The burning in her arm didn't just wake her—
It ripped her out of sleep.
A sharp gasp tore from her throat as her eyes flew open.
"Hah—!"
For a second… everything blurred.
The motion. The noise. The feeling of movement beneath her.
"I—stop… my stop…"
Her voice came out broken, breathless… like she had been running.
Her heart slammed violently against her ribs.
She knew this fear.
Missing her stop.
Always the same thought—If you miss it once… it takes longer to get back. The longer you wait… the farther it gets.
But—
The movement was gone.
No rattling tracks. No muffled announcements. No flickering light sliding across glass.
Nothing.
Only silence.
A heavy, suffocating silence pressed against her ears until it almost hurt.
Zoya's breathing turned uneven.
"Hh… hh—"
She pushed herself up too quickly—
—and froze.
She wasn't tied.
But something was wrong.
Her body knew it before her mind did.
Her gaze dropped.
And the world stopped.
There—
Between her wrist and elbow.
A cut.
Deep.
Violent.
Raw.
Not careful. Not controlled.
Like something sharp had been driven into her arm in a moment of rage.
A broken sound slipped from her lips—
"…ahh…"
Blood was still there.
Not dried.
Not faded.
It moved.
Slowly trailing down her skin, warm and alive.
Her stomach twisted.
"No…"
Her fingers trembled as she reached toward it—
The moment her skin brushed near the wound—
"AAH—!"
Her entire body jerked.
The pain wasn't normal.
It didn't stay in one place.
It spread.
Sharp. Burning. Alive.
Like something was crawling through her veins.
"Hh… hh…!"
Her breath hitched violently, chest rising and falling too fast.
Her eyes filled instantly—
—but she forced them open.
Forced herself not to break.
Not yet.
She looked around.
Nothing.
Just walls.
Blank. Cold. Unfeeling.
The kind of walls that didn't echo… didn't respond… didn't exist for anyone but her.
The floor beneath her—
Ice cold.
It should have made her shiver.
But it didn't.
Her body had already chosen pain over everything else.
Then—
A sound.
Faint.
So faint she almost thought she imagined it.
She stilled.
"…?"
There it was again.
Birds.
Soft. Uneven. Restless chirping.
Zoya held her breath.
Listening harder.
Were they returning?
Or leaving?
Her lips parted slightly.
"Is it… morning…?"
Her voice barely existed.
"…or evening…?"
No answer.
Only those distant wings.
The sky outside—
She couldn't see it.
The sun—
Rising… or falling…
She didn't know.
And suddenly—
That terrified her more than the pain.
Time… was gone.
Completely gone.
Her hand moved instinctively to her head—
—and stopped.
Nothing.
No dupatta.
No covering.
Her breath caught sharply.
Her fingers moved through her hair—
tangled.
Pulled.
Rough.
Like someone had grabbed it… dragged her…
A small, broken sound escaped her—
"…no…"
Something inside her cracked.
Not loudly.
Not suddenly.
But completely.
Her chest caved in as the first sob tore out—
"Hh—!"
And then—
She broke.
Crying, not softly… not quietly—
But like something inside her was being ripped apart.
Her voice shaking, collapsing between breaths—
"Why—… why…"
Her words didn't even form.
They shattered.
Each sob scraped her throat raw.
Each breath uneven, painful—
Like her lungs didn't know how to work anymore.
Her shoulders trembled violently.
Her hands weak.
And slowly—
The crying began to fall apart.
Into hiccups.
Into broken breaths.
Into silence.
Her body gave up.
Her fingers loosened.
The weight of herself became too much.
The pain—
That had been screaming through her veins—
Began to dull.
Not gone.
Just… fading.
Like something was pulling her away from it.
Dragging her into a place where nothing existed.
No fear.
No memory.
No feeling.
Her vision blurred.
Darkened.
Her head tilted slightly—
"No… don't…"
But it was already happening.
This wasn't sleep.
This was force.
Her body sinking—
Her mind slipping—
Her breath slowing—
Until—
Nothing.
Zoya collapsed into unconsciousness again.
Still.
Silent.
Gone.
For a few moments—
Free.
But—
This wasn't peace.
This wasn't rest.
This…
Was the silence before the storm.
