THE DEVOUER OF ROSES

blood ties

Chapter 1:

The hospital room smelled of antiseptic and something faintly metallic — like blood and iron, lingering in the air. Zain lay on a small cot, his body heavy, his eyelids struggling to stay open. The pain was unbearable, and the overwhelming exhaustion made everything seem distant and unreal. His skin was pale, and his clothes clung to him, damp with sweat. His mother had been crying at his side until the doctor had ushered her away. Her tears stung Zain’s heart, but he couldn’t bring himself to comfort her. Not when his own life felt like it was slipping through his fingers.

His thoughts were a hazy mess — flashes of memories, broken and scattered like pieces of a shattered mirror. He remembered his mother’s frantic voice, calling for help, and then everything going black. He remembered the pain of his injury, the blood pooling beneath him, the cold grip of terror tightening around his chest.

But now, there was nothing but darkness and the faint echo of voices around him.

“Don’t worry, he’s in good hands,” the doctor said, his voice distant. Zain’s foggy mind registered the words but couldn’t make sense of them.

His gaze drifted toward the door of the room, where the sound of light footsteps approached. He couldn’t make out the person’s face, but he felt a warmth, a presence that seemed to anchor him in the storm of confusion.

The door opened just enough for a young girl to slip inside. She couldn’t have been more than seven or eight, her small frame barely visible against the bright lights of the room. Zain’s mind stirred. She was so unfamiliar yet… strangely comforting. Her presence wasn’t like anyone else’s. It wasn’t cold or clinical, like the doctors who had worked on him, but soft and pure, like something from a forgotten dream.

“Is he going to be okay?” the girl asked, her voice soft, yet so confident. Zain’s heart, though heavy with pain, skipped at the sound of it.

The doctor, who had been checking his vitals, looked up at her and smiled, though there was a somber edge to his expression. “Because of you, yes. He’s going to make it. But you should rest now, little one.”

She nodded, but her gaze didn’t leave Zain. She stepped closer to his bed, standing beside his mother’s empty chair. Her eyes were large and dark, full of curiosity but also kindness — a rare quality that Zain couldn’t quite understand.

“Thank you,” Zain tried to say, his voice barely more than a rasp. His throat felt like sandpaper, and every word was a struggle, but he had to say it. She had done something, something he couldn’t yet comprehend.

The girl didn’t respond at first. Instead, she simply watched him with a quiet intensity, as if trying to read the words he couldn’t speak. Her brow furrowed slightly, and she reached out, placing a small hand on his.

“You’ll be okay,” she said gently, as though it was the simplest thing in the world, though her words held an unspoken promise. It wasn’t pity that emanated from her — it was compassion, the kind Zain had never experienced before. He could feel it, a warmth in his chest that contradicted the cold ache in his body.

She wasn’t scared of him. She wasn’t scared of the blood. She wasn’t repulsed by the poverty that clung to him, a constant reminder of everything he would never be.

For a moment, Zain forgot about the pain, forgot about the harsh realities of his life. It was as if, in the presence of this girl, the world faded to the background, leaving only the calm of her touch.

“You’re… so different,” Zain murmured, his voice cracking.

The girl smiled, a gentle, understanding smile. “I’m Athira,” she said softly. “I have rare blood. The doctor said I was a match for you.”

Zain blinked, still dazed. His thoughts didn’t connect at first, but then it hit him — her blood had saved him. She had given him a part of herself without hesitation, without fear. Zain’s chest tightened, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt… something. Something warm, something real.

But he couldn’t make sense of it. How could someone like her — someone with a life so far removed from his — care for him? For a low-caste boy with no future, no means, no family other than his mother who was barely scraping by. What had he ever done to deserve such kindness?

Athira looked down at their hands, then back at him, her expression soft and kind. “I’m glad I could help,” she said simply.

Zain opened his mouth, but the words didn’t come. His mind was too full, too jumbled. Why had she helped him? He couldn’t understand it. There were so many questions swirling in his head, but he didn’t have the strength to voice them. Instead, he just nodded.

“Thank you,” he whispered again, the words more powerful than anything else he could say.

Athira, sensing the weight of his words, nodded in return. “I’m happy you’re going to be okay.” She paused for a moment before asking, “Are you scared?”

Zain’s heart clenched at the simplicity of her question. Was he scared? The truth was, he was more than just scared. He was terrified — terrified of dying, of never knowing love, of living in a world where people like him were invisible, doomed to fade into the shadows.

But when he looked at Athira, standing there with her quiet strength and compassion, something softened in his chest.

“No,” he answered quietly, his voice still raw. “Not anymore.”

She smiled, that same serene smile, and in that moment, Zain felt something he hadn’t in a long time: hope.

Hope that maybe, just maybe, life didn’t have to be all blood, pain, and suffering. Maybe, just maybe, there was something worth living for.

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