Chapter one:The letter
470 Words
The night Nairobi cracked open, it didn’t do it gently. Thunder rolled like anger across the sky, and the rain fell with the weight of secrets too heavy to carry any longer.
Zera sat on her old couch, her knees pulled to her chest, staring at a white envelope on the floor like it was a loaded gun. It hadn’t been there when she went to bed. She was sure of that. No knock. No footsteps. Just the soft shhhh of paper sliding under the door sometime after midnight.
She had ignored it at first. Now she couldn’t stop staring.
The envelope was plain, slightly damp from the rain that had crept in through the cracks. No name. No stamp. Just four handwritten words across the front in black ink:
“Don’t trust the light.”
Zera’s breath caught in her throat.
It wasn’t just the message—it was the handwriting. It looked just like her mother’s.
But that was impossible.
Her mother had disappeared seven years ago. No body. No note. Just gone. People said maybe she ran away, maybe she died, maybe she was tired of life. But Zera never believed the easy answers. She knew something was wrong. She just didn’t know what.
Until now.
The electricity flickered. Zera flinched.
Her apartment was quiet—too quiet. The city outside was alive with the noise of storm and engines and street preachers shouting into the wind. But inside, there was only the pounding of her own heart.
She stood slowly, picked up the envelope with trembling fingers, and peeled it open.
No name. No return address. Just a small piece of paper, neatly folded.
She unfolded it.
“You’re not crazy. Start with the mirror.”
She dropped the letter like it had burned her.
For a second, she stood frozen. Then, as if pulled by something she didn’t understand, she turned toward the cracked mirror hanging above her desk. It was old, edges rusting, with a single scratch running through the middle like a scar.
She walked up to it.
And stopped.
Her reflection stared back. Same dark eyes. Same tired face. But something… was different.
In the corner of the mirror, barely visible unless you were looking for it, was a faint symbol. A small triangle with a line through it.
She leaned in closer.
Suddenly, her phone buzzed.
She jumped, heart slamming in her chest. She grabbed it off the table.
Unknown Number: “Welcome to the truth, Zera. But be careful. Even light can lie.”
She gasped, looking toward the window.
The rain had stopped. The city had gone quiet.
Too quiet.
And somewhere deep in her chest, a door creaked open—one she had kept locked for years.
The past wasn’t done with her.
And neither was the truth.
- Writer
