Chapter 39: Touch Me Before The Glitch Becomes Our Truth II
Jules dropped her bag, flopped on the thin mattress, and stared at her phone again.
Still no reply from Aria.
She opened the old thread and stared at the last message Aria ever sent:
Aria: Miss you. I'll meet you at the train station tomorrow. Pink scarf, no lipstick. You'll know it's me.
Jules hadn't even remembered what year that message was from. It just sat there, soft and hopeful.
Now she typed again.
Jules: If you see something weird, text me. If you see nothing weird — text me anyway. If you're near a mirror, don't blink first. And if you're feeling lonely, imagine my hands between your thighs, slow, warm, focused. That always makes you smile, right?
Jules: I know something's coming. I don't know what. But you need to be strong for it. Stronger than me. Stronger than all of this.
She sent it before she could edit herself. Then tucked the phone under the pillow and let the exhaustion win. Niko's voice called faintly from the hallway, probably something about food or another announcement.
Jules didn't move.
In her dream, Aria was standing in the middle of a mirrorless room. The walls pulsed. The floor had veins. Aria reached for something just out of sight — something burning, something blooming — and Jules whispered her name until the sky opened like a mouth.
She woke to silence.
Not the usual quiet of morning, but something deeper. Something off. The hum of the building felt distant, like someone had turned down the background noise of reality. Even the light through her curtains was muted, like it didn't want to touch her skin.
Her phone buzzed.
MANDATORY RELOCATION NOTICE. PLEASE PROCEED TO YOUR NEAREST SAFE ZONE.
She stared at it for a second, blinking. Then another buzz came.
Jules: "Hey. I left with Niko. He dragged me out before I could even pack properly. He's acting like the world's ending or something. I don't know what's going on, but he's convinced these glitches aren't just some tech hiccup. He says it feels…off. Like something's being hidden. I'll check out the safe zone. I'll let you know if it's actually safe."
Jules: "Also… I dreamed about you. You were naked and glowing. You were touching yourself. I woke up moaning your name. Just figured you should know. 😈 Text me when you're up. And don't get sick. There's a nasty flu going around. Stay warm, drink something hot, maybe wear pants under that oversized shirt you love so much."
Aria smiled despite the ache in her chest.
Jules always did that. Threaded heat into fear like a lifeline. Like she knew Aria needed something grounding to hold on to. She stared at her screen for a long time, then started typing.
Aria: "You left without saying goodbye. Rude. Niko better be feeding you or I'm stealing your hoodie in revenge. I'm gonna check out the safe zone near me. Won't do anything reckless. Probably."
Aria: "And yeah. I glow naked. Obviously. You're not the first to notice, but you're the one I want noticing."
She paused, then added a second message.
Aria: "Tell Niko thanks. For looking out for you. And for trying to look out for me. I'll find you when this is over."
She finished it with a black heart. The one Jules always said looked like it belonged to her.
She got out of bed slowly, still carrying the weight of that strange dream. The room. The pulsing walls. The name on Jules' lips. It wasn't just a dream. It felt like a memory she hadn't made yet.
She layered up, pulled on leggings under her hoodie, laced up her boots. She even tied her hair back, like it would make any difference if things went wrong out there. She hesitated at the mirror. It was still webbed with cracks, but the words were gone. No messages today. Just her reflection, staring back at her like it didn't want to blink.
Down the hall, the emergency lights flickered. A cold draft met her at the stairwell, and the moment she pushed through the exit, the outside world looked… off.
Too still. Too gray.
People were moving toward the safe zone in quiet, steady lines. No one was talking. No one was panicking. They all looked half - asleep.
Soldiers stood on every corner, drones buzzing above, scanning faces and checking IDs. Aria kept walking, kept to herself. She followed the crowd but didn't feel part of it.
Then the sky did it again — pulsed.
She stopped walking. The same pulse as in her dream.
She looked up. It didn't blink. Didn't change. But she knew what she felt.
The city was holding its breath.
Her phone buzzed again.
Jules: "The safe zone here looks… okay. People are tense, but nothing dangerous yet. No soldiers yelling. Niko's pacing like a dad. He won't say it, but I can tell he regrets leaving without making sure you were okay."
Jules: "Also, I miss your mouth. Just putting that out there."
Aria's lips parted. She smiled, soft and aching.
Aria: "Come back and say that to my face."
She kept walking. The safe zone loomed ahead, cordoned off by chain - link fencing and white tents. It smelled like antiseptic and cold metal. She paused just outside the gates, unsure.
Something about stepping through felt permanent. Like she wouldn't be able to unstep it.
So she turned around. Just for a second.
The city looked the same — but she knew it wasn't.
And if Niko was right, they hadn't even seen what was coming yet.
And it was more than enough.
