The Breath of Life

  9:00 AM, September 26, 2022

  The notifications on Charani’s phone became persistent, so constant that they transitioned from being a nuisance to a signal of alarm. She wasn’t someone who checked her phone often; her discipline and focus on music kept her isolated from unnecessary distractions. For her, concentration was key, and her cello demanded absolute devotion.

  At only 21, Charani was already a recognized cellist in select circles. Her youth contrasted with the emotional maturity she conveyed in every performance. Her music had a hypnotic quality—it didn’t just fill the space but became an extension of her own inner world. Music was her way of harmonizing with nature, finding in sound the same peace the wind-swayed trees or the cadence of waves breaking on the shore gave her.

  She usually left her phone tucked away in some discreet corner of her studio, out of sight while she practiced. That particular morning, frustration had taken over: no matter how hard she tried, the melody wouldn’t flow. The notes sounded dissonant, strange, almost wrong. She had promised herself she’d make it work, but in her determination, she completely lost track of time, sinking into repetition and letting the sound consume her.

  The moment was broken by an unexpected noise. The door creaked open, followed by hurried footsteps. Carolaine, her assistant, entered the room with a tense expression and short breaths.

  “Miss Charani, Luka, your fiancé’s friend, urgently asks to speak with you.”

  The first wave of anxiety hit her. Luka never called her. Something was wrong.

  She took the call from Luka, greeting him. His voice on the other end didn’t hide the tension.

  “Have you seen the news?”

  “No, what’s going on?” she responded, her voice barely a whisper.

  Luka’s silence lasted a few seconds before he spoke. When he did, each word landed like a sentence.

  “Nikolai is dead.”

  The air seemed to vanish from her lungs.

  “They found him at the second-floor table at La Moka. You know, the place he always went to clear his head. I don’t have much information yet... There are no signs of violence, no traces of anyone else. According to the café staff, Nikolai ran out and asked about someone he seemed to have seen, but they didn’t see anyone. There’s no lead. One of the detectives answered Nikolai’s phone, and that’s how I found out and got here, but I think they need a closer family member, and as you know, he doesn’t have anyone here in the country. You know his immigrant status. The police are investigating. I’m so sorry, please come quickly.”

  Charani remained in a terrifying silence. Her mind floated between the present and the past, between the real and the impossible. Her eyes filled with tears, but her body stayed rigid, holding the phone with an irrational grip. She bit her lip, trying to contain a pain she could no longer deny.

  Memories rushed in like an avalanche. Nikolai and Luka. Their days at the University of Adelaide. The endless conversations that sometimes she didn’t understand, but enjoyed listening to. The afternoons at the beach, the jokes, the company. She remembered the first time she saw them: Luka, with his theatrical attitude, bowing in an exaggerated way, calling her “Your Highness” in an attempt to impress her. But her attention immediately shifted to Nikolai.

  Honey-colored eyes, wavy brown hair, a serene gaze that contrasted with the awkwardness of his reaction. She barely noticed Luka’s introduction because the moment their eyes met, Nikolai laughed, nervous and genuine. He reached out to shake her hand but, in the process, dropped the book he was holding—clumsy but charming.

  From that day on, their glances spoke more than their words dared to admit, though Charani found a more natural connection with Nikolai. Luka, however, never crossed the line of loyalty to his friend.

  In this moment of reflection, something from the outside pulled Charani back to reality. Her phone lay on the floor, as if it had slipped from her hand without her noticing. Her reflection in the window made her appear almost translucent, as if something inside her was also fading. Carolaine, still by her side, shivered. She hesitated before speaking again.

  Charani found the strength to remain standing, and the closest contact she had was Carolaine. Carolaine, only a little younger than Charani, was in charge of managing contacts for interviews with the young prodigy. Recently, she had been seen showing considerable interest in Luka, so this closeness between them allowed her to know what was going on. She hugged Charani with such intensity that, for the first time, Charani felt a trace of calm, enough to break into tears.

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  “I’m sorry,” Carolaine whispered. “I’m so sorry, Charani.”

  Charani gently pulled away from Carolaine and silently walked to her cello. She sat down, reverently took the instrument, and slid the bow across the strings. It wasn’t a rehearsed melody or something she had played before; it was a lament born from sorrow, a silent plea in the vibration of each note. The wood of the cello, old but strong, responded to her pain as if it shared it.

  Years ago, Nikolai had insisted that Charani play something special at their wedding, something unique. “I don’t want a famous piece, I want you to compose it for us,” he had said. That promise now dissolved among the chords of her mourning. Her music, broken by silent sobs, seemed to fill the space with palpable sadness. Carolaine felt her skin prickling. There was something in that melody that went beyond sound, something that touched deeper fibers than reason could explain.

