Tangled Threads
884 Words
The scent of coffee and toast filled the kitchen as Zara’s mother hummed softly to herself. The faint crackle of the radio in the corner played an old jazz tune, a comforting reminder of Zara’s childhood.
Zara hesitated in the doorway. She hadn’t told her mother about the visions, not fully. Part of her didn’t want to see the worry in her mother’s eyes - the same worry that had been there during Zara’s teenage years, when every scraped knee or missed curfew felt like a personal failure to protect her only daughter.
“Morning, sweetie.” Her mother turned, her smile faltering as she caught sight of Zara’s face. “You didn’t sleep well, did you?”
Zara forced a smile. “Just a rough night. I’m fine.”
Her mother arched a brow, crossing her arms. “Fine? That’s what you said the last time you showed up looking like a ghost.”
Zara sighed, sliding into a chair at the small kitchen table. “It’s just…work stress. I’ve been juggling a lot.”
Her mother poured a second cup of coffee and sat across from her. “Work stress doesn’t explain why you flinch every time your phone buzzes or why you’ve been avoiding my calls.”
Zara stared down at the table. “I’m not avoiding you, Mom. I’ve just been…busy.”
Her mother reached out, placing a warm hand over Zara’s. “You know you can talk to me, right? About anything?”
The sincerity in her voice tugged at Zara’s heart, but the thought of trying to explain her visions felt impossible. What could she even say? That she saw things no one else did? That she wasn’t sure if she was going insane?
“Yeah, I know,” Zara murmured, pulling her hand away.
Her mother studied her for a moment, then leaned back in her chair. “You know, you’ve always been like this. Carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, even when you don't have to."
“I’m fine, really.” Zara’s voice was sharper than she intended.
Her mother frowned but didn’t press further. Instead, she reached for a photo album on the counter and slid it toward Zara.
“Here. I found this last night. Thought it might cheer you up.”
Zara opened the album, her fingers brushing over the yellowed pages. The first photo was of her and Micah, their faces smudged with chocolate cake, grinning at the camera.
“Gosh, I forgot about this birthday,” Zara said, a small smile tugging at her lips.
Her mother laughed. “Micah insisted on eating the cake with his hands. You weren’t much better, if I remember.”
The smile faded as Zara flipped through more photos. Micah at his high school graduation. Micah in his soccer uniform. The two of them on a family vacation, laughing at something only they understood.
“I miss him,” Zara said quietly.
Her mother’s face softened. “I know, honey. He misses you too. Have you called him lately?”
Zara shook her head. “He’s busy. I don’t want to bother him.”
Her mother gave her a pointed look. “Bother him? You’re his sister, Zara. He’s never too busy for you.”
The guilt settled like a stone in Zara’s chest. It had been months since she’d spoken to Micah. She’d told herself it was because of work, but the truth was harder to admit. She was afraid. Afraid he’d see through her façade, afraid he’d ask questions she couldn’t answer.
“I’ll call him,” Zara said, though the words felt hollow.
Her mother reached across the table again, her touch gentle. “Whatever’s going on, Zara, you don’t have to face it alone. Promise me you’ll remember that.”
Zara nodded, though her throat tightened. “I promise.”
Later That Day
Zara sat on her couch, her phone resting on the coffee table. She stared at Micah’s name in her contact list, her finger hovering over the call button.
What would she even say? Hey, Micah, how’s life? By the way, I’ve been having visions of disasters before they happen. Totally normal, right?
She let out a bitter laugh and tossed the phone onto the cushion beside her.
Instead, she opened her journal and began to write again.
Journal Entry 2
Date: August 3
Time: 3:15 p.m.
Mom’s worried about me. She doesn’t say it outright, but I can see it in the way she looks at me, like she’s waiting for me to c***k.
I can’t tell her about the visions. She wouldn’t understand. Or worse, she’d pretend to understand and start hovering again, like when Dad left.
Micah…I miss him. I want to call him, but I’m scared he’ll see through me. He always could.
The truth is, I feel like I’m balancing on a thread, and I don’t know how much longer I can hold on.
Zara closed the journal, tears prickling her eyes. She wiped them away angrily, frustration bubbling in her chest. She wasn’t supposed to feel like this - this helpless, this lost.
Her phone buzzed again. This time, it wasn’t her mother.
Unknown Number: Zara Bennett, your gift is awakening. Let me guide you.
Her heart skipped a beat.
- Writer
