The voice didn't falter. "I am not here to want. I am here to guide."
"Guide me where?" she pressed. "To what? I didn't ask for this."
"No, but you sought answers," the voice replied, calm and unyielding. "And when you seek, the universe answers. Sometimes in ways you do not expect."
Janet exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. "So you're saying I asked for this? For you? I don't remember signing up for a spiritual mentor in my head."
The voice carried a hint of something that might have been amusement. "Perhaps not with words. But your soul called out. And now, here we are."
She let the words hang in the air, her frustration mixing with curiosity. She had spent years seeking guidance, traveling to temples, reading ancient texts, and asking questions no one seemed able to answer. And now, here was a voice claiming to be the answer—or at least part of it.
"Alright," she said finally, leaning forward. "If you're here to guide me, then explain something to me. Why now? Why not years ago, when I was desperate for help? Why are you here at this moment?"
There was a pause, the silence stretching just long enough to make her wonder if he would answer. Then the voice returned, quiet but resolute.
"Because you are ready."
Janet frowned, her frustration bubbling up again. "Ready for what? What does that even mean?"
"Ready to stop running," the monk said. "Ready to face what you have avoided for lifetimes. Ready to see the truth about who you are and what you are meant to do."
The words struck her like a lightning bolt. Lifetimes. Truth. Fate. Janet leaned back, her mind racing. "You're talking in riddles," she muttered. "If you want me to do something, just tell me plainly."
The monk's voice softened, almost as if he were smiling. "Plain answers do not teach. They only inform. You must walk the path to understand it."
Janet threw her hands up in exasperation. "Of course. Cryptic wisdom. How typical."
But even as she spoke, she felt the weight of his words settling in her chest. Stop running. Face the truth. A part of her knew he was right—she had been running, not just from her abilities but from the responsibilities they carried. She had spent years trying to avoid the chaos her powers brought into her life, pushing people away, keeping herself isolated. And yet, here she was, unable to escape the very thing she feared.
"Fine," she said aloud, closing her eyes again. "You say I'm ready? Prove it. Show me what I'm supposed to do."
The silence that followed was heavy but not empty. It was as though the air itself was holding its breath, waiting. And then, the monk spoke once more.
"Tomorrow, you will meet someone who will show you the next step. Pay attention. And trust what you see."
Janet opened her eyes, her heart pounding. "Someone?" she repeated. "Who? Who am I supposed to meet?"
But the voice didn't answer. The stillness returned, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She leaned back on the couch, staring at the ceiling. Another vague, enigmatic promise. Another step into the unknown.
"Great," she muttered to herself. "Another riddle to solve."
Yet, as frustrated as she was, a flicker of curiosity burned within her. Who was this person she was meant to meet? And what would they reveal about her path? She didn't have the answers, but for the first time in a long while, she felt the faintest spark of determination.
Tomorrow, she thought. Tomorrow, she would be ready.
The night felt endless. The city lights seeped through the curtains, casting faint patterns on the walls of her bedroom. Despite the quiet, Janet couldn't find peace. She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, her thoughts inevitably drifting back to that night—the night she had spent with Mike.
The memories rushed in, unbidden and vivid. She saw him leaning against the bed, his lips curling into that lazy, disarming smile. The slight opening of his shirt collar, the way he exuded both comfort and quiet confidence—it all came flooding back. That night had been more than just physical; there had been an unexpected warmth, a fleeting sense of belonging that Janet couldn't shake no matter how much she tried.
She closed her eyes and let out a slow, measured breath, trying to banish the thoughts. But they lingered, stubborn as always, until they pushed her into action. Grabbing her phone from the nightstand, she hesitated for a moment, her thumb hovering over Mike's name in her recent messages. A dozen reasons not to text him flashed through her mind, but the quiet loneliness of the night had a way of eroding her better judgment.
Finally, she typed a message:
"When you sleep at home, do you wear boxers, or… nothing?"
She stared at the text, her heart pounding. It was bold, casual, and completely impulsive. A part of her told her to delete it, but before she could second-guess herself, her finger hit "send."