ALLURING : Between Two Realms

Chapter 13 - Restless Soil

Evening came gradually.

The kind that did not announce itself all at once, but slipped quietly between the trees, softening the heat and turning the backyard golden.

We were having tea time at the garden table when Mom brought out her famous fruit cake.

The one everyone loved.

"Help yourself, kids!" Mom said.

Arya immediately reached for a slice.

"Uh-ah," Mom said, catching her wrist gently. "Wash your hands first, cutie pie."

Arya pouted, but still ran toward the outdoor tap with her sisters.

I smiled and took one slice onto my plate before pouring hot tea into Mom's cup. As for me, I was always a sucker for caffeine.

Coffee was my weakness.

My little daily sin dressed in a mug.

But I still drank herbal and infused tea almost every day, mostly to convince my body that I was a balanced person.

I took a bite of the fruit cake, and an embarrassingly satisfied sound escaped me.

It was so moist.

Buttery.

Sweet, but not too sweet.

Filled with tiny bits of different fruits.

Raisins.

Cherries.

Orange peel.

Almond slices.

Heaven on earth, baked in a loaf pan.

Mom chuckled.

She knew very well how much I loved her fruit cake. That was why she always baked it whenever I came around.

And surprisingly, all my kids loved it too.

For a while, everything felt normal.

The kids ate with sticky fingers and happy faces.

Zach leaned against the back wall, scrolling through his phone while pretending not to listen to us.

Uncle Matt talked about the farm again, something about the fence, the wild boars, and how one corner of the land kept sinking no matter how many times they repaired it.

Mom complained about the chickens refusing to lay eggs in the nesting boxes she had prepared.

"They keep laying near the old mango tree," she said, shaking her head. "As if I built the coop for decoration."

Uncle Matt paused.

"The old mango tree?"

Mom looked at him. "Yes. Why?"

He did not answer immediately.

He only glanced toward the far end of the backyard, where the tree stood half-hidden behind the vegetable rows.

I followed his gaze.

The old mango tree had always been there.

Large.

Quiet.

A little crooked.

Its roots rose from the ground like old knuckles.

I did not know why looking at it made my chest feel tight.

Maybe because of the dream.

The tree with roots split into two worlds.

Maybe because of what Uncle Matt had said during lunch.

Land that remembers.

Blood that could listen.

Dreams.

Warnings.

I looked away and reached for my tea.

But before I could take a sip, the saffordite pendant warmed against my skin.

It was not painful.

Not exactly.

It felt more like standing too close to a memory that did not belong to me.

For a second, the backyard blurred.

The clucking chickens.

The children's laughter.

Mom's voice.

Everything softened around the edges.

Then something pressed gently into my mind.

Not words.

Not a vision.

Just a feeling.

A woman crying quietly near the old mango tree.

A newborn wrapped in cloth.

Rain hitting leaves.

Someone whispering, "Hide her."

I blinked.

The backyard returned.

Tea.

Fruit cake.

Children.

Evening light.

Everything was normal again.

Too normal.

"Zattie?"

Mom was looking at me.

I forced myself to smile.

"Sorry. I think I zoned out."

"You still look tired," she said.

"Maybe."

But tired did not feel like the right word anymore.

Tired was too small.

This felt like something inside me had opened a door without asking my permission.

Uncle Matt excused himself since it was already six-thirty, and Zach had long gone into the house.

Probably to take a shower.

"Okay, girls. Let's go inside," I said as I rose from my chair, holding the used containers from our tea time.

Mom collected the dirty cups, and together, we walked back into the house.

"Who's going to take a shower first?" I asked, trying to lure them into the bathroom before they started another round of backyard chaos.

"We want to shower together!" Maya said, already running toward the room we usually used whenever we stayed here.

Her sisters followed.

Minutes later, all three of them came out with towels wrapped around their bodies, excited as though bath time was some grand royal ceremony.

My parents' house had many bedrooms and bathrooms.

The main bathroom had a pretty big bathtub, the kind my kids loved so much.

Honestly, we loved it too when we were younger.

I helped them into the bathtub and filled it only halfway for safety. Then I added several drops of lavender essential oil into the water, along with bubble soap.

"Be careful, okay?" I reminded them.

They nodded, but their eyes were already on the bubbles.

I left them playing together, chuckling to myself.

