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Rumi wasn’t sure what exactly woke her. Maybe it was the storm outside, the low rumble of thunder rolling through the sky like distant artillery, or maybe it was her body’s internal clock, the one that never quite reset itself no matter how much rest she got. And maybe, just maybe, it was the nightmare again, slipping through the cracks of her subconscious like smoke under a locked door.
Her eyes snapped open. Darkness greeted her, broken only by the occasional flash of lightning that threw sharp silhouettes across the ceiling. She lay on her back. Her body was tense, coiled like a wire pulled too tight, her heart pounding so loud it filled her ears with a frantic drumbeat. But she didn’t scream. Not anymore.
That was progress, in its own bitter way: silent suffering. It meant Jinu could sleep through the night without being startled awake by her panic. And he was, one arm draped around her in a loose, protective hold, his breathing slow and even, unaware of the storm both outside and within her. His half-purple palm was on her bare hip over her marks, grounding her.
She stayed there, unmoving, as if pinned by the weight of her own fear. Every muscle in her body clenched with leftover adrenaline, her hands gripping the sheets like they might anchor her to the present. But the ghost of the dream still lingered, curling cold fingers around her ribs, whispering that sleep wasn’t safe. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
When she finally regained control of her body, she moved slowly, deliberately. Gently, she lifted Jinu’s arm from around her waist, slipping out from beneath it with practised care. He didn’t stir. She rose from the bed in silence, her feet meeting the floor softly.
On her side, the tiger lay curled up in a deep sleep, its great chest rising and falling in slow rhythm. Perched boldly on the tiger’s broad head was the magpie, feathers puffed, eyes half-lidded but alert, always watching. Careful not to wake either of them, Rumi stepped over the tiger’s massive paws, her breath held like a secret in her chest.
With silent steps, Rumi approached the balcony doors and slipped through, closing them swiftly but gently behind her so as not to wake the others. The air outside hit her at once, cool, damp, alive. She wore only her pyjamas: plush rainbow-striped trousers and a thin tank top, her feet bare against the wet stone. The chill of the storm was a relief against her overheated, sweat-dampened skin.
Rain began to fall on her in steady sheets, soaking her hair, which was loose for once, let down from her usual braid. It clung to her face and neck in wet strands. She let out a long, quiet sigh. For a minute or two, she simply stood there, letting the downpour wash over her, grounding her in the present.
Then a flash split the sky. Thunder cracked directly above the city, blinding her for a heartbeat. Her vision returned slowly, blinking through the white haze, and she turned toward the small nook to her right.
Moving with quiet purpose, she crossed the balcony and sat down on the cold ground, back resting against the glass. She pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them tightly. And there, surrounded by plants, as the storm raged around her, Rumi finally let herself cry into her little cocoon.
We are hunters, voices strong-
She wasn’t sure how much time had passed. Minutes? Hours? The rain had softened into a steady whisper, and her tears had dried somewhere along the way, leaving her face tight with salt and cold.
Slaying demons with our song-
Then, suddenly, she felt a nudge against her right shoulder. Heavy. Warm. Blinking slowly, still not fully awake, she turned her head and dimly made out the shape of the tiger beside her. It was pushing at her gently with his nose, as if trying to coax her back to awareness. Rumi let out a soft breath and, with a tired hand, pushed it away, gently, but firmly. Not now.
The big cat let out a deep, rumbling purr, a sound meant to draw her attention. But Rumi didn’t react. She kept her eyes on the rain-slick city, her body still curled against the glass.
“Go back inside,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, thin and frayed. “I’ll go back soon, okay?”
The tiger didn’t respond. It simply sat there beside her, silent and still. She wasn’t sure how long it stayed, minutes maybe, but the next time she glanced to her side, it was gone. Alone again, Rumi sat in the quiet aftermath, torn between dissecting the nightmare piece by piece and trying to erase it from her memory entirely. Part of her wanted to understand it, to find some meaning in the shadows, but another part, the louder one, just wanted silence. Forgetting felt like survival.
She had sat there all this time, doing nothing but counting the raindrops as they poured from the sky, one after another, in an endless rhythm. The cold had long since faded from her awareness, her body numb, her mind floating somewhere far away. Every crack of thunder, every flicker of lightning offered a welcome distraction, brief flashes of sound and light that pulled her away from the weight inside her.
Too absorbed in the chaos unravelling inside her, she didn’t notice anything, didn’t hear the door open, didn’t feel the change in the air, until she heard Jinu’s voice softly call her name. Only then did she turn her head, startled, realising he had found her tucked away in the shadows of the balcony. She stared at him, speechless, not even sure what she could say to explain herself, if there was anything to say at all. The darkness pressed in around them, the storm clouds thick above, deepening the night until his face was little more than a silhouette. She couldn’t read his expression, only the quiet tension in the way he stood.
“C’mon,” he mumbled, worried or tired, or maybe even both. “Let’s get you inside.” He reached for her, but she startled to her feet, even if she swayed slightly. “Rumi,” he started, hand wrapping around her anyway. “You’re drenched.”
Rumi didn’t say a word, but she didn’t resist either. She let Jinu guide her gently back into the room, each step slow and quiet. Inside, the warmth hit her like a forgotten memory, but she stood frozen when the tiger reappeared, brushing against her leg and snuggling close, its massive body radiating comfort. She didn’t move. Jinu, wordless as well, crossed the room to her closet. A moment later, he returned with a giant towel and a fresh pair of pyjamas, his expression calm but unreadable.
