Chapter 1 (Part 1)
The university was alive with the energy of students flocking through the hallways, eager to start their first day of a new semester. Laughter echoed from every corner, accompanied by the shuffle of busy feet and the crisp rustle of new textbooks. But Sasha didn't belong to this world of animated chatter. She was, as she had always been, an observer, not a participant.
Sasha sat in the back of the lecture hall, her bag resting on the floor beside her, her hands folded neatly on top of it. Her eyes, though directed at the professor, were unfocused. Instead, she let her mind wander, tracing patterns in the cracks of the desk, contemplating the life she was living, the life she had always lived—one of quiet, unremarkable isolation.
It wasn't that she hated it, or at least, she told herself she didn't. She had learned long ago that people weren't for her. Relationships only brought pain—betrayal, abandonment, and the cold, biting truth that people always left. Her father had abandoned her emotionally, her mother had retreated into work, and her brother had never come back from war.
At some point, Sasha had learned how to be alone.
Her gaze wandered across the room, passing over her classmates. They were all so... alive. Eager to connect, to make their mark in the world. She couldn't understand it. Why did they crave the attention of others? What was it that made them laugh so loudly, walk with so much confidence, while she merely floated by, unnoticed?
And then, her eyes stopped.
He sat about three rows ahead of her, looking entirely at ease, flipping through a notebook with an absent-minded smile playing on his lips. She hadn't seen him before, but something about the way he held himself—so effortlessly self-assured—captured her attention in a way that nothing ever had before.
She watched him, her breath catching in her throat as she took in the way the light hit his features just so, the way he seemed to be in his own world yet still somehow grounded, like he belonged here, among the rest of them. She couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was. Perhaps it was the way his dark hair fell slightly over his brow or the slight arch in his eyebrow when he was deep in thought.
There was something magnetic about him, something that tugged at her chest, and in that moment, it felt like the world had paused.
She should've looked away. She should've been focused on the lecture, like everyone else. But she couldn't.
She didn't even know his name.
She had never spoken to him. But in the span of a single heartbeat, she realized that this was the first time she had felt anything, anything at all, in a long, long time.
Sasha was born in a small town on the outskirts of a crumbling city, where the air always seemed to carry the weight of dreams that had long since been abandoned. The small house where she grew up was tucked away between larger, more prosperous homes, but it stood as a quiet testament to the struggles of its inhabitants.
Her mother, Caroline, worked as a nurse in the nearby hospital, her hours long, her shifts grueling, and her patience often thin. Despite her exhaustion, she always managed to put a plate of food on the table and a smile on her face, hiding the silent desperation of a woman who had given everything to survive but had nothing left to give.
Sasha's father, Jack, once held the role of a well-regarded businessman, but that was before everything began to unravel. Before the recession. Before the business deals turned sour and his once-immaculate suits became stained with the shame of financial ruin. Sasha had heard the whispers from neighbors about how Jack had once been someone to admire—someone who was always impeccably dressed and always talking about his big ideas—but now, those same neighbors pitied him. His empire had crumbled, and with it, so had his confidence.
Jack began drinking. It started as a glass of scotch after work, something to take the edge off, but it quickly became an insidious daily routine. Sasha would come home to find him sitting on the couch, staring at the television with glazed eyes, the remnants of his once-vibrant presence swallowed by the quiet haze of alcohol. He would mumble about the good old days—days when he thought he was invincible. But his memories were like shattered glass, impossible to piece together.
For Sasha, the most painful part wasn't his drinking. It was the way he withdrew from her, as though she was just another ghost in the house. He used to play with her when she was younger, telling her stories of the great business ventures he'd once embarked on, of his plans to take over the world. But those stories stopped coming as Jack's world collapsed.
It wasn't just the physical neglect that cut at Sasha's heart. It was the emotional abandonment. She didn't know what it was like to have a father who cared about her—who asked her how her day was, who offered her comforting words when she scraped her knee or felt sad. She learned to deal with everything on her own, hiding her tears behind a mask of stoic indifference, convinced that showing emotion would only make things worse.
The only comfort she had was her older brother, Aaron.
Aaron was Sasha's protector. He was her strength in a world that seemed so dark and unfriendly. The bond they shared was unspoken but deep—two souls who understood each other without needing words. Aaron was always there, always ready to step in when their father's rage flared, always there to calm her mother's frayed nerves after a long, stressful day. Aaron was everything to Sasha: strong, confident, and always the shining star in their family.
