Spiral of Fate

The morning caught Delia by surprise. She woke up to a ringing alarm clock, waking her up in the middle of a restless sleep. Her head was buzzing, as if a storm had raged there overnight. She got out of bed and, without thinking, mechanically went to the washbasin. The process of washing and dressing in the morning was automatic - not a single thought, just a sequence of habitual actions.

Once outside, Delia decided not to risk going into the cafeteria. The memories of being bullied by her colleagues still burned her soul. Instead, she went to a small cafe on the corner that had become a kind of refuge for her. Sitting at a tiny table by the window, she silently sipped her tasteless coffee and barely touched her soggy croissant. Her gaze was absentminded, she looked out the window, but saw nothing - her thoughts were confused in a foggy veil of fatigue.

The rehearsal was as impersonal as the previous days. Delia sat in her place among the other musicians, feeling neither inspired nor engaged. The cymbal part, which had once awakened excitement in her, now seemed an empty routine. The conductor cast strange glances at her, but Delia did not even try to understand why. She played mechanically, as if she were not a person, but a part of a larger musical mechanism, where her place was just one of the cogs.

When the rehearsal was over, Delia slowly walked out of the orchestra building. The autumn wind met her at the door, stirring her hair and reminding her of how hard it was to even breathe. She walked down the street in a somnambulistic state, not looking around, not noticing the passersby. Each step she took was heavy, as if an invisible chain was pulling her to the ground.

The city seemed alien and hostile to her. The streets merged into a monotonous gray background, the faces of passersby were blurred shadows, and the noise of cars sounded like a distant echo, not reaching her consciousness. Delia did not know where she was going, but she could not stop. It seemed to her that if she paused, her entire being would simply fall apart.

Walking along the noisy street, Delia suddenly found herself thinking about the conversation with Jo the day before. She remembered how she met him in the hallway of the dorm before going to bed. Jo looked inspired, his face was shining with joy. He hastened to share the news that he found an apartment not far from the orchestra building.

"Everything is perfect," he said, gesturing as if he was already mentally arranging the furniture. "Conveniently located, bright, spacious, and the price is good! If we rent it together, we can even save money. I've already seen it - you'll definitely like it, you'll see!"

Delia didn't answer then. She was overwhelmed with fatigue, and Jo's proposal seemed too decisive for the state she was in. She just nodded, muttered something vague, and went to her room.

But now, walking down the street, her thoughts returned to that conversation. Jo had been so sincere, so confident in his offer. Delia suddenly remembered the address he had mentioned, as if by accident. Without realizing it, she decided to go there. Not to make any decision or to meet Jo-no. Just to look at the house, to understand where it was, and to feel what it was like to stand in front of a place that could become her new refuge.

She quickened her pace, pushing through the bustling stream of people. The city seemed to come alive as a specific goal appeared in her mind. The noise of cars and people's conversations no longer seemed like muffled echoes; they became part of her movement. After a while, Delia found the street she was looking for. The apartment building she was looking for was unremarkable: a standard brick box, like the dozens of others in the city.

She stopped opposite, looking at the entrance. Thoughts swarmed in her head. Perhaps this was where salvation from those cold walls of the dorm, from bullying and loneliness, awaited her. But at the same time, Delia felt strangely wary. Living next to Jo, even if they shared the money, still didn't seem like the wisest decision.

She stood for a few minutes, watching people enter and exit the building, then exhaled and turned away without taking a single step forward.

"I'm still not ready," she thought, heading back.

Delia had already taken a couple of steps, intending to leave, when suddenly her gaze fell on the playground a little to the side of the house. The playground was almost empty - the benches were empty, the swings creaked quietly in the gusts of wind, the slide sparkled in the stingy rays of the sun. The only figure enlivening this corner was a girl who was playing intently in the sandbox.

Delia slowed her pace. Something about the child caught her attention. The girl, who looked to be about six years old, in a white shirt with red stripes and jeans, seemed surprisingly familiar. Her long black hair was neatly braided into two tight pigtails, and her face... That plump face with large eyes and a slight blush seemed to bring back a memory from the past. Delia involuntarily narrowed her eyes, trying to figure out what exactly had struck her so.

"It's... me?" she whispered under her breath, struck by a strange feeling of déjà vu.

The girl, not noticing Delia watching her, was building something in the sand with the persistence of a master. Her small palms carefully raked the sand into neat piles, and her thin fingers smoothed the surface of the future "construction". The wind slightly ruffled her pigtails, but the girl did not pay attention to it, completely absorbed in her game.

Delia froze, looking at the scene. A feeling of confusion mixed with an inexplicable warmth. She didn't remember ever seeing this girl, but the resemblance to herself as a child was almost frightening. The same concentration in her movements, the same long hair, an almost identical shirt... Memories came rushing back: fragments of happy moments when she was six, when her mother was still full of strength, when life seemed so simple.