Untitled Episode
1006 Words
As she walked toward the subway that would take her to David and his grandmother, Shantali realised the cobra's true gift hadn't been prophecy at all. It had been clarity, the sudden, stark understanding of what truly mattered when all the noise of fear and ambition fell away.
Three weeks later, their apartment fully furnished and the novel nearly complete, Shantali received another text from Maria: *I talked to Marcus. He applied for transfers to museums in San Francisco. We're moving together. Thank you for helping me see there was another option.*
David read the message over her shoulder as they sat at their new kitchen table, Sunday papers spread between coffee mugs. "Another happy ending for the cobra's collection."
"Not an ending," Shantali corrected, setting down her phone. "Just a better beginning."
Outside their window, the park's trees had shed most of their leaves, preparing for winter's dormancy. In spring, they would bloom again, just in time for the wedding they'd planned for April.
"You know," David said, folding his newspaper, "I've been thinking about those hieroglyphics on the cobra statue."
Shantali glanced toward the living room where the statue sat on their bookshelf, a silent witness to their new life together. "What about them?"
"Maybe we should find out what they say after all. Not out of obsession, but as a kind of...closure." He reached for her hand across the table. "Dr Hassan offered to translate them."
Shantali considered this, testing her own reaction. The desperate need to know had faded, replaced by gentle curiosity that carried no urgency. "Okay," she said finally. "Let's find out."
That afternoon, they brought the statue to Dr Hassan's office at the museum. The Egyptologist examined the hieroglyphics read, ‘Those who chose love over fear are the true masters of their life. May it guide you through this life and all those yet to follow.’
The translation settled over them like a benediction. Shantali exchanged a glance with David, seeing her own thoughts reflected in his eyes. The ancient message wasn't a prophecy or warning but a simple affirmation of the choice they'd already made.
"It's beautiful," she said softly, running her finger over the carved symbols with newfound appreciation.
Dr Hassan handed the statue back carefully. "The craftsmanship suggests a late New Kingdom period, though the message itself is unusual for that era. Most religious artifacts from that time were more concerned with the afterlife than with guiding choices in the present."
"Maybe that's why it survived," David suggested. "Because it spoke to something timeless about human experience rather than specific religious practices."
"A compelling theory." Dr Hassan smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "My husband would appreciate that perspective. He's always saying archaeology focuses too much on differences and not enough on the universal aspects of human nature."
As they prepared to leave, Dr Hassan handed Shantali a small envelope. "I thought you might want this. It's from Dr Thorne's personal effects, a photograph taken the day before she died."
Shantali opened the envelope to find a Polaroid showing an elderly woman sitting at a cluttered desk, a small cobra statue identical to theirs visible on a bookshelf behind her. The woman's expression was peaceful, her eyes clear despite the exhaustion evident in her posture.
"She found her own statue," Shantali murmured.
"Yes, though too late to fully change her path." Dr Hassan's voice carried a gentle warning. "She wrote in her final journal entry that she'd finally understood the message, but had spent too many years pursuing knowledge instead of connection."
On the walk home, the cobra statue nestled safely in Shantali's bag, and they discussed the photograph and its implications.
"Do you think these statues are somehow connected to the smoke manifestations?" David asked.
"I don't know," Shantali replied honestly. "And for once, I'm comfortable with not knowing."
That evening, as they prepared dinner in their new kitchen, David's phone rang with news that his grandmother had fallen and broken her hip. The hospital corridor from Shantali's vision materialised just two days later, not as a dreaded prophecy but simply as life unfolding, with David grateful to have Shantali beside him during the long hours of waiting for surgery updates.
When spring arrived, bringing with it their wedding day, Shantali stood before a mirror in her white dress, the cobra statue watching from a shelf in the bridal suite. No prophetic smoke appeared; none was needed now. The visions had served their purpose, guiding her to this moment not through supernatural intervention but through the choices she'd made every day since.
As she walked down the aisle toward David, Shantali felt the weight of the past and future balanced perfectly in the present moment, not as a burden or obligation, but as the natural rhythm of a life playing out how it was always meant to be, filled with endless possibilities and with it filled with endless love.
As Shantali stood at the altar with David, she couldn't help but feel that everything in her life had led to this moment. The jasmine flowers in her bouquet released their sweet scent with each slight movement, reminding her of that fateful night in the museum, but without the desperate urgency that had once accompanied the memory.
After the ceremony, as guests mingled at the reception, Dr Hassan approached them, elegant in a deep blue dress that complemented her silver-streaked hair.
"Congratulations to you both," she said, genuine warmth in her voice. "I brought you something."
She handed them a small package wrapped in papyrus-colored paper. Inside lay an ancient-looking scroll, carefully preserved in a glass case.
"This is a reproduction," Dr. Hassan explained quickly. "The original remains in the museum archives. But I thought you should have this; it's the earliest known depiction of the serpent smoke ritual. Dating from the reign of Hatshepsut."
Shantali examined the delicate illustration, in which priests surrounded a figure seated before a cobra-headed vessel, wisps of painted smoke forming patterns that seemed to dance across the papyrus.
- Writer
