The Omen 0: Birthday (Story about Delia Yonce)

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.

But along with the warmth, anxiety was awakening inside. Delia felt a slight chill run down her spine. She involuntarily took a step closer to the sandbox, but froze. What would she say? What can you say to a girl who seems like a reflection of your past?

Delia stood there hesitating for a moment, but suddenly a warmth flared within her, awakening a long-forgotten desire to be kind. She walked slowly to the sandbox and squatted down next to the girl.

"Hello," she said quietly, not wanting to scare the child. "What are you building?"

The girl raised her head and looked at Delia with her large dark eyes. She paused for a moment, as if assessing the new adult, and then smiled slightly:

"A castle. But it's crooked," she replied, pointing to the unstable turrets.

"Maybe I can help?" Delia suggested, not hiding her warm smile.

"You can," the girl nodded, and her face lit up with joy. "My name is Mollie. And yours?"

"Delia," she replied, already beginning to smooth out the walls of the sand castle. "You have a beautiful name, Mollie."

"Thank you," the girl began to collect sand for a new tower. "Can you build castles?"

"I built them when I was a kid. I was good at making towers," Delia said and deftly began to mold one of them.

While they worked together, Delia carefully questioned the girl:

"Do you live here?"

"Yes, in that house over there," Mollie waved her hand at the multi-story building. "Just me and Dad. He's a pianist."

"A pianist?" Delia raised her eyebrows in surprise. "That's wonderful. He plays at home?"

"Sometimes," the girl nodded, adding patterns on the walls of the castle. "It's his hobby. And doctor Arago often comes to us."

"Doctor?" Delia tensed, remembering her experience with Baselard, but tried not to show her concern. "Is he treating someone?"

"No, he's just our friend," Mollie raised her head and looked at Delia with a serious expression. "He's interesting. He tells us all sorts of interesting things."

Delia looked at the girl thoughtfully, hanging on her every word. The name "Arago" seemed vaguely familiar, but she couldn't remember where. However, the joy of communicating with Mollie drowned out all anxious thoughts. Together they finished the sand castle, decorating it with gates made of sticks and "flags" made of leaves.

"It turned out great, didn't it?" Mollie said happily, admiring their joint creation.

"It's very beautiful," Delia agreed, forgetting her worries for a moment.

When the castle was finished, Mollie sat on the edge of the sandbox, hugging her knees tightly to her body, and looked at Delia carefully. Her gaze was strangely serious for such a small child.

"You know, I want to tell you something," the girl began, whispering, as if she was afraid that someone was eavesdropping.

"What?" Delia smiled, but tensed inwardly as she noticed the change in Mollie's tone.

"It's a secret," Mollie continued, still quietly, looking at her sandy palms. "Doctor Arago was at our house yesterday. We had tea, as usual. And when he left, he said a strange thing to me.

"Which one?" Delia leaned closer, interested.

Mollie hesitated for a moment, but then decided:

"He told me that "if you can handle it, you will see the Quintans."

"Quintans?" Delia asked, her heart suddenly beating faster.

"Yes," the girl nodded, looking into Delia's eyes. "He said it when we were alone, before he put on his coat. I asked him what he meant by 'you can handle it,' but he just smiled and left."

Delia looked at the girl with an incomprehensible feeling - either anxiety or a strange premonition.

"Do you understand what he could be talking about?"

Mollie shrugged.

"I don't know. But I think he knows something... something important. Sometimes he says things that I don't understand, but they sound like he knows everything about everyone."

"And you didn't ask him anything else?" Delia asked carefully.

"No," the girl answered. "But, you know, I think he was serious. Do you believe in magical creatures?"

Delia was at a loss. She had not thought about such things for a long time, but the girl's words, her sincerity and the mysterious tone in which she told this "secret" made her wonder. Who was this doctor Arago, and why was he telling a child such things?

"Maybe I do," Delia answered, trying not to show her excitement. "And you?"

"I believe you," Mollie said confidently, her face suddenly lighting up with a happy smile. "And I will definitely see the Quintans."

Delia sighed softly, thinking that this conversation would leave a strange, disturbing aftertaste in her soul. Looking at Mollie's shining face, she decided to ask:

"What do these Quintans look like? Where can they be seen?"

Mollie pursed her lips thoughtfully and looked away, a little embarrassed.

"Well, I don't know exactly... They're kind of small..." She held out her hand, showing the size of a little larger than a palm. "And they seem to really like music. Doctor Arago said that music is like food to them."

"Little ones?" Delia asked, barely suppressing a smile. "And do they dance when the music plays? Or do they do something else?"

"Maybe they're dancing, or maybe they're just listening," the girl shrugged. "He didn't tell us much. He just said that the Quintans are always there for those who deserve them."

"Deserved it?" Delia felt a little puzzled. "Mollie, are you sure he wasn't talking about it figuratively? Maybe Quintans is some kind of metaphor?"

Mollie frowned, as if seriously considering her words.

"What do you mean "figuratively"?"

