CHAPTER ONE: HER DESTINY

CHAPTER 1: HER DESTINY

AMARA’S POV

“Are you really sure about this, hija?” Auntie May asked, her voice thick with worry.

I nodded.

I knew that if I stayed here any longer, the wounds of the past would only fester. I needed to leave before the pain swallowed me whole.

Auntie May pulled out her wallet and handed me a thousand-peso bill—a small fortune for her. I reached for it, but before my fingers could touch the paper, her husband, Uncle Arman, snatched it away.

“This is mine now. She’s already enough of a burden on our pockets!” he snapped.

Auntie May looked down, defeated, just as the tricycle she had hailed arrived to take me to the bus terminal.

“Well? Are you leaving or not? The driver is waiting!” Melanie, their daughter, barked at me. I offered her a small, tight smile. She didn't mean to be cruel; it was just how things were in this house.

Auntie May had always been there for me—my second mother in every way that mattered. But as they say, life isn't all sunshine and rainbows. Sometimes, you have to walk through the fire to grow.

And I was currently standing in the middle of a goddamn inferno.

She squeezed my hand one last time before I finally turned away.

I had no idea what awaited me in Manila. All I knew was that I had to escape this hellhole. This place was supposed to be my home; it belonged to my parents. But when they died in that horrific tragedy, my life crumbled along with the wreckage.

I was five years old back then. The memories of their death were so vivid, so deeply etched into my mind, that no matter how deep I tried to bury them, they always clawed their way back to the surface. I didn't know why I stayed this long.

Perhaps a part of me was still trapped in that wreckage, unable to move on.

But I had to. For the sake of my future, I had to run.

I hopped onto the tricycle, and soon we were rattling toward the bus terminal. It was 6:30 AM when we arrived. The morning air was cool, and only a few travelers were scattered about, waiting for the trip to the city.

The conductor and the driver helped me load my bags onto the bus. I didn't have much—just the remnants of a life I was desperate to leave behind.

I waited for hours before the engine finally roared to life. In the lull of the vibration, exhaustion claimed me, and I drifted into a fitful sleep.

I woke up in a familiar nightmare.

It was dark. I was lying on the cold asphalt, the world spinning. I couldn't see my parents through the crowd of people gathered a few yards away.

“Mama! Papa!” I screamed.

Rescuers tried to hold me back, but I fought them off. I didn't care about the scrapes on my knees or the blood matting my hair. I ran toward their lifeless bodies, my heart shattering with every step.

But then, I saw her.

In the shadows, a woman stood watching. Her face was hidden under a hood, her eyes shielded by dark sunglasses. She didn't move. She just observed the carnage. When our eyes met for a fleeting second, she turned and vanished into the darkness. I tried to chase her, but the rescuers finally caught me, pinning me down.

I was just a kid back then—a five year old kid with dreams and a bright future. In a single heartbeat, an "accident" took it all. And ever since, I’ve wondered: who was she? Why was she watching us?

A sharp nudge on my arm jolted me awake.

Pashnea!

Just a dream.

But it wasn't just a dream. It was the trauma that defined me.

An elderly woman was tapping my arm gently. “Miss, you were snoring quite loudly. You might want to adjust your position so you can breathe better,” she said kindly.

I felt my cheeks heat up and immediately apologized. The stress of the past few days must have caught up to me. I looked around at the other passengers; most were silent, lost in their phones or staring out at the passing scenery.

“Thank you, ma’am. Sorry about that,” I muttered, turning my gaze toward the window. My brain had been "reset" by the nightmare; there was no going back to sleep now.

The provincial landscape was beautiful—something I knew I’d miss once I reached the concrete jungle of Manila. I let out a heavy sigh. Would I find a job? Would I be able to build a life for myself?

I was a graduate with a degree in Information Systems. Since I was a little girl, I’d dreamed of being a hacker, just like the ones in the movies. I was obsessed with the way their fingers flew across the keyboard—how a screen full of green code could bring down an entire system in seconds.

I graduated five months ago, but the job hunt had been brutal. I wanted to be a software developer, but every entry-level position demanded years of experience I didn't have. But word back in Antique was that the big city held better opportunities for tech grads. They said the most elite tech-dev companies were hidden within those towering skyscrapers.

Maybe there, amidst the lines of code and data, I’d find the future I was looking for.

And maybe, just maybe, I’d find the mysterious woman from my dreams. Was she involved in the accident that killed my parents?

Why did I feel like she was still watching me from the shadows of the past?

pulled my old cellphone from my jacket pocket and checked my bookmarks—a long list of tech firms in Manila. To be honest, I’d take any job at this point.

Anything to keep me from ever going back to my old life.

I leaned my head against the headrest, closed my eyes, and whispered a silent prayer.

Manila. Please, be kind to me.