She walked with it in her chest like a steady burn — not a fire, not yet, but a warmth that didn't need to be understood. She didn't replay Jules' voice or the curve of her smirk or the imprint of her hand on her skin. It was all already inside her, sunk deep like ink. Nothing about it was clean or defined or promised, but it still felt real. Real enough to hold onto.
The streets stretched out wide and empty. Aria kept moving, the city humming its usual noise around her, but her head was too full to hear it clearly. She didn't even check if the bookstore sign was flipped or if the blinds were still down. She just moved through her space like it was a new one.
Her body was hers again. But changed.
That part made her nervous, in a quiet, shaky kind of way. Because if something had shifted inside her — if something had bloomed — it meant things couldn't go back. Not to the pretending. Not to the closed - off version of herself that kept her hands still and her wants small.
Not after that morning.
She touched her lips as if they still remembered Jules' name, then looked out the window. Nothing had collapsed. The sky wasn't falling. No thunder tore through the city. But the silence felt stretched — not wrong, just held too long.
Like the calm before something.
This is the calm, she thought. Before something decides to move.
Aria didn't believe in signs the way Jules or Niko did. She believed in instincts. In the twitch under your ribs when the air shifted. In how the ground sometimes felt too thin, even if nothing had cracked yet.
She looked at her reflection in the glass — not her face, but her bloom. The petals had curled in tighter today, no new color yet, but the core looked deeper somehow. Darker. Like it was waiting.
The city looked the same — but she knew it wasn't.
And if Niko was right, they hadn't even seen what was coming yet.
The silence after Jules's message didn't scare her.
It echoed. Made space. Let her breathe.
Aria didn't reply. Not right away. Not because she didn't want to — but because this wasn't something she could skip.
The word Bloom whispered through the crack in the mirror. It wasn't soft. It wasn't gentle. It bled through like a wound, raw and remembering.
Back in her apartment, the flower had bloomed again. Eight now. All different — fire red, icy blue, a soft gold shimmer that almost looked like electricity. All leaning toward the mirror. As if drawn to something she couldn't see.
She stood in front of it, one palm flat against the glass. Her breath was steady but shallow, each shard reflecting a version of herself she barely recognized.
She hadn't meant to return here. Not yet. But the air had pulled her back. Grief, maybe. Or guilt. Or just the fact that everything still smelled like her mother — eucalyptus and cold steel and something soft, unspoken, that still clung to her pillows.
The cracked mirror shimmered faintly, veins of light crawling beneath the surface. Her heartbeat echoed it — uneven, alive.
She remembered what Niko said. About the fractures in reality. About the cities that weren't safe anymore.
And the ones that never were.
She sat on the floor, knees pulled to her chest, the hardwood cool beneath her. From here, the mirror didn't look cracked. It just looked old. Like it belonged to a version of the world that was long gone.
Her fingers brushed the edge of the bloom. The red petal burned warm. The blue one was cold enough to make her flinch. The golden one hummed beneath her skin like a current.
She didn't cry. Not anymore. That part had been used up.
But the ache in her chest hadn't gone anywhere.
Not since the day her mother collapsed in that kitchen.
Not since they burned the garden.
Not since she realized some things can't be fixed — only carried.
Her phone buzzed again, but she ignored it.
She wasn't ready to talk to anyone yet. Not Jules. Not Niko. Not even Elara.
The mirror flickered. Just once. A ripple that moved outward, like something breathing. Or watching.
Her breath caught. She didn't move.
And then — it stopped.
Just a crack. Just glass.
She kept telling herself that.
But something inside her knew better.
The flowers weren't just blooming. They were responding.
To her.
To the room.
To something she hadn't named yet.
She touched the red petal again. It pulsed softly. Almost like a heartbeat.
And something inside her — some old memory — pulled forward.
Her mother's voice. Not sharp. Not cold.
But tired. Quiet.
"Sometimes things break because they're growing. You know that, don't you?"
Aria had nodded, too young to understand.
Now she did.
This wasn't grief anymore.
It was evolution.
The ache didn't fade — it hardened. Into something cold and sharp and entirely hers.
She rose slowly, her hand still pressed to the glass. The blooms shimmered in the dim light, their colors more vivid than before.
The mirror was waiting.
And so was whatever was behind it.
*******************
Glass shivers under unseen breath,
Veins of light pulse beneath a broken skin.
Silence stretches heavy, waiting to fracture,
Shadows lean close, patient, curious, alive.
Every step echoes where nothing yet moves,
And the air hums with what is coming.
Petals bloom where memory lingers,
Colors cold, fire - warm, trembling against the dark.
The room exhales, a heartbeat in stillness,
Touch threads warmth into a world unsteady.
Growth sharpens, slow, impossible to ignore,
And the waiting watches back, unblinking, eternal.