The Omen 0: Birthday (Story about Delia Yonce)

Delia woke up in the morning, and it was a day when she felt no anxiety. Waking up with a sense of inner peace, she got out of bed, stretched, feeling her body ready for a new day. Without any of the doubts and fears that had previously forced her to hide in the shadows, she headed to the dining room.

Entering the dining hall, she felt an unusual sense of relief. The morning was quiet, and it seemed that every step she took in this familiar place sounded like a new beginning. Several students were chatting at the tables, but they did not even notice her presence. Delia sat down at the table and calmly began to eat breakfast - not afraid of anyone, neither ridicule nor injections.

She noticed how her own breathing became even and confident. Every spoonful of porridge, every sip of tea seemed to strengthen her inner strength. Even the smell of this food seemed special to her today, a symbol of her life moving to a new level.

After breakfast, Delia felt herself moving through the corridors with ease. There were no longer those heavy gazes and threats in the air that she had sensed before. This was a day when she could be herself.

When she approached the orchestra building, she was met by the bandmaster. He stood in the doorway, grinning and shaking his head.

"Here comes our star!" he said with a slight laugh. "You've brought nervousness into our group again. Look, the whole orchestra is already looking at each other and wondering what's wrong with you."

Delia laughed heartily. She realized that the bandmaster was not insisting on serious criticism, but was merely making fun. She felt lightness in her soul again.

"Sorry, I'm probably just too involved," she replied, smiling encouragingly.

"Well, things will soon be back to normal," he continued, hinting that the musician Delia had been filling in for would soon be back from maternity leave. "Once she's back, things will go back to normal. But for now, let's see how you manage to run this orchestra without her."

Delia nodded, not worrying about the future. It was no longer a source of stress for her. She was now confident in her place in the orchestra, and even if everything went back to the way it had been, she had already found her way.

Delia walked into the rehearsal room, feeling her steps become more confident, and made her way to her place in the orchestra. She sat down on a chair, placing her cymbals next to her, and got into a comfortable position, ready to rehearse. At that moment, her gaze accidentally met the eyes of several musicians, but she noticed that their gazes were more curious than judgmental. Delia felt her heart begin to beat evenly, as if her whole life had found harmony with the music that was about to begin.

The conductor, tall and looking slightly irritated, was pacing the stage, checking the composition of the orchestra. He raised his baton to his lips, and suddenly the hall was filled with silence. All eyes were on him, and as soon as he raised his baton, the sounds of the orchestra began to fill the space.

"Well, let's continue rehearsing Mahler's sixth symphony," he said, not taking his eyes off the score. "There's very little time left until the premiere, so let's not waste any time and start with the first movement."

Delia set up her cymbals and prepared herself. Mahler's Sixth Symphony was majestic and dramatic, and her part was one of the rarest. The cymbals only played a few times throughout the symphony, which gave them a special significance. Sometimes she had to simply wait her turn, quietly watching as the orchestra unfolded its epic lines while she remained in the shadows.

The conductor began, and the orchestra immersed itself in the music. At first, the chords were sharp and furious, conveying the weight of the mood. Delia sat, focused, her fingers curled around the cymbal handles, ready at any moment to create that sound that would add another layer of emotion to the symphony with its important but brief role.

Some time passed, and then finally, her moment. The conductor raised his baton, and as soon as the musicians fell silent, came the very moment when the cymbals were supposed to crash into the general sound. Delia sharply drew her baton on one of them, producing a ringing and powerful sound that seemed to cut through the silence.

In that moment, as that rare and powerful note rang through the air, Delia felt something in her soul resonate with that clear, sharp sound. She was part of something bigger again, bringing more depth and emotion to the world. As brief as her role was, she knew this moment was important. Her cymbals brought that spark that made the symphony whole.

After the conductor announced a break, the orchestra froze and then silence fell over the room. The musicians, one by one, began to leave their seats to relax a little before continuing the rehearsal. Delia, carefully putting the cymbals back in their place, stood up and headed for the doors.