Evening had already fallen.
The light outside the house was fading slowly…But the atmosphere inside felt even heavier.
_______________________
Minji, Jeon.J, and Teahun—
Returned empty-handed.
And that alone was enough.
Jeon.J's house was full of people…
Yet somehow, it felt painfully empty.
Kim Joon and Yomin were both supposed to leave—There was something important related to the concert.
Something they couldn't ignore.
But—
Yomin stayed.
He sent Kim Joon instead, even when Kim Joon had tried to make him stay.
No one asked why.
They all knew.
They were waiting.
As soon as Minji, Jeon.J, and Teahun stepped inside—
For a brief moment,
Hope flickered.
Eyes locked onto them.
"Did you find her…?""Any lead…?"
But—
Their faces said everything.
Hope shattered in an instant.
No one asked again.
For a while, questions still came—Restless, broken, overlapping—
Then slowly…
They died.
Silence took over.
Everyone settled into the living area.
Far apart.
As if something invisible had placed distance between them.
Fear.
Faces turned pale.
Eyes restless.
Breathing heavy.
Jeon.J—
Sat at the edge of the sofa,
His head buried in his hands.
As if he wasn't just carrying weight…
But the sky itself.
He didn't look up even once.
Minji's phone wouldn't stop ringing.
"Yeah… check again, please…""No—if there's any update, call me immediately…""Replay the footage—zoom in—please!"
Her voice trembled, barely holding together.
She was using every source.
Knocking on every possible door.
But—
Nothing.
No trace.
On the other side—
The TBS members were bound by something no one could see.
A chain.
A silent one.
Their concert was only days away.
They couldn't afford a scandal.
Couldn't afford disruption.
To the world—
They might seem selfish.
But the truth—
They were trapped.
And today…
They felt it more than ever—
Fame wasn't freedom.
It was a prison.
A quiet one.
Where every step had to be calculated.
Every emotion hidden.
Every pain… buried.
Then—
Minji's phone rang again.
She glanced at the screen.
Ji-ho.
She closed her eyes briefly… inhaled.
"Now what…?" she muttered under her breath.
She answered.
"Hello?"
His voice came instantly—
"Minji… check social media."
She straightened.
"What—what happened?"
"Just look."
He didn't hang up.
Minji grabbed the remote—
And turned on the large LCD screen in front of them.
"Where?" she asked quickly.
"The news channel."
He named it.
Her fingers moved fast, searching—
The room went still.
Everyone watched her.
No one spoke.
All eyes fixed on the screen.
Jeon.J—
Hadn't moved.
Head still down.
Motionless.
As if he had already lost hope.
The channel loaded.
The screen flickered—
Then cleared.
At the same moment—
Ji-ho's call dropped.
"Hello? Ji-ho?" Minji said—
No response.
Her gaze froze on the screen.
And then—
The color drained from her face.
The remote nearly slipped from her hand.
She took a slow step back…
Then sank onto the sofa—
Right beside Jeon.J.
He slowly lifted his head.
Looked at her.
The shock in her eyes—
Hit him before the screen did.
"…what is it?" he whispered.
She didn't answer.
Didn't even blink.
Just stared.
He followed her gaze.
And—
In the next second—
He froze.
His eyes widened.
His breath caught.
As if his body had forgotten how to function.
One by one—
Everyone in the room turned toward the screen.
And then—
It was as if time itself stopped.
A heavy, suffocating stillness
Fell over the entire room.
___________________
Zoya lay on the cold floor, the darkness of the room pressing around her like a heavy blanket. Her head bowed low, eyes tightly shut, breaths slow and deliberate.
Each inhale was a struggle; each exhale a small battle—her body weighed down by the invisible burden she carried.
Then—a familiar sound echoed in her ears.
A soft, unmistakable laugh, one she could recognize without even looking.
It was the kind of sound that only her heart could interpret, a laughter that revealed whether the soul behind it was happy or sorrowful.
Zoya kept her eyes closed and gently rubbed her arm with her other hand, trying to soothe the ache spreading from her shoulder.
Instinctively, her focus shifted to that voice.
A flashback hit her—
University lecture hall, notes scattered, students filtering out after class.