When Aaron joined the army, Sasha felt the loss long before the phone call came. He had always been the one who shielded her from the harshness of the world, the one who told her everything would be okay. When he left, a deep void opened up in Sasha's life. She was no longer the little girl who could rely on her brother to make everything right. And though Aaron wrote to her often, telling her that he would be back soon, Sasha couldn't shake the gnawing fear that this time, things were different.
The phone call came late in the evening, just as Sasha was sitting on the floor of her bedroom, attempting to work on a school assignment. Her mother had been pacing the living room, her face pale and tense. The room was thick with the smell of unwashed dishes and the faint scent of cigarette smoke from Jack's old, half-forgotten pack of cigarettes.
The phone rang, its shrill sound breaking the stillness of the house. Caroline answered it immediately, her voice quiet but strained. Sasha could see her mother's hand trembling as she held the receiver to her ear, her face turning ashen as the conversation continued. Sasha's heart pounded in her chest, her instincts already knowing what was happening, even before the words came.
Her mother's voice, once so steady and full of strength, cracked. Sasha couldn't hear everything—only fragments of her mother's sobs, the words "combat," "injury," and "he didn't make it."
The world collapsed around Sasha. She couldn't breathe. The room spun, and her legs gave way, sending her crashing to the floor. The last thing she remembered was her mother's desperate cries, her own name being called over and over as her world descended into a cold, suffocating silence.
Aaron was dead.
He was gone. Her protector, her rock, the one person who had always been there for her. The one person who made her feel safe. He had been killed in combat, and there was nothing she could do to bring him back.
The days that followed were a blur of funeral preparations, somber relatives who spoke in whispers, and a house that was filled with the ghost of someone who used to be. The loss of Aaron was a wound that would never heal. Sasha's grief was suffocating, yet she never allowed herself to truly feel it. Her father, once a strong figure in her life, was now a broken man—consumed by his grief, lost in his own depression. Jack became a shell of the man he had once been, stumbling through the days in a haze of drunken stupors and long silences.
Sasha retreated inward, burying her pain deep within herself, hiding it behind a mask of indifference. She learned not to speak of Aaron, not to ask about him, because every mention of his name seemed to bring her mother to tears and her father to an angry, drunken stupor. It was easier to pretend that everything was fine, easier to forget about the empty spaces that Aaron had left behind.
But she never forgot. Every day, her heart ached. Every night, she lay in her bed, staring up at the ceiling, wishing she could have just one more moment with her brother, one more chance to hear his laugh, to feel his reassuring presence beside her.
One of the few things Sasha remembered about her brother was the dog he had adopted while stationed at the army base. It had been a stray, found wandering around the compound. Aaron had named him Maverick—a wild name for a dog who had a wild spirit.
Sasha would often find Aaron out in the yard with Maverick, the dog wagging his tail enthusiastically, as Aaron taught him tricks or simply sat with him, sharing quiet moments. The bond between Aaron and Maverick was something that Sasha envied. It was pure, uncomplicated by the weight of their world.
When Aaron was sent overseas, Maverick had become Sasha's companion. She couldn't explain why she still went to the dog's old spot by the window or would pet him in the evenings, but it was as if, in doing so, she could still feel Aaron's presence, even if just a little bit. Maverick would nuzzle her, his warm body providing some comfort in the coldness of her world.
But Maverick, too, was lost in the end. He grew old and sick, and eventually, he was put down when Sasha was in high school. The dog, like everything else in her life, was taken away.
The morning had been like any other—a quiet, overcast day in the small house that Sasha had grown up in. The dull hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of cars on the main road were the only noises breaking the silence. Inside, the air felt thick with the unease that had been building ever since Aaron had left for the army.
Sasha had never quite gotten used to the absence of her older brother. Even after the letters started arriving less frequently, and his presence in her life became more like a fading memory, she couldn't shake the feeling of dread that hung in the air. She would look at her mother, Caroline, who still kept Aaron's photos on the mantelpiece, as if hoping that somehow, just by seeing them, he might return. It was the kind of silent hope that ran deep in their veins, unspoken but ever-present.
That morning, Caroline had been in the kitchen, preparing breakfast, a small act of normalcy she clung to. Jack, her father, was in the living room, nursing a cup of stale coffee, his tired eyes barely open, staring at the blank television screen. The house had grown quieter over the years, as if the echoes of laughter and joy that once filled the rooms had been slowly sucked out, leaving only hollow, muted sounds.
