn’t belong to her, the apartment would be an empty shell—no objects, no Sid, not even herself. Hugging her knees to her chest, she glanced around the dark room with fearful eyes.

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***

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One time, when they were kids, Mira had wrapped Sid tightly in a blanket, turning him into a cocoon that looked more like an overgrown kid burrito. The cocoon was meant to emerge as a butterfly at the swing of her magical little hand. In the park beside their building, they played with colorful marbles—a prestigious collection amassed mostly by stealing from other kids. Splashes and giggles from the barely functioning fountain filled the air. In the summers, they’d pick mulberries from the branches of a nasty neighbor’s tree that spilled over the park’s fence. Sweet clusters were rare; mostly, they found sour berries, which they mixed with tangy Hajmola candies, their stuffed mouths whispering secrets they thought no one could steal.

Over time, the loud, crashing lyrics of Linkin Park took the place of their chitter-chatter. Even when they were just inches apart, a visible void of secrets and unsaid feelings stretched between them.

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***

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She stood near the edge of the balcony to watch Sid leave, as if to assure herself he, too, had passed from her life much like everything else—certainty, trust, the dream of belonging. Outside, the rain clouds bellied the teal-colored sky. Her drenched hand hung heavy over the railing, drops falling from it in a steady rhythm. She watched the rain cling to the trees, making their green shine unnaturally bright. Sid stood below, cigarette in hand, exhaling smoke circles that disappeared one after another, unlike her memories of him.

She wondered what thoughts occupied his mind if he resented her deeply enough to never see her again. She would understand it, though she wasn’t sure if that was what she genuinely hoped for. She noticed his leg shaking—a nervous tick he couldn’t quite hide. Lately, when he zoned out, and she wasn’t even sure he’d heard her, his leg would shake as though he were bracing himself against something unseen.

Minutes earlier, as he turned to leave, he paused and glanced at her, his eyes shadowed by something she didn’t recognize. “Sometimes I feel like I’m stuck in a loop, Mira,” he had said quietly, his voice laden with fragility. “Like I’m there and here at the same time. Maybe one day, I’ll figure out which one is real.” He gave her a small, almost apologetic smile. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

She stood there until the rain stopped, the last drops falling from her hand. Birds fluttered their wings dry in the clearing sky. Finally, she stepped down to the now-empty seat at the tea stall. The steam from the hot tea curled around her as she took the longest breath she had in days.

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***

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She found her way to Cubbon Park after being forced out of her apartment by the relentless noise of construction. The giant park stretched before her, filled with towering oak and rain trees, their roots older than a century. Grey ponds with lotuses and dark moss dotted the landscape, alive with birds of many kinds and the regulars—joggers, teenage skaters, Sufi lo-fi singers, yoga groups, picnickers, and couples.

It was a warm day for January, the bright sky laced with fleece clouds. Trees and hedges gleamed in the lingering sunlight, their leaves carried by a soft breeze alongside the whistles of unseen birds.

A small part of her hoped for magical healing—the kind they talk about in movies and celebrity interviews. Bare feet touching the grass. The body bathing in sunlight.

She recalled something her psychiatrist had once told her: She’s a plant in desperate need of sunlight, even if that’s a withering one.

Mira never mentioned the memories she avoided or her parents’ absence. Instead, she had lied her way into anxiety medication, clinging to it as she tried to function.

“Is that Sid, the guy who looks like he’s running for his life?” she murmured to herself when she spotted the familiar figure approaching. She couldn’t have expected this to happen—running into someone she knew out of mere coincidence was never her luck. He passed swiftly from her sight, probably not noticing her. She felt relief, but an unsettling feeling lingered.

Minutes later, the familiar figure sat next to her.

“Hi, Mira.”

Her heart raced upon hearing her name. It always felt different when he said it, like it carried meaning, a strong existence tied to it. She looked at him and found him sitting quite close, even though to an outsider, it would be considered a normal distance.

“I... I didn’t think I’d see you here,” Mira said, her voice wavering. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been better, honestly. But hey, it’s good to see you again.” His eyes were calm, searching hers for something unspoken.

It had been more than a year since they last met.

“Alright. So, how’s work?” she asked.

After a brief silence, he responded, “Work is slow. I’m taking it slow.”

He paused, looking at her as if trying to interpret her hidden emotions.

“Are you still living in the same place?”

“Yes, the same.” She turned to sit upright without facing him. “Nothing really changes here.”

“Things always change. Even if we don’t notice. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing though.”

Mira remained silent as she glanced at a group of teenagers strolling by, their skates swinging lazily from their hands.

“Mira, I’m sorry for...” His words trailed off, his face contorting as if he was struck by a sudden, sharp pain.

“Sid, are you okay?” Mira asked, her voice tinged with alarm as she turned to face him fully.

For a moment, his lips moved with no sound, as if searching for words. Then, with a sudden, weak grin, he said,

“I can still recite all of ‘Bleed It Out.’ You made sure of that.”

