Page 6 of Heavensent & Hellbent

“Ew, really?”

“Yep. He was blushing. It was gross. She brought cookies, too.”

“Is thisThe Sims? Do people really do that? And oh my God, if he couples up with an American woman…”

Would it be better if she wasn’t American? I doubted it. Dadhadn’t dated anyone since Mum died. It wasn’t like I wanted him to be alone for the rest of his life, but I also didn’t want to see him flirting. We had only just moved here.

“What did she look like?” Azar asked with an air of indifference, but I knew she was desperate to know.

“Blond, white. She probably does Pilates.”

Azar didn’t say anything for a moment, until she let out a prolonged “Right.” Azar was more of a weights girl. She worked part-time at a women’s-only gym and taught self-defense classes there. She’d always loved sports and athletics. We couldn’t be any more different in that regard, as I longed for a soft life with minimal physical activity.

Regarding Penny, I knew we were both thinking the same thing: It was almost insulting that Dad was interested in someone white, blond, and thin, someone so visually opposite to our mum. Mum was a classic Iranian beauty, her face soft but fierce, with thick, perfectly arched brows. Whereas, I had similar facial features as my mum—high cheekbones and large eyes—Azar was like Mum in her mannerisms, the way they both moved with a gracefulness that was feline. I was glad we shared her traits, at least, so that parts of her remained.

When we ended the call, I attempted to resume eating, my sandwich now lukewarm. But it was too much, even for me. I had a healthy appetite, but American portion sizes had defeated me. The waitress—an older woman wearing red lipstick—topped up my coffee graciously without my asking, giving me a bright smile. Her teeth were pearly white. Everyone had white teeth here. I gave her a close-lipped smile in return.

“My shift’s over, but Zain will be starting soon if you need anything else.” She slipped the bill from her apron onto the table and left.

I pulled my iPad out of my tote bag and flicked through my drawings. I had dozens that depicted the flames from different angles, the fire slowly creeping closer to me. Most recently, I had attempted to draw the crowd from my dreams, watching. The only thing I ever remembered of them were their grim-set faces. I swiped through. There was the full moon, shining down on me. I had taught myself to draw out of a need rather than a hobby. My illustrations weren’t perfect. They were more cartoonlike, taking inspiration from graphic novels I had grown up consuming. The style didn’t really matter, though. I just needed to keep my dreams alive, needed to know they weren’t just in my head.

In one folder were hundreds of snakes, and all the different ways they wrapped around my limbs and slithered across the ceiling.

Sometimes, when I let my brain drift as I drew, I ended up with images I didn’t even recognize. Of medieval rooms that looked like nothing I had seen before. Rough sketches of courtyards with a fountain, the water rippling and reflecting the walls of a palace. Of being on a mountain edge about to jump. It was strange, but I assumed these images were from shows and movies I had seen, seeping into my subconscious.

As I sketched now, I began with the boy’s dark eyes. Not for the first time since I woke up, I wondered who this boy was to the version of me in the dream. What we had done to beburned together. Whether he even knew me, or if we were two strangers being punished for unknown crimes.

I kept working on his face, trying to get his contours right, the sharp cheekbones and soft brows. Soon, the waiter came over to ask if I wanted anything else.

Irritated at the interruption, I lifted my gaze to say a quick “no.” But when I saw the new waiter’s face, it was like I was in an elevator and the cord had suddenly been cut, the drop shocking me into speechlessness. A deep whoosh in the pit of my stomach.

Standing right in front of me was someone who appeared identical to the boy I had spent the last hour drawing.

The boy from my nightmare.

3

I froze, my pencil hovering above my tablet, mouth agape.

“Can I get you anything else?” the blond-haired boy asked, glancing down at his phone. When I didn’t immediately answer, his attention moved over to me. I could have sworn his eyes narrowed, slightly, in recognition. But then his expression went blank, his features clear of emotion.

He couldn’t have recognized me anyway because I’d only seen him in a dream. And unlike my dream, his hair wasn’t quite so bright, but a sandy, dark blond. He had the same eyes, though, the same ones I had planned to draw. And he was even more beautiful in person, so much so that I couldn’t keep eye contact for long.

I noticed his gaze linger over my iPad, which was displaying part of his face. One of his eyebrows rose marginally.

I locked my tablet and rested my arms on top of it, face burning. “No thanks, I’m fine.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke. When he turned his head to glance over at the host, there it was, his slightly crooked nose. His face needed it, this societally perceived imperfection roughening his edges, only making him better-looking. His profile, while previously faded from my memory, was now imprinted in my mind, déjà vu encircling me. This was not the first time I had seen this boy. Not even the second, my body seemed to be telling me.

“Well, let me know if you need anything,” he finally said, walking purposefully toward the counter where another server was. The boy was tall and broad-shouldered, and towered over the other server, a smaller middle-aged guy. Though his back was to me, I could sense that whatever he was telling him was not welcome news.

“We’re short-staffed! You can’t take a break in the middle of your shift!” the older man exclaimed.

I couldn’t hear the boy’s reply, only his footsteps as he stormed off to the back of the diner, through a set of swinging double doors.

I checked the time and saw that I had been out for almost two hours. Gathering my things into my tote bag, I threw my money for the bill down onto the table. Once I left the diner, I imagined telling Nic—or Azar—that I suspected seeing the boy from my dream in real life. They would tell me that I was letting my imagination get the better of me. That I was going through a big change, and it was normal to have weirder dreams than usual. That it was pure coincidence that he looked like the boy in my nightmare.

When I began getting my night terrors, I did some research. I discovered that our subconscious often registers small facts, faces, and details that our conscious brain doesn’t. Maybe I had seen this boy in the airport, or on the drive to our house, and didn’t realize it?