Sasha, for her part, sat at the dining table, trying to focus on her schoolwork. But her thoughts kept drifting, her mind racing with thoughts of Aaron. What was he doing now? Was he okay? She'd written him a letter a few days ago, but she hadn't received a reply yet.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the phone ringing—a shrill, unexpected sound that cut through the stillness of the room like a blade. Sasha's heart leapt into her throat, and she froze. The phone call wasn't unusual; it was the kind of thing that happened often with the family, but this time, something felt off. The hair on the back of her neck stood up, and she could hear the faint tremor in her mother's voice as she picked up the receiver.
"Hello?" Caroline's voice was soft at first, then her face went pale, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the phone. Her eyes widened in shock, her lips moving in response to the words on the other end. But Sasha couldn't hear them. All she could see was her mother's face, contorting as if she were listening to something incomprehensible.
Sasha's stomach churned as she stood up slowly, her legs feeling weak beneath her. She approached her mother cautiously, a cold sweat gathering on her brow. The seconds seemed to stretch into eternity. She watched as Caroline's face crumbled, her hand slowly dropping from the phone, the color draining from her cheeks.
Her mother's eyes were wide with disbelief, her hands shaking violently as she turned toward Sasha. "Sasha," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "It's Aaron. He—he's gone."
The world stopped.
Sasha's breath caught in her throat. The room seemed to tilt beneath her feet, and for a split second, she thought she might collapse. The words her mother had spoken were like a punch to the gut, stealing the air from her lungs.
"Gone?" she whispered, her voice cracking. "What do you mean, gone?"
Her mother's sobs broke free, and she sank to her knees, the weight of the news collapsing her into an unrestrained grief. "He's gone, Sasha. He was... killed in combat."
Sasha's mind refused to accept it. There was no way. Aaron couldn't be gone. He had just written to her a few weeks ago, telling her that everything was fine. That he would be home soon.
Her heart raced as she stumbled backward, her legs giving out beneath her. She fell to the floor, her hands shaking as she clutched at her chest, as if trying to hold her broken heart together. Her father, hearing the commotion, stood up from the couch. But it was clear—he had already been aware of the news. His face was blank, his expression a mixture of confusion and deep, numbing shock.
Sasha could barely breathe. Every part of her felt like it was suffocating under the weight of the news.
"No," she whispered, shaking her head frantically. "No, no, no!" She could hear her own voice, but it sounded foreign, as if it were coming from someone else. She was numb, a part of her unable to comprehend the depth of the loss that had just engulfed her.
Jack, her father, stood motionless for a long moment. His eyes were glassy, vacant, but there was no tear, no indication that he, too, felt the loss. Finally, he sat back down on the couch, his shoulders hunched, his head hanging low. His presence in that moment was like a shadow—distant and absent, as if he were no longer capable of being part of the world around him. He didn't comfort Caroline. He didn't even try to console Sasha. It was as if the news had shattered whatever little strength he had left.
Sasha felt completely alone.
The house felt smaller in that moment, like it was shrinking around her. The walls seemed to close in, and everything she had known to be safe and familiar began to warp. She wanted to scream, to tear at the fabric of the reality that had just unraveled. But no sound escaped her lips. She couldn't find the words.
Sasha had never truly understood the concept of loss before. She had heard people talk about it, read about it in books, but this was something different. This was an overwhelming, all-consuming emptiness that felt like it was swallowing her whole.
That day, Sasha lost more than just a brother. She lost her protector, her anchor, the person who had made everything bearable. Aaron had always been the one who made her feel safe, who had taught her how to face the world with courage. Without him, there was no one left.
The day Aaron died, everything changed for Sasha. Her world cracked open, and she was left to navigate the rubble of a life she no longer recognized. The grief was a silent beast, clawing at her heart, tearing apart the fragile pieces of herself she had worked so hard to protect.
As the hours passed, Caroline was inconsolable. She stayed curled up on the floor, crying for hours, her heart shattered beyond repair. Jack, as he had always done when faced with anything too painful, shut down. He turned to his old coping mechanisms—alcohol, isolation, avoidance. Sasha was left to try to process the weight of the loss on her own, unsure of what to do or where to go.
That night, after the house had finally quieted down, Sasha sat in Aaron's old room, staring at the empty bed where he used to sleep. The walls seemed to close in around her, suffocating her in the silence. The only thing she could hear was the muffled sound of her own heartbeat, thudding relentlessly in her chest.
She closed her eyes, trying to imagine one more moment with him, just one more conversation, one more laugh. But the images were fleeting, dissolving before she could hold onto them.
Aaron was gone, and there was no going back.