The corridor was already filled with colleagues who, like her, had come for a break between parts of the rehearsal. Some hurried toward the toilet, others, in no hurry, walked along the walls, talking among themselves. The atmosphere in the corridor was free and relaxed, although the conversations and laughter in the background sounded somewhat nervous, as if someone was continuing to talk about something that remained hidden in the air.

Delia slowed her pace, looking around. One of the cellists passed by her, noticing her glance. He frowned slightly, but said nothing, simply walking toward the washbasin. Delia didn't react, her thoughts remaining focused on how she was gradually finding her place among these people. She still felt the ease that her confidence had brought her yesterday, but there was a slight tension in the hallway, as if each of the musicians was still trying to figure out what had changed in this orchestra since her arrival.

The other musicians were milling about, some standing by the window wiping their hands, some pondering, lost in their own thoughts, and even a few people had begun to argue about how best to interpret one of the parts of the symphony. But Delia did not join in the discussions - she stood a little to the side, not interfering in the conversations. She felt her place among them gradually becoming more natural, although there was still no complete certainty that everything would become stable.

During the break, Delia stood by the wall of the hallway, lost in thought. Her thoughts had carried her far away from the music and rehearsals, and she had lost track of time. She stood still, listening to the echoes of conversations that gradually died down, and felt the tension gradually dissipate. As if forgetting everything around her, she allowed herself to immerse herself in the silence, in this brief moment of solitude.

Several minutes passed, but she didn't seem to notice the musicians leaving the hallway. At some point, when her thoughts were carried away deep inside, Delia came to her senses, suddenly realizing that it had become too quiet around her. She looked around, not noticing how everyone had gone to their places, and was left alone in the empty hallway. A confused grimace appeared on her face, as if she suddenly realized that she had missed something important.

It was at that moment that her gaze accidentally caught on a figure at the window on the opposite side of the hallway. She froze, studying the silhouette of the girl standing there. The girl was dressed in a standard orchestra uniform, her hair was pulled back into a neat bun, and she stood motionless, her gaze directed towards the window. The strange silence that surrounded her seemed unreal. Delia could not understand why this figure suddenly caused her a strange feeling of uneasiness.

She squinted, trying to see her face, but the girl was standing with her back turned, completely hiding it. Delia couldn't remember ever seeing her in her band. The face of the unknown musician seemed familiar, but at the same time it was completely alien. Where was she from, and who was this girl?

Gradually her gaze slid down her figure, but the figure did not move. Delia felt something unusual hanging in the air. Everything seemed to slow down at that moment: the empty corridor, the silent window, and the strange girl standing without turning.

Delia, unable to tear her eyes away from the strange figure, took a step forward, deciding to get closer and find out who it was. But as soon as her foot touched the floor, the girl at the window suddenly turned her head.

At that moment, Delia's heart stopped. She froze in place, as if her body no longer obeyed her will. The face of the girl who had just been standing with her back turned was absolutely identical to her own - every drawing, every line, every angle. It was like a mirror, only not her reflection, but a living being, existing here and now. Delia's double looked at her with the same impassive expression as she herself, but there was no sign of life in his eyes. The girl's face was devoid of emotions, like a marble statue, as if this figure was not part of the real world.

Delia froze, unable to comprehend what was happening. A storm of emotions played out inside her, from horror to complete bewilderment. She tried to remember if she had seen this girl before, but the memory did not yield. The double did not move, did not say a word. He stood, looking at her, his eyes cold and indifferent.

Delia's throat was dry and her ears were ringing in silence, broken only by her own rapid breathing. Her fear grew with each passing moment, as if the girl-her double-was not just her reflection, but something far more sinister. Everything in her body screamed:

"Go away, this is not normal!"

She took a step back, but her legs seemed to be unable to obey her, and her gaze could not tear itself away from this figure. Suddenly, the double became a little closer, and Delia instinctively retreated, bumping into the wall. This figure continued to look at her, just as she looked at herself in the mirror, only there was no mirror here.

