What Survived The Burn

Liora’s POV

Sunlight cuts through the blinds, casting golden bars of light across the bedroom floor. Dust particles swirl in the beams like tiny stars, weightless and slow. It’s the first thing I see when I wake up, and for a moment, I’m still—not groggy, just aware. Too aware. I can make out each particle suspended in air, each thread in the weave of my blanket. It’s like the world is turned up a notch, sharp and gleaming.

Downstairs, I hear Mom humming in the kitchen. The soft thud of a mixing spoon against a bowl follows—she’s making pancakes. She always makes pancakes on my birthday. It’s a ritual, a tradition wrapped in cinnamon and vanilla.

Today is my seventeenth birthday.

But for me, it’s just another day. Routines keep me steady, and I don’t like to break them. There’s comfort in the predictable. So I rise, stretch, and head to my closet, reaching for the same green top I always wear when I want to feel like myself. It brings out the color in my eyes. I pair it with ripped skinny jeans and bare feet. The floor is cold under my toes.

I have my own bathroom, so I don’t bother grabbing anything. Steam clouds the mirror as I step into the shower. The hot water hits my back and shoulders like a blanket, easing the ache I didn’t realize I carried. I close my eyes.

Today feels different.

The thought isn’t mine. It doesn’t sound like my voice in my head. It’s like something nudged it in, gently but insistently.

Something big is going to happen.

Something Momentous

My body stills. I stand perfectly still in the spray, heartbeat loud in my ears. I didn’t think that. Not really.

I shake it off. Sleep. Nerves. The weird vulnerability that birthdays always bring. It’s not the aging—I don’t care about getting older. It’s the attention, the pressure to perform joy, the weight of people watching to see how you’ll carry another year.

When I step back into my room, the scent of cinnamon has deepened. Mom’s humming has turned into quiet, almost ethereal singing. It’s not a song I recognize, but it feels familiar in that strange, dreamlike way, like I’ve heard it in a memory I forgot I had.

I towel off and pull a brush through my damp hair. My fingers pause at the hair tie. That thought still lingers. That sense of… something. Something inevitable.

I glance in the mirror. My reflection stares back, but it doesn’t feel like me. For a second—just a second—my eyes seem brighter, more golden than hazel. More alert. I blink and it’s gone. Freckles. Long lashes. Same stubborn jaw.

Same girl.

Maybe.

The kitchen is awash in light, the table already set. Pancakes, stacked high. Blueberries arranged into a crooked smiley face. Syrup drips over the edges like a slow spill of amber. Mom turns as I enter, her hair in a loose bun, flour smudged on her cheek. Her smile is real and warm.

"There’s my birthday girl," she says, and pulls me into a hug.

I lean in, holding on a second longer than usual. Her arms are steady, her scent familiar—vanilla, soap, something else I can never name. A knot in my chest eases, just slightly.

"You okay?" she asks, leaning back to study me.

I nod too fast. "Yeah. Just weird dreams."

She raises an eyebrow. "You’ve been having a lot of those lately."

"I guess."

She gestures to the plate. "Eat before they get cold."

We sit across from each other. The only sounds are forks on ceramic and the occasional creak of the house settling. It’s peaceful, but my brain keeps buzzing like there’s something I’m missing.

"Mom."

"Yes, sweetheart?"

I hesitate. "Do you ever get a feeling? Like… something’s going to happen?"

She pauses, tilting her head. "What kind of something?"

"I don’t know. Just… something big. Like there’s a shift in the air."

She hums thoughtfully. "I think we all get those feelings. The world changing under your feet before you know why."

I nod slowly. My phone chimes, interrupting the quiet. It’s Andy.

"He’s outside," I say, standing.

"He’s driving you to school today?"

"Yeah."

She walks over, hands me my lunchbox, and kisses my cheek. "Happy birthday. Sweetheart, Invite him to dinner tonight?"

"Maybe," I say. I probably won’t.

I step outside into the bright morning, the sun making the pavement shimmer. Andy’s car is waiting—a black sedan with purple chrome wheels that catch the light like oil slicks.

As I slide into the passenger seat, he gives me a once-over.

"Girl, you look like death," he says, smirking. "Seatbelt, bitch."

I smile for the first time today. It spreads easily. Andy’s been my best friend since preschool. He’s the one who made my prom dress, my homecoming dresses—hell, even a Halloween costume that still makes my mom tear up. I was the first person that he told he was interested in boys, not girls.

He’s brilliant. He’s mine. In a best-friend soul-twin way.

I buckle up. He pulls out of the driveway.

"You sure you’re okay?"

I deflect. "Eyes on the road."

"Seriously, though. You look... haunted."

"Today just feels weird. Like I woke up in the right house but the wrong version of my life."

"You wanna skip?" he asks.

I turn to him, mock-horrified. "Andrew Marks, Mr. Perfect Attendance, offering to skip school? Be still my heart."

"Desperate times," he says, eyes twinkling. "What do you want to do?"

"Shopping. Something brainless."

"Mall it is."

The mall is nearly empty, just retirees walking loops and sleepy employees unlocking stores. It smells like cinnamon pretzels, faux leather, and teenage freedom.

We dive into our favorite boutique. Andy holds up a pair of neon green platform boots.

"Statement piece?"

"For a space lizard maybe."

"You wound me."

We try on outfits we’d never buy. Take selfies in ridiculous hats. Andy picks out a denim jacket with silver stars embroidered on the sleeves.

"You’re getting this."

"No, I’m not."

"Yes, you are. It’s a birthday bribe so I get to pick your cake."

"There might not even be cake."

"Oh there will be. You owe me for skipping Econ."

"Fine. Chocolate raspberry."

He claps. "Exquisite taste."

At lunch, we sit near the fountain, sharing a milkshake, dipping fries in ketchup. The tension in my chest has eased, but it hasn’t vanished.

"Thanks for this," I say.

He glances at me. "You’re not telling me everything."

I freeze. "What do you mean?"

"I know you. You’re here, but your eyes are someplace else. And they’ve been there for a while."

I stare at the table. "I just… I feel like I’m standing at the edge of something. Like something’s coming, but I don’t know if it’s good or bad."

He nods slowly. Doesn’t mock. Doesn’t press.

"Whatever it is, I’m with you. You know that, right?"

I lean against him. "I do."

We linger until our phones buzz. It’s late. I text Mom—errands ran long. She just tells me to be home by six. "Your favorite dinner. Don’t be late."

I promise I won’t be.

But part of me—some small, restless piece buried deep—wonders if I can keep that promise. If this moment, this ordinary day, is the last one before everything changes.

I don’t know.

But for now, I just loop my arm with Andy’s and walk out into the sunshine. The world is still calm. Still bright. Still mine.

For now.