“What?” she said, confused.

“That day, you had it on repeat. I could hear it all the way to the terrace.”

The Strangeness of the words struck her hard. Mira thought back to the days when the raw, angry lyrics of Linkin Park, blasting through her speakers, had filled every crack in her mind. She thought no one had noticed. But Sid had been there, hadn’t he? Quiet, watching.

“By the way, those Gothic T-shirts? They suit you,” he said plainly as if it was a normal thing to say.

What is he saying? Has he lost his mind like I have? She looked at him with concerned eyes, but something about his words stayed with her—something she couldn’t yet name.

“You’re not making sense. This isn’t even Gothic,” she said sternly.

“You were that day. The days I stop you before you leave, you’re nice then. You don’t break my hand when I hold it.” Sid’s voice softened as he reached for her hand. “But you always leave. You always see him.”

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***

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A memory she had buried deep resurfaced. Sid’s father, awfully drunk as usual, had blocked her way in front of the building when she came down after meeting Sid. He could barely walk straight and was mumbling something about his work. Out of impulse, she offered to help him get home. He reeked of cheap whiskey and dirt. As she got a hold of his hand to steady him, his other hand grabbed her waist rather tightly and pulled her closer.

He called her "beti"—daughter—while praising her for growing up so well. When she started to pull away, he grabbed her with surprising strength, her chest buried against his side. In another attempt, she fell onto the rough grass patch. He looked down at her and laughed mockingly, like some rich brat staring at a beggar. Sid’s mother came running and shortly disappeared with the shrieking sounds of his drunken insults. She didn’t meet Mira’s eyes—neither then nor later.

Mira lay on the ground, helpless. She felt the roughness of the grass beneath her, the sharp stings of twigs against her skin. She opened her mouth to scream but couldn’t breathe enough to make a sound. Something heavy inside her had gotten hold of her, pinning her to the ground. It wasn’t that she lacked the strength to get up, but that she was stuck. The echo of his laugh filled the space that had been previously occupied by crickets and the faint melody of Sid’s guitar on the terrace. With fiery slams against the ground, she finally got up. She ran straight to her room, blasted Linkin Park on her desktop, and sat on the cool tiles of her bathroom floor, trying to drown out every sound.

She couldn’t shake the feeling of his hands on her skin, crawling like ants, or his monstrous breath against her neck. It was the same hand he had offered to carry her mother’s grocery bags while charming her with a political joke, the one he had used to pat her back at her mother’s funeral. It was also the hand he used to smash Sid’s mother with.

It wasn’t just the feeling of his hands she carried—but also the weight of everything unsaid between her and Sid. It had taken so much from her without her even realizing it.

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***

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“I keep replaying those same twelve hours—not just in my head, Mira. Sometimes I’m there. Really there. I lose hours here, but there... It feels endless. I don’t know how to stop it,” he said in a low tone, almost mumbling to himself.

“I thought I could leave it all behind, but... maybe some things never let go of you. I didn’t realize how much I was carrying until I came back and saw you.”

Mira stayed silent, unsure of how to respond. She looked down at their hands, his grip tightening like he was holding onto something slipping away. He had always known. She did not mind this bittersweet feeling.

“Do you believe me?” he said as he tightened his grip on her hand. His big watchful eyes set on her waiting for her to say something, desperately wanting her to dissolve the guilt he had been wearing for ten years.

Mira looked at him, her own emotions finally breaking through the walls she had built around them. “I’ve carried it long enough, Sid,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. She exhaled, her chest feeling lighter as if releasing a long carried weight. “Maybe it’s time to let it go.”

He nodded silently, his grip loosening slightly, though his eyes didn’t waver. “I really hope you do. You should, Mira.” He paused, his gaze drifting, as though he were looking at something she couldn’t see. “Maybe then... maybe I can too. Or maybe not. Maybe I’ll keep slipping back. I don’t know.”

She studied his face, the faint shadow of something distant crossing it. For a moment, she wondered if he was still here with her—or if he’d already been pulled away again.

A tiny bird with speckles of yellow on her head appeared a few feet ahead of her—its head tilting as it navigated the map created by the sunlight filtered through the leaves. Moments later, it took a stuttered but long flight. Mira envied the bird, not its freedom but its unwavering will to find the place she belonged, while she couldn’t even navigate her way out of the park, much like the tangles that had become her life.

Watching the bird fly to the bamboo grove—a spot she hadn’t noticed before—she felt something shift inside of her. There was something about the way sunlight filtered through the dense bamboo canopy onto the ground, creating intricate patterns on the ground.

She stood slowly, wiping her hands on the jeans. Her phone felt heavier as she dialed the number whose follow-up calls she had long ignored. When someone answered, her voice wavered, but she didn’t hang up this time. “I’d like to schedule an appointment,” she said, her words tentative but firm enough to anchor her.

As she walked away, she glanced back at the grove, promising herself she would return—to sit under the trees’ deep shade next time, not on the bench.

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