  The sound broke abruptly when Charani stood up suddenly. Without saying a word, she grabbed her car keys and left. She had decided that she wouldn’t let the pain consume her; she needed answers.

  She drove from Glenelg to La Moka in complete silence. Her mind went over possibilities as her gaze stayed fixed on the road. How had Nikolai died? He was young, healthy, an athlete. It didn’t make sense. But then, she remembered Luka’s words: “He asked about someone.” That phrase drilled into her mind.

  She remembered the conversations between Luka and Nikolai, those long talks about the probability that humanity was a statistical anomaly. “How is it possible we’ve evolved so quickly?” Nikolai would ask. “What makes us so different from any other species on Earth?” They always theorized about the existence of a pattern, something guiding the course of human history without us realizing it.

  When she reached the city, something had changed. Not just the weight in her chest, but the air itself. There was a density in the atmosphere, a vibration she couldn’t explain, as if the air grew heavier with every step she took. Her senses were heightened: the city’s sounds seemed muffled, the colors of the lights and signs felt colder, and a slight tingling ran across her skin. There was something in the air, something beyond the tangible.

  She found a parking spot and headed to La Moka. Outside, a small group of people had gathered. Luka saw her and embraced her without saying a word. For a few seconds, neither spoke. Luka seemed to have been holding himself together until he saw her. Charani felt his shaky breath before he finally whispered:

  “I don’t understand. This doesn’t make sense.” Luka clenched his fists, his jaw tightened. “He saw someone. I know. He wasn’t alone.” He lowered his voice, as if afraid to speak it out loud. “But then, why is no one on the cameras?”

  Luka was falling apart. His usual theatricality was gone. But something in his expression went beyond pain; there was an unease, a shadow of suspicion clouding his gaze. He looked unsettled, helpless in the face of unanswered questions. He wanted to speak to the café employees, to go in and slam the tables if necessary. He felt robbed, as if a part of his life had been ripped away without warning. And worst of all... he was completely alone. The uncertainty gnawed at him. Not being able to see Nikolai, not being able to do anything, turned him into a ticking time bomb, and he broke down in tears in front of Charani.

  “I called Nikolai this morning to remind him about the conference on the possibilities of the human mind, I called him… He sounded distant, as if he was worried about something else. He mentioned an envelope, told me to call him later, I did what he asked, I called again and a detective answered Nikolai’s phone. That’s how I found out about Nico’s death. They suggest there was someone else with him, but the cameras don’t show anyone. They say he was talking to himself and then suddenly ran out. Then he came back and just collapsed, according to the information I got. I tried to call you as soon as I could, but Caroline told me you were deep in your rehearsal. I spoke with one of the detectives; he’ll let you in, he knows you were his fiancée.”

  Charani stared at him. “Luka, do you think Nikolai was in danger?”

  Luka swallowed. He looked away for a moment, as if debating with himself.

  “I… I don’t know.” But his voice sounded more uncertain than he wanted to admit. His gaze dropped to the floor, as if searching for an answer he didn’t understand.

  His gray eyes remained fixed on the café, but a part of Charani’s mind began to wonder if Luka knew more than he was saying. She walked with determined steps to the entrance. She notified the security personnel who she was, and they allowed her in after confirming that she was the fiancée of the person who had passed away just hours before. Inside, the murmurs of the witnesses faded as she climbed the stairs to the second floor. Each step brought her closer to memories frozen in time. The first time Nikolai kissed her, the confessions amid laughter, the way he understood her without pushing her. The patience he showed, waiting for her to reveal herself as she truly was. Her skin prickled, her breath slowed. The familiar aroma of the café was there, but mixed with something else: a faint trace of ozone, as if an electrical discharge had altered the air. Her vision seemed to catch flashes at the edges of her sight, shapes that disappeared as soon as she tried to focus on them. The lighting inside the café was dimmer than usual. Not from a lack of light, but from something intangible. It was as if the space itself retained a residue of what had happened there.

  The space was intact, except for the presence of the police. The table, the untouched coffee, Nikolai’s body… but there was something else. A vibration in the air. A faint glow, almost imperceptible, like the way light filters through dust particles. But this glow had a cold, blue, inhuman hue.

  Charani blinked, feeling her perception fragment. The symbols floated, flickering in an impossible blue. She felt the air grow denser, her mind splitting. Then she saw it.

  At first, it was just a flash in the glass. Then, a silhouette. Charani felt the air turn heavy, her skin prickling before she even understood what she was seeing. When she turned her head, she found it. A face in the shadows, brown eyes locked on her with a recognition that froze her blood. There was no emotion, just the certainty that it was waiting for her.

  “Where are you?” she murmured, not understanding why.

  And then, darkness enveloped her.