She stood there, arms hanging limply at her sides, watching him as he knelt in front of her with the towel. He didn’t say anything, didn’t ask questions. Just started carefully drying her arms, then her face, his touch gentle and slow, as if trying to remind her she was safe—here, now.
Something in her chest cracked.
Not loud. Not dramatic. Just a quiet shift. The kind that came when someone was kind to you at the exact moment you didn’t believe you deserved it.
Her breath hitched, and her eyes stung again, not from the storm, but from something softer. Something heavier.
She didn’t cry this time. Not really. “Thank you.”
“You should take a warm shower,” Jinu started gently.
“It’s okay,” she cut in, reaching down to boop the tiger’s nose. For the first time that night, a ghost of a smile tugged at her lips as its eyes widened at the unexpected attention.
She took the towel from Jinu and pulled it over her head, blotting at her wet hair.
“You’re shivering, Rumi. C’mon, I’ll help you-”
“It’s fine,” she said absently, fingers working through her violet strands as she began to squeeze the water from them. “I just need to change, so I don’t wet the bed. Go back to sleep, I’ll join you in a second.”
Jinu gave a small, knowing sigh and said quietly, “A nightmare, huh?”
He opened his lips as if to ask more, but she silenced him with a quick, “I don’t wanna talk about it.”
“Maybe you should?”
She sighed softly, then took the pyjamas from the bed and turned toward the door, leaving Jinu alone with their two animal companions. Once she was alone, she moved to the sink. Her arms trembled as she gripped it tightly, squeezing so hard that her fingers began to whiten. A sob escaped her, then another, quickly muffled by the back of her hand. Her body began to tremble, her fingers loosening their grip on the sink as she pressed her nails hard into the soft skin of her palm. She was so tired. So terrified.
Her mind raced, spiralling through memories she wished she could forget, the shadowed faces, the suffocating weight of fear, the moments when control slipped through her fingers like sand. She thought of the marks on her skin, those stubborn purple bruises that seemed to bloom anew whenever the nightmares came back, a cruel reminder of wounds both seen and unseen.
Finally, she turned on the tap, letting warm water fill her cupped hands. She brought it to her face, washing away the remnants of tears and sweat. Then, tilting her head back slightly, she pressed her palms against her eyelids, the coldness soothing the rawness beneath, even though she knew they’d be swollen by morning.
After a quick change, she returned to the room. Jinu lay on top of the covers, eyes fixed on the storm beyond the window, while the tiger curled up at her side with the magpie perched quietly on its back. Slowly, hesitantly, she approached the bed, unsure exactly where to settle herself. Noticing her hesitation, he nodded toward his side of the bed and gently nudged the tiger aside to make more space for her. Rumi hesitated for a moment longer, then slowly lowered herself onto the bed beside him. The tiger shifted slightly but didn’t protest, settling back down with a soft rumble.
Jinu’s eyes met hers briefly, filled with a gentle understanding that needed no words. Without a word, he reached out, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close against his side. She leaned into him, their bodies fitting together like quiet pieces of a puzzle.
The storm raged outside, but here, in the fragile space between them, there was a fragile calm, soft breaths mingling, hearts slowing, a shared warmth that chased away the chill.
After a few moments wrapped in silence, Jinu’s voice broke softly through the quiet.
“Hey... whenever you’re ready, you can tell me about it. Or not. I’m here either way.”
Rumi breathed him in deeply, comforted by the warmth and the steady tone.
“Thanks,” she whispered, still leaning against him. “I just... need time.”
He didn’t answer with words. Instead, his hand shifted gently, brushing up her arm and tracing lightly over the silver marks along her skin, those faint, glimmering lines that never quite faded. His fingers moved slowly, reverently, like he was memorising them again. Not flinching. Not afraid. Just present.
Rumi stayed quiet for a long moment, his fingers still moving gently along her marked skin.
“When I was younger, I used to-” she started, then hesitated, her voice catching as if she were reconsidering. But then the words came anyway, soft and heavy. “I thought they would go away if I rubbed hard enough. I used to scrub them raw.”
Jinu’s hand stilled, resting lightly over one of the marks.
Rumi let out a breath that was almost a laugh, bitter, faint.
“Céline noticed that once. Told me it’s useless.”
Jinu’s thumb moved in slow circles over her skin, quiet as ever, but listening. Always listening.
“She didn’t say it unkindly,” Rumi added after a moment. “Just... like it was a fact. Like trying to erase yourself is a waste of time.” Her voice trembled at the end, and she pressed her face lightly into his shoulder, hiding.
Jinu rested his chin lightly on top of her head, his voice barely above a whisper.
“She was right,” he murmured. “But I wish you hadn’t had to learn it that way. Or alone.” His hand moved again, slow and sure, still tracing the silver on her skin. “You’re not something that needs erasing, Rumi.”
At his words, something inside her cracked this time, softer, less painful. She didn’t speak. Didn’t try to argue. She just curled a little closer into him, burying her face against his chest. Her fingers clutched the fabric of his shirt, like she needed something real to hold on to.
“I didn’t think anyone would ever say that,” she whispered, barely audible.
And for the first time that night, the tears that came weren’t from fear, but from relief.