She had slipped to the back rows, alone, trying to bury herself in her work, in the routine of tasks and assignments—a coping mechanism for the gnawing tension inside.
Depression still lingered beneath the surface. Sometimes, tears came unbidden; sometimes, she rested her head on her knees, trying desperately to summon strength from within herself.
Her phone rang. The name flashed: Ayesha – Soulmate.
She answered immediately. There were some people in her life whose calls she could never ignore—and Ayesha, whom she called Ayesha sister, was one of them.
"Assalamu Alaikum." she greeted, peace in her voice.
"Wa Alaikum Assalam wa Rahmatullahi wa Barakatuh," Ayesha's reply was complete, filled with peace and mercy—no syllable wasted. Zoya smiled faintly, her tense heart catching the comfort in the sound.
"How are you, Zoya? How is your Iman (Faith)?" Ayesha asked, gentle yet probing.
"I'm fine," Zoya admitted softly. "But my Iman… it feels weak. My heart is wandering elsewhere."
"You mean you're in a state of struggle?" Ayesha's voice softened.
Zoya hesitated, then murmured, "Hmmm…"
"You know, the greatest struggle?" Ayesha asked quietly.
Zoya's eyes remained closed, her voice barely a whisper. "It is the struggle of the soul. Even when you fight against Satan(evil), every step feels like a wound… but in the end, Allah blesses you."
She paused, then added quietly, "But Ayesha… the world fights back at you. It pushes you away, even from yourself. The deepest wound comes when no one understands your fight… even when you know you are right."
The echo of Ayesha's words settled in Zoya's chest, mingling with the darkness of the room, with the chill of the floor beneath her.
She took a slow, shuddering breath and returned to the present—the cold floor, the still darkness, the quiet loneliness. But something had shifted. A small spark of courage lit up inside her, fragile but undeniable.
"Do you know why I love Surah Al-Inshirah?" Ayesha's voice echoed softly.
Zoya lowered her head, feeling the weight of each word, each verse, in her heart.
She had memorized this Surah—the words, the rhythm—and now they wrapped around her like a warm, protective cloak. After a few seconds, Ayesha's voice spoke again:
1. أَلَمْ نَشْرَحْ لَكَ صَدْرَكَ" Have We not opened your chest for you?"
Her chest felt it—the heavy weight inside her heart slowly loosening, giving her a small space to breathe, to feel air filling her lungs for the first time in hours.
2. وَوَضَعْنَا عَنكَ وِزْرَكَ" And removed from you your burden."
Every ache, every invisible tension threading through her veins began to loosen. The depression, the panic, the suffocating heaviness—they began to lift.
3. ٱلَّذِيٓ أَنقَضَ ظَهْرَكَ" Which weighed down your back."
Even her body seemed to release, a tiny relief spreading through her shoulders as if someone had lifted an invisible weight she hadn't realized she was carrying.
4. وَرَفَعْنَا لَكَ ذِكْرَكَ" And raised high your reputation."
It wasn't about worldly fame—this was confidence, self-belief, an inner strength reminding her she was not broken, not truly alone. Her eyes fluttered open. The darkness of the room seemed softer, less suffocating.
5. فَإِنَّ مَعَ ٱلْعُسْرِ يُسْرًا" So verily, with every difficulty comes relief."
Each pang of loneliness, each tremor of fear, now came paired with a whisper of relief—a gentle assurance that the pain was temporary, the struggle surmountable.
6. إِنَّ مَعَ ٱلْعُسْرِ يُسْرًا" Indeed, with every difficulty comes ease."
Her breaths steadied. Her heartbeat slowed. She felt the truth in it: no darkness, no burden was permanent. Every hardship carries with it a path to ease, a light waiting to be found.
Zoya slowly lifted her head. The darkness no longer suffocated her. The cold floor beneath her body no longer felt punishing; instead, it grounded her, anchored her in the reality that she could survive this moment. Each ache, each fear, each pang of loneliness was temporary. Relief was coming. Ease was coming.
And in that moment, the echo of Ayesha's voice lingered, carrying a soft, hidden smile—a reminder that she was not truly alone, and that no struggle, no matter how deep, was without hope.
She tried to get up suddenly—but lost her balance and fell.