They had no idea water play was one of my secret weapons.

It made them sleep easier.

And earlier.

I left the bathroom door open and sat on the cushion nearby, watching them while they played.

Once they were done, I let them choose their pajamas before bringing them to the living hall to watch cartoons.

Then I went to the kitchen to help Mom prepare dinner.

I used to love cooking so much.

Cooking.

Baking.

Plating.

All of it used to be my little joy.

Preparing food had always been my love language.

Cute lunch boxes in Omiebox or LocknLock containers.

Tiny fruits cut into shapes.

Rice arranged neatly.

Meals packed with unnecessary effort and posted on i********: because, back then, those small things brought me happiness.

But after my husband's death, even that faded.

The thought was interrupted by the vibration of my phone inside my pocket.

Several notifications appeared on the screen.

One of them was from my sister, Zehra.

Surprise! I'm coming home tomorrow.

My husband is away for outstation for two weeks.

I'm bored to death here alone.

That was Zehra.

Unlike me, who loved quiet corners and slow breathing, she loved being around people.

She talked nonstop, laughed loudly, and could make friends with anyone within five minutes.

A social butterfly with extra glitter.

Since she lived quite far, the drive here usually took around six hours.

And tomorrow was already Sunday.

I needed to go back home because the kids had school on Monday.

Before I could reply, another message came in.

Skip the kids' school on Monday!

I'll prepare steamboat.

I laughed.

Hard.

Mom looked up from the stove, where she was busy searing meatballs.

"What is so funny?"

"Mom, Zehra is coming home tomorrow."

Mom smiled.

"And judging from your laugh, I guess she asked the kids to skip their Monday classes?"

I blinked.

Then laughed again.

"How did you know?"

Mom turned the meatballs with a small smile.

"Because that girl has been allergic to school routines since she was seven."

Dinner went smoothly.

Cheesy meatballs with extra cheese sauce and fries for the kids.

Marinara pasta for us.

The table was filled with endless chatter and laughter, most of it coming from the girls, who were still running on backyard air, bathtub bubbles, and too much fruit cake.

Surprisingly, they requested to sleep in the hall while watching the new cartoon movie.

"We want to sleep here, Mommy," Maya started.

Of course, it was Maya.

She was always the mastermind behind every tiny rebellion.

"Let them sleep here," Mom said. "I'll sleep with them."

"Okay, Mom."

I turned to the girls.

"Okay, let's go get the pillows and blankets."

They cheered as though I had just announced a holiday.

I brought out the mattress and spread it on the floor while Hanna helped me arrange the pillows for everyone.

Then I switched on the TV and tuned in to the movie channel.

A few minutes later, the movie started, and Zach appeared with snacks for the kids.

"You go and get some rest, sis," he said.

I smiled at him.

"Thank you."

Then I walked into my room.

The moment I closed the door, the noise from the hall softened.

Not gone.

Just distant.

Muffled.

Safe.

I turned off the light, lay down, and pulled the blanket over myself.

For a while, I only stared into the dark.

My mind drifted back to the conversations with Uncle Matt and Mom during lunch and tea time.

Land that remembered.

Blood that could listen.

Dreams.

Warnings.

Granny.

My hand moved to the saffordite pendant resting against my chest.

The second my fingers touched it, I felt it again.

That strange heaviness.

The almost-paralysis.

The terrifying moment between sleep and waking, when the body stayed still but the mind became too aware.

A faint pulse began behind my eyes.

Slow.

Deep.

Uncomfortable.

"Zattie."

The voice echoed inside my mind.

I stiffened.

But this time, it felt distant.

Farther than before.

As though someone was calling from the other end of a long corridor.

I gathered whatever strength I had left and forced myself to breathe.

Inhale.

Hold.

Exhale.

Four counts.

Again.

Again.

It helped a little.

Outside, rain suddenly began to pour.

Heavy.

Unannounced.

Thunder rolled across the sky, followed by a flash of lightning that briefly lit the room through the curtains.

I hugged the pillow closer and pulled the blanket higher.

The house creaked softly around me.

From the hall, I could still hear faint cartoon music and the girls giggling.

I told myself I was safe.

I told myself I was home.

I told myself nothing could reach me here.

Eventually, sleep came.

But peace did not come with it.

The dream returned.

Only this time...

it was not the forest.