The silence was deafening. Delia felt her pulse quicken, as if she was no longer in control of her body. Her brain refused to accept what was happening, and she tried to convince herself that this was just a hallucination or a dream, but it wasn't.

The doppelganger remained silent, his eyes fixed on her, and the air around them grew thick and heavy, as if space itself was drawing everything in. Delia took a deep breath, gathering all her strength to move again, but she couldn't. It was as if her body was connected to this creature by invisible threads.

Unable to cope with the growing horror, Delia finally spoke, barely keeping the trembling in her voice:

"Who are you...?"

But the girl didn't answer. Only cold silence, and her gaze never leaving Delia, who continued to stand, as if glued to the spot, peering into the face of her double. Each moment seemed frozen in time. The neural connections in her head rebelled, trying to understand what was happening, but her mind stubbornly refused to accept reality. She couldn't look away, so strongly was she drawn to look at this face that was at once hers and not hers, alien and yet familiar.

And suddenly, at the very moment when her gaze could no longer bear this eerie silence and silent meeting, Delia noticed something unusual. In the eyes of the double, something small and shining appeared - tears. Small, barely noticeable, but real tears, slowly rolling down her face. It was so absurd, so inconsistent with what she expected to see, that Delia was momentarily speechless.

Her own soul contracted. Pity, like a tender impulse, burst into her heart. She felt that the double, despite his cold immobility, was experiencing something - something human. It was a strange, inexplicable feeling: pity and compassion for something she could not yet understand.

Delia took a cautious step forward, keeping her eyes on the double. With each movement, the space around her seemed to become more distorted, as if reality itself were beginning to tremble with tension. When she was close enough, her hand slowly reached toward the double's face. She touched his cheek. There was moisture on her fingers-the same tears she had just noticed. A thin, fragile, cold moisture.

But as soon as her hand touched her face, everything around her disappeared. In the blink of an eye, the figure of the double dissolved into the air like smoke, disappearing before Delia's eyes, leaving no trace, no sound. Silence swallowed the space again.

Delia stood there, stunned, still feeling the wet traces of tears on her fingers, but now empty. Her chest tightened and her breathing became heavy. She looked around, trying to understand what had just happened. The hallway was empty, as before. There was no double, no tears, no strange, drawn-out silence. Everything had returned to normal, as if nothing had happened.

However, there was a strange emptiness in her soul. The moment when she touched her double left a mark that did not disappear, as if she had managed to touch something more than just her reflection. The tears of the double, his silence - all this was something that remained with her, not allowing her to forget.

What was it? An illusion? A dream? Or something more? Delia couldn't figure it out, but one thing was clear: her world was a little stranger than before.

Delia stood in the hallway, still reeling from what she had seen. Her brain was trying to make sense of what had happened, but it was all happening too fast, too strange. She turned around slowly when she heard her name.

"Delia!"

Her gaze fell on Jo the flutist, who was standing at the door, a little removed from her, with a slight look of surprise on his face. He noticed that she was alone, and immediately approached, as always with a slight concern, as if something in her behavior had immediately attracted his attention.

"Why are you here alone?" he asked, smiling softly, but there was that concern in his voice that Delia had long since learned to recognize. "Everyone has already gone back to rehearsal. We don't have much time, we must hurry."

Delia stood still for a few seconds, lost in her thoughts. Then, shaking herself a little, she answered:

"Yes, I... just thought a little."

Jo didn't ask any more questions. He looked a little lost, as he always did when he wanted to be attentive but didn't know how to approach her. Instead, he continued as if he was going to steer the conversation straight into a more normal direction.

"Okay, let's not waste time. In general, all the issues with the apartment are settled. You can pay your half of the money, and we can finally move in. I've already talked to the owners, they agree, everything is arranged."

Delia was a little surprised, not expecting the conversation to suddenly turn to such a practical topic. The scene with the double was still floating in her head, but Jo's words, as usual, had that calm, confident tone that brought her out of the depths of thought.