Still, gathering every bit of strength she had, she forced herself to sit up. A strange heaviness crept into her legs; they felt stiff, almost unresponsive. Even the slightest movement had become painfully difficult.
But she didn't give up.
With quiet determination, she began to move her legs back and forth, slowly… gently… pushing through the resistance.
And under her breath, in a faint, trembling voice, she whispered:
فَإِنَّ مَعَ ٱلْعُسْرِ يُسْرًا
"So verily, with every difficulty comes relief."
Her voice was soft—but filled with faith.
Zoya slowly sat up and, before anything else, began to observe the room around her.
The ceiling wasn't very high. If she stood up and stretched her hand, maybe—with the help of a stool—she could touch it.
Her eyes searched for a door.
But… there was none.
A strange unease crept into her heart.
How is that possible? she thought. A room… without a door?
Determined, she tried to stand. It took time, and a lot of effort, but eventually she managed to rise, leaning against the wall for support. Her body trembled slightly as she steadied herself.
Slowly, she ran her fingers along the wall.
It was… extremely cold.
Surprised, she touched it again—this time tapping lightly with her fingers.
A dull, metallic sound echoed back.
This isn't a normal wall… it feels like iron sheets.
But then—where is the door?
Step by step, she moved along the wall, examining every inch.
And suddenly—
Her gaze stopped.
On the wall opposite her, a faint vertical line stretched from the ceiling all the way down to the floor.
As she moved closer, it became clearer.
Realization hit her.
The entire room was pure white… and the door was designed so perfectly that it blended into the walls—almost invisible.
Her breath caught.
"Where am I…? Is there a camera here?" she whispered to herself.
Now alert, she carefully scanned every corner of the room. Her eyes searched intensely—but there was nothing. Not even a tiny hole. The white walls were flawless. If there had been anything, she would have seen it.
Then why was the room so cold?
It didn't make sense.
It wasn't even this cold outside… not yesterday…
Thinking this, she stepped closer to the door-like section again. This time, she noticed something—tiny holes, almost invisible, running vertically from the ceiling downwards.
She tried to reach them, stretching her arm.
But her body resisted.
One arm was injured—the wound still fresh. The other refused to cooperate properly.
Pain shot through her, but she didn't stop.
"Zoya… with every difficulty comes ease…" she whispered to herself, gathering strength.
Ignoring the pain, she forced her arm upward.
After several attempts, her fingers finally reached the lowest line of the holes.
And the moment she touched them—
She froze.
A freezing current of air rushed out from them, sharp enough to make her flinch instantly. She pulled her hand back.
"So… this is where the cold is coming from…" she murmured.
She stepped back and leaned against the wall again, trying to calm herself. The cold air was making her body stiff, draining her strength.
She didn't even know how long she had been here.
Looking at the wound on her arm, she tried to estimate.
Maybe… a few hours… or… a whole day?
Slowly, she gathered her messy hair and tied it into a loose braid. Looking down at herself, she felt a small sense of relief—she was still wearing the same clothes from yesterday.
A loose black shirt. Matching trousers.
"My bag… my phone…" she whispered, her voice fading as she sat down again.
Her thoughts began to race.
How did I get here?
Did I come here myself… or did someone bring me?
But who? I don't even know anyone…
Her throat suddenly felt unbearably dry.
She needed water.
Desperately.
Closing her eyes, she forced herself to remember.
"I returned Ji-ho's coat and cap… then I went to the train station with him…"
Her thoughts began to piece together.
"He was with me… but when we reached, the last train had already left. The next one was far too late…"
She clenched her fists.
"I insisted… and he stopped a cab that was passing by… I got in… and he left…"
Her breathing grew uneven.
"The cab… it stopped after a while…"
Her head throbbed as she tried harder to remember.
"Someone… someone got in from the back seat…"
She froze.
"And then…"
Nothing.
"I don't remember…" she whispered, frustration rising. "Why can't I remember?!"
Her fingers tightened in her hair.
"But who…? Who was it…?"
Suddenly—
She dropped her head into her hands.
And then, like a spark in the darkness—
A name slipped from her lips.
"Ji-won…"
Her eyes snapped open in shock.
To be continued....
Regards
ZK