Nayana
When I slowly peel my heavy eyes open, the first thing I notice is the stillness.
It’s quiet—too quiet. The kind of silence that makes you hold your breath without realizing it. My gaze drifts slowly, taking in where I am. The room is small, with wooden walls and a faint scent of earth and smoke. I’m lying on a bunk bed covered in a thick blanket that looks handwoven. Beside me, there’s a wooden table and a chair that creaks as the wind moves through a crack in the window.
Where am I?
I try to regulate my racing heartbeat and continue to study where I just woke up in. The air feels different here. Older. Like I’ve woken up somewhere far from everything I know. There’s no sound of cars or people, just the distant chirp of night insects. Through the tiny window, the sky looks dusk