"Are... are you serious?" she asked, a little confused, trying to understand how her own thoughts had suddenly become so far removed from reality when it came to the apartment.

"Of course," Jo smiled, noticing her hesitation. "Everything is ready. Just let me know when you can hand over your part."

She turned to him, feeling his words bring her back into her normal rhythm. It was all so simple and logical: the apartment, the money, living together. She had to do this, she knew that. But somewhere deep down, there was a strange trace of what she had just experienced in the hallway, and that moment seemed unreal compared to Jo's everyday reality.

"Okay," she finally answered, not knowing why her voice sounded so quiet. "I'll transfer the money soon."

Jo nodded, not noticing her thoughtfulness, and added:

"Great! I'll arrange everything, don't worry. Now let's get back to rehearsal, otherwise we'll be late."

He gestured for her to come with him, and Delia stepped beside him without saying a word. They walked toward the doors together, but the strange image of what had happened in the hallway was still spinning in Delia's mind.

When Delia and Jo returned to the rehearsal room, the atmosphere had changed. The musicians were settling into their places, the noise and bustle had died down a bit, but the tension was still in the air. Delia sat down in her place, carefully arranging the cymbals as always, and prepared to continue the rehearsal. However, her thoughts were still far away, somewhere in the hallway, where everything seemed different, not like usual.

The rehearsal continued, and the conductor picked up his baton again, emphasizing the parts of the symphony where Delia was supposed to come in. The music sounded powerful and mesmerizing, but despite all its beauty, Delia couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

When she looked again at Jo, sitting opposite her with the flute in his hands, something strange in his gaze caught her attention. He looked at her not just as a colleague, not as a simple musician in the orchestra. His eyes were full of the feeling that she had noticed for a long time - tenderness, concern, but now it was obvious and not hidden. It was a look that said that there was something more between them, something that had not been said out loud for a long time, but was still felt in his eyes.

Delia felt her heart skip a beat. But to her surprise, the look didn't alarm her. Instead, it made her feel a little better-Jo's gaze was the same as before, though with a hint of something new. It spoke of affection, of attention she had grown accustomed to ignoring, but now perhaps she understood.

But as soon as she looked away from Jo, others noticed her. The brass and woodwind players, one of the string players, all of them were looking at her with an expression that could not be mistaken for anything good. There was more to their eyes than just hostility. There was fear and hatred, concentrated in every glance, disguised as something familiar but too obvious to hide.

Each of their faces, when she looked at them, was like cold stone. Several turned away to avoid meeting her gaze, others raised their eyebrows in an expression of alienation, as if her presence there violated something important and unshakable. It was as if they considered her a stranger, an outsider, as if she were not part of their world, but something that should disappear.

Delia tried to ignore the stares, concentrating on her part, but something inside her clenched at the distance she felt. It was scary to realize that her place here in the orchestra was still not secure, that despite all her efforts she was still being left out of them. And perhaps it had nothing to do with her musical abilities, but with how she was perceived as a person, as a colleague. These stares were not random.

The conductor led the rehearsal with tension, noting the imprecise moments, and soon it was her turn again. She had to go in for the cymbal part in Mahler's sixth symphony, and each time she prepared, she felt the glances of her colleagues, their distance and hostility. It was a strange, almost unbearable feeling - as if her presence had no meaning for them. And all this intensified with each repetition, with each glance that she noticed in passing.

At one point, when the orchestra had settled back into the music, Delia felt her body tense under the pressure of those looks. The music continued, and despite everything, she played-or rather, tried to play, despite the fact that her mind was still consumed by anxiety, by the fear that those looks would never go away, that she would remain a stranger among her own.

The rehearsal room, which had previously seemed like a space filled only with music, now felt like a battlefield, where Delia was not just a musician, but an outcast, surrounded by hostile forces hiding their true feelings under the guise of ordinary professionalism.