The stark white moon briefly emerged from behind a veil of clouds, casting a ghostly glow on the starless night. Torrential rain poured relentlessly, as though the heavens themselves sought to challenge mankind's endurance. The city strained against the darkness; lights from towering buildings and grand houses reflected off the water that filled the streets, their fragile, flickering glow barely holding up against the storm's wrath. The grand trees lining the roads swayed violently under winds so fierce it seemed like it could topple mountains. Yet, while the trees held firm, a nearby streetlight succumbed, its flickering bulb extinguished as it crashed to the ground, defeated by the combined assault of wind and water.
Amid this chaos, the sharp screech of tires tore through the night, piercing the relentless drumbeat of rain. Moments later, a resounding crash echoed down the now darkened street, blending with the thunder that illuminated the storm-filled sky. The two sounds—manmade calamity and nature's fury—were indistinguishable, each amplifying the other in a night that would forever remember their violence.
Soon after, sirens wailed in the distance, their red and blue lights painting the once dark street in flashes of urgency.
Across from the crash site, a grand house stood resolute against the storm. From within its walls, the sound of laughter echoed, cutting through the heavy night with an air of carefree joy. A boy and a girl, their laughter unmistakably light and playful, seemed untouched by the storm's fury or the calamity outside.
"Brother, stop! You can't do this!" came a sweet, endearing voice, tinged with mock protest.
"You can't run from me forever! I will have my revenge!" the boy declared, his voice theatrically threatening, though his laughter betrayed the game they were playing.
Moments later, a girl darted out from the back garden toward the front of the house. She wore simple white trousers and an oversized shirt, the loose fabric fluttering as she ran. Behind her, the boy chased with unrestrained enthusiasm. His hair and clothes were soaked, leaving wet footprints on the gleaming white floor as he pursued her with relentless determination.
The chase continued until the boy finally caught the girl. Her protests filled the thundering night as he held her arm and pulled her into the open garden. The girl's light brown hair clung to her face and clothes, weighed down by the rain, and her oversized shirt and trousers turned a wet black.
The boy laughed, but the girl looked at him in disbelief, her striking blue eyes accusing him of a crime.
"What is going on here?" came a deep voice from behind them. A figure approached, emerging from the house. It was a middle-aged man, with a well-kept build, though not ripped, dressed in simple dark blue sleeping trousers and a nightshirt.
"Father, look what brother did!" the girl cried, flinging her arms dramatically. The sleeves of her oversized shirt now covered her hands, weighed down by water filling the heavy fabric.
"Theo," the older man said, his figure coming into the light. His hair was streaked with gray, matching his well-kept gray-and-black beard as he looked at the boy, who was still rolling on the muddy floor in laughter.
Theo stood up and met his father's gaze as the girl slowly made her way back to him, huffing and puffing with a pout on her face.
"Don't fall for her cute antics or accusing gaze, Father," Theo said. "Amara was the one who first pushed me into the water."
"I just took my revenge," he added, as Amara reached her father, standing slightly below his shoulders. He seemed to tower over her.
"I was just playing, Father," she said, giving him a look with her puppy eyes as small amount of baby fat still lined her maturing young face.
"He should at least have cared that my 17th birthday is just a few days away! What if I fall sick on my birthday?" she continued, her expressions becoming more pitiful.
"Well, my lovely daughter," the man said as he looked at her, "I think it's high time both of you learn a good lesson." He turned his eyes to his son, still standing in the rain.
"What lesson, Father?" she asked, her curiosity coloring her youthful features, still softened with a bit of baby fat.
"The lesson, my love," the man said slowly, his hand resting on her shoulder, "is that every action has its consequences." Mischief filled his dark brown eyes as he lifted her into his arms and ran into the torrential rain.
"FATHER!" she cried, as the water hit her face once more with full force.
Theo's laughter, along with his father's hearty chuckles, contrasted with Amara's cries of protest.
"Why would you do that, Father?" she asked in an accusing tone.
"For disturbing my sleep, love," he replied with a chuckle.
The three figures—the middle-aged man, the young boy, and the girl—played in the grand garden, chasing one another and flinging everything from mud to leaves at each other.
"What do you think you're doing?" a mature, strict voice cut through the air, causing all three to freeze. They turned to the door of the house. There stood a woman in a dark purple nightgown, her dark brown hair in a messy bun. Her features radiated a refined, regal aura as her piercing blue eyes fixed on the trio.
"Dear, it's not what you—" the man began.
"Come inside first," the woman cut him off. The three of them complied, walking under the shade that protected the entrance from the pouring rain.
"Look at the condition you're all in," she said before adding, "Get inside now, or are you waiting to catch a cold?" They hurried inside, and the house, grand and designed in dark blue tones, enveloped them in warmth.
They walked into the living room, where a large circular sofa was placed in front of a massive 100-inch TV.
"Don't ruin my sofa," the woman called from behind. "Go sit by the fire," she instructed before turning to the middle-aged man, who came down the stairs that led to the second floor.
"Martin, go get three towels," she said, and he complied, walking down the stairs behind her.
"Achhh!" Amara sneezed, prompting the woman to turn her attention to her.
"See? Who told you to go get wet in the cold rain with such chilling winds?" she scolded as she approached the girl, who sat between her father and brother in front of the fireplace.
Amara looked left and right with her blue eyes, conveying her silent accusations. But before she could speak, Martin returned with the towels and handed them to the woman.
"Bring three glasses of turmeric milk from the kitchen," she instructed before turning back to the fireplace.
"Mother, I didn't want to," Amara began as her mother came behind her.
"Like I don't know you," the woman replied with a knowing smile. "You surely did something first, then got caught by your brother and father." As she spoke, she gathered Amara's light blonde hair behind her and gently dried it with the towel.
"God knows what you lot would have done without me," she added, glancing at her husband.
"That's why he sent you to us now, didn't he?" he responded with a teasing grin, and their son visibly cringed at his words.
"Stop being so cheesy," the woman said, but her expression softened as she continued drying their hair. Her sternness had eased, replaced by warmth.
Amara grabbed the remote from the side and turned on the TV as her mother, father, and brother engaged in quiet conversation.
"Breaking news," the young female news anchor on the large TV began. "Young businessman, recently awarded the Best Newcomer Award at the 55th Grand Business Convocation, has received devastating news tonight."
As Martin arrived with the turmeric milk and handed it to the mistress, she turned to Amara.
"What are you listening to with such attention?" she asked, tapping her daughter on the head. Amara looked up at her mother before glancing at the glass of turmeric milk, then back to her mother with puppy eyes.
"It's not going to work," her mother replied. "You have to drink this." With a resigned sigh, Amara begrudgingly took the glass and brought it to her lips as her father listened to the news in the background.
"The young businessman, Darius Hartwell, has lost his wife and the mother of his infant to the storm that has ravaged the city tonight," the reporter continued.
"What a sad news," the man commented, glancing at his wife. "Do you know him?" she asked.
"No, just met him once during the convocation earlier this year when he was awarded the Best Newcomer Award. He seemed like a promising young man," he replied, before adding, "May God give him the strength to deal with his loss."
"Ameen," the woman responded before they turned off the TV and shifted their focus back to their children, now engaged in some playful bickering.
"Amara, Theo," the man called, his voice now devoid of any amusement. "You should rest now." They complied, and the woman led them to their rooms, where they were provided with fresh clothes to change into.