So, let me get this straight," she muttered, half to herself and half to whatever unseen force had been speaking to her. "You've been inside me this whole time? And I just… didn't know?"
There was a pause, as if the presence—whatever it was—was carefully considering its response. Then, a voice, calm and unbothered, filled her mind.
"Well, I suppose I was just… dormant, waiting for the right moment to awaken. You were a bit distracted, you know, with your… life. I was waiting for you to open your mind, to see past the mundane. And now, here we are."
Bani frowned. She wasn't sure how she felt about that answer. It was too cryptic, too surreal. She pressed her fingers against her temples, trying to ground herself.
"I'm starting to think I don't even know what's real anymore. So, is this whole space thing inside me, like, physically? Do I have a magical garden growing in my organs now?"
The voice chuckled—an amused, almost teasing sound.
"Physically? No, not quite. More like metaphorically inside you, in your heart and mind. Think of it as a reflection of your inner world. It responds to your emotions, your thoughts. It's not literally inside your spleen, if that's what you're imagining."
Bani blinked. She hadn't expected her existential crisis to come with humor.
"So, I'm supposed to believe that my insides have a magical farm now?" She shook her head, still struggling to wrap her mind around it. "And I thought I was the crazy one. You're saying this space always existed, and I just… didn't notice?"
"Exactly!" the voice confirmed, its tone growing almost playful. "You were too busy dealing with life to pay attention. But now that you've unlocked it, we're bonded. We're in this together."
Bani's eyelids fluttered, and the world around her slowly came into focus. The sterile scent of the hospital mixed with the distant murmur of voices. Her head felt heavy, and her body ached dully, but she was alive.
Her parents, sitting at her bedside, looked relieved. Her mother, wiping her eyes, let out a soft sob of joy. Her father, standing tall and silent, gave a small nod. His face was hard to read, but his eyes? Filled with something softer—relief, pride, maybe hope.
Bani's brother, his face drawn with worry, reached for her hand. "You're awake," he said, his voice cracking.
Bani's lips barely moved as she spoke, her voice hoarse. "I'm okay...I think."
Her mother leaned in, brushing her hair back with tender fingers. "Thank the gods... We were so scared."
Bani lay still in the sterile hospital room, the hum of machines the only sound breaking the silence. Her thoughts were clouded, drifting in and out of consciousness. She had just undergone a routine check-up, but something felt off. A strange heaviness weighed on her chest.
Suddenly, a voice broke through the fog. It wasn't from the doctors or nurses—it was soft but clear, almost like a whisper on the wind.