"Well," Delia began cautiously, "maybe he didn't mean actual little creatures, but, say, something else. Like joy or inspiration. Something that comes to people who make music or do something good."

Mollie shook her head, her face taking on a displeased look.

"No! The Quintans are real, I know! Doctor Arago wouldn't say that if it was just some kind of fiction!"

Delia sighed quietly, realizing that it would be difficult to convince the girl.

"Well, maybe you're right," she said with a slight smile. "The main thing is that you believe it."

Mollie nodded, her face lighting up with joy again.

"I believe! And I know that one day I will see them. Maybe even very soon."

Delia watched the girl with interest, wondering what all this could mean. The words about the Quintans somehow stuck in her head, like a strange motif that would not leave her consciousness. She gently ran her hand over Mollie's head, trying not to disturb her black hair.

"Well, Mollie, I have to go," she said with a warm smile, although inside she felt a strange heaviness.

"Are you leaving already?" the girl raised her eyes to her, full of slight sadness.

"Yes," Delia nodded. "But you keep building the castle, and maybe your Quintans will show up sooner than you think."

Mollie nodded happily.

"I'll be waiting! Thanks for your help!"

Delia smiled again, turned, and walked slowly away from the playground, feeling the child's gaze still fixed on her back. Her steps seemed heavy, as if each time she lifted her foot from the ground it was an effort.

"This child is happier than me," she thought, looking at the trees along the sidewalk. "She has a dream. It may be strange, but she believes in it. And I... I have nothing else. No hopes, no faith in something better. It's hard to be an adult. We stop believing in miracles and just dive into endless worries, as if that's all that's left.

She stopped at the crossing, looking at the cars rushing past one after another. Mollie with her imagination, her fantasies and this strange doctor now seemed to Delia as if from another world, of light and joy. A world that had long ceased to belong to her. She looked away from the road to wipe away a tear that had suddenly welled up.

"What's left for me now? Just exist?"

The cars stopped, the light turned green, and Delia took a step forward, feeling a growing emptiness inside her.

Delia walked forward, not paying attention to the people passing by. Thoughts swam before her eyes, as if they were torn from someone else's life, but strangely intertwined with her own.

"You will see the Quintans..." she whispered barely audibly, repeating the words of doctor Arago, which he had spoken to Mollie.

The words echoed strangely in her head, as if they belonged not to her but to someone from the past or the future. She looked up at the sky, a piercing blue, as if washed by autumn rain.

"I've been walking in a spiral of fate all my life," flashed through her mind. "Time after time, finding myself in similar places. It's as if something is holding me back and not letting me break out of this circle. The orchestra, my mother, Jo, the strange things around me - all of this seems like steps in a closed space. It's as if I'm returning to the same place where I started. But surely there must be something more than this endless repetition?"

She stopped on the sidewalk, looking at her boots, which had scooped up dust from the road.

"Mollie believes in the Quintans, and I... I don't even know what it means to believe. When did I forget how to dream? When did I let this world drag me into its gray everyday life?"

She touched her temple, feeling a faint pulsation, as if something in her was demanding an answer. But there was no answer. Only the soft rustle of leaves swirling underfoot, and the cold air making her coat pull tighter around her.

"If you can handle it, you will see the Quintans," it sounded in her head again, and Delia grinned, "You can handle it... As if I could change anything at all."

And yet something inside, as weak as a breath of wind, touched her soul. The words flew from her lips:

"Maybe I'm just afraid to believe that this is possible?"

Her gaze fell on the far end of the street, where the sun, setting over the horizon, bathed the houses in a soft golden light. In that moment, she felt that she was standing on the threshold of something she could not yet understand. And perhaps the answer lay not in the past or the future, but in taking the next step.

Delia felt her shoulders straighten as if she had just inhaled a new breath of air. The thought that she could break out of the vicious circle, even if it was just a small step, gave her strength. She walked a couple more blocks, thinking about everything that had happened to her in the last few days, and to her surprise, she found that she no longer felt that usual heaviness inside her.

When she returned to the dorm, evening had already fallen on the city. The hallway was, as usual, tense and bustling: someone was chatting loudly, the sounds of music could be heard from behind the doors, and the faces of her neighbors still showed smirks and hidden mockery. Delia slowed down, meeting the gaze of one of the girls who was always the first to egg others on, and suddenly... she smiled.

"Good evening," she said calmly, passing by.

The girl blinked in surprise, as if she hadn't expected such a reaction. The others also froze, exchanging glances. But Delia didn't look back. Her calm smile was the best answer to their attempts to hurt her.

At dinner, for the first time in a long time, she did not run to find a secluded place. Instead, she filled a tray with food and sat down at the table in the dining room. Yes, they threw her sidelong glances, someone whispered behind her back, but Delia pretended not to notice. She ate calmly, without rushing, even enjoying the simple, if not the most delicious, food.

Each spoonful felt symbolic, a step toward regaining her old confidence. She looked out the window at the twilight sky and thought that maybe just because her life was a spiral didn't mean she couldn't get out of